[IC] The Plague of Tamor Town

[Edge]

The morning sun rises on Danica as she tosses and turns restlessly in bed, the wan light eliciting a groan as she fights the growing urge to slumber through the day. Sleeping at night had become an uncertain proposition for the dhampir during her teens, and it had become no less so with adulthood. Still, she fights the urge, rising with a yawn and wincing as a ray of sunlight passes over her eyes. Her scattered handful of hours worth of sleep would have to suffice. People had need of her talents. Someone always did.

The dhampir clothes herself quickly, donning one of her practical but elegant dresses: a conservative item of grey damask, embroidered at the hems with black lace. She lifts her skirts in a genteel manner as she descends the stairs from the lodgings in the Old Stag's upper floor into the common room. She approaches the bar, waiting her turn to order with a smile.

"Sausages, colcannon and a small slice of pie, if you please. And a glass of the melomel to wash it down," she says, once the bartender turns their attention to her. She pays up front, providing a small tip, hoping silently that the sausages will be bloody as she turns and leaves the bar, looking for a seat. Sadly, most of the tables are occupied, even at this hour, so she wouldn't be able to enjoy any solitude this morning. Still, there was one table that only had one resident... albeit a very large and imposing one.

Something in Danica rankles at the very concept that such a boorish brute could possibly be threat to her.

"I should tear out his-"

She silences the line of thought, shaking her head and taking a deep breath, before approaching the goliath and his disarmingly large weapon without a hint of trepidation.

"My apologies, sir. Would you object to me sharing this table while I break my fast?" she asks with a smile.