Snippet #1449120

Laeral: Boulon Brother's

They'd reached the inn not long afterward, and Talae had led her sister inside, intent on getting them both whatever rest they could manage before the ground fell out from beneath them- as it was bound to do eventually.

There weren't any open tables left, but she did note Caine occupied one of them, nursing a glass bottle with a very familiar expression on his face. She'd seen it on too many faces not to recognize it now. Still, she willfully ignored the facet of it that warned off company and took hold of Faera's elbow, seating her across from the berserker with more care than she showed anything else in existence. "I hope you don't mind," she said, turning red eyes to the man himself, the slight lift of one shoulder an expression of restricted choice. Even if he did mind, there was nothing she could bloody do about it.

Someone approached again, and Talae ordered for the both of them before turning back to the third occupant of the table. "It's been a while. Where have you been for the last few months?" She asked not out of curiosity; caring was a luxury she didn't have enough of. It was simply an inquiry, the filling of a silence, a courtesy, perhaps. Her eyes wandered the room, studying its other occupants. The Deep Humans were seated together; a rare sight even alone, two in one place was rather unusual. A smell of cooking food filtered in from... outside? Apparently so. A hooded woman occupied the bar- Talae watched with mild interest as she spoke in low tones to the man next to her, who immediately left looking as though the dragons themselves were chasing him.

After a while, the Lieutenant showed up, along with a vaguely orcish-looking individual. The result was an image that earned itself a raised brow from Talae, by virtue of its rather... odd appearance. What kind of two-bit adventurer would ever... right. The desperate kind, she thought, glancing at Faera. I guess if it's maybe death or death, most people would go for the gamble. She noted that a couple people who looked too young to legally be in a tavern in the first place were already crowding around the recruitment poster, and she snorted. One of them, a boy of perhaps sixteen or so, was pointing, chatting animatedly to the twitter-pated girl beside him, who looked hesitant but eventually nodded anyway. Both of them were shoved out of the establishment by the owner not shortly after, and she rolled her eyes. They'd be dead this time next week... or maybe not. Wide-eyed idealists tended to have the strangest luck.