Nava
Once inside the door, the dark woman moves to one side, instinctively seeking an out of the way spot from which to survey the room and its occupants. It is clear from the lack of commotion inside that she has arrived either very early, or very late, local time. The room is quite barren, with only the waitstaff and a few diehards still holding forth. The woman stands motionless for some time, watching, drinking in the ambience of the room, and all that entails. Fellowship, welcome, friendship... It has been some time since such concepts played more than a passing fancy in her life.
The two men who seem to be the center of the sparse attention catch her eye. The armored man means little to her; she has next to no experience with such men of war, so tends to lump them all together as some foreign other. The dark-clad man next to him, though, is infinitely more interesting to her. The woman breaks off her study for just a moment, as she snares a passing maid and requests a secluded table. Once she is seated, her gaze returns once more to the seemingly mismatched pair. She watches in silence, broken only by a few words spoken to the maid who brings her a only a cup of water. The flash of a silver coin buys her the cup, and her solitude.
As she watches the pair, she cannot refrain from considering the implications of the darkly-dressed man. Judging from her own experiences, the man could present any number of threats. As if the thought triggered a reflex, the woman quickly looks at the door, as if expecting to be followed. When no one materializes at the threshold, she returns to her considerations. Dark mage, assassin, hunter of men...The man could be any of those, or something even worse. The chance that the man could not be such, or, in fact, could be something better, simply does not occur to her. Fate has not given her the luxury of such optimism. Lost in her musings, the woman does nothing to hide her observation. There can be a strange deception in openness, sometimes.
The two men who seem to be the center of the sparse attention catch her eye. The armored man means little to her; she has next to no experience with such men of war, so tends to lump them all together as some foreign other. The dark-clad man next to him, though, is infinitely more interesting to her. The woman breaks off her study for just a moment, as she snares a passing maid and requests a secluded table. Once she is seated, her gaze returns once more to the seemingly mismatched pair. She watches in silence, broken only by a few words spoken to the maid who brings her a only a cup of water. The flash of a silver coin buys her the cup, and her solitude.
As she watches the pair, she cannot refrain from considering the implications of the darkly-dressed man. Judging from her own experiences, the man could present any number of threats. As if the thought triggered a reflex, the woman quickly looks at the door, as if expecting to be followed. When no one materializes at the threshold, she returns to her considerations. Dark mage, assassin, hunter of men...The man could be any of those, or something even worse. The chance that the man could not be such, or, in fact, could be something better, simply does not occur to her. Fate has not given her the luxury of such optimism. Lost in her musings, the woman does nothing to hide her observation. There can be a strange deception in openness, sometimes.



