Convinced she played her part well enough to get her drink, she looked out across the room. All the tables were full, or nearly full, and when they weren't, someone was using the open chair as a leg-rest as some of the elderly dragonborn were prone to do. Finally, she saw one table that had an open chair, and there sat a hulking man. Perhaps bigger than Maut? ...No, she'd take a fight with this man over a light squabble with Maut any day of the year, considering her current relationship with the green dragonborn. She watched a young man approach; a night elf of some kind. She'd seen one or two go through the temple before she started her training, but never more than one each year after the reputation of the monks started to dwindle from her accidental thefts.

Hearing a single *clink* behind her as something hit the table, for a moment she thought the bartender had somehow managed to place both her mug and plate on the table in the same instant. Almost congratulating him, she saw only the plate and a heaping slice of pie; it seemed the bartender saw her size and thought a bigger serving would have been better. And, though she did not order it, on the side of the plate was also a heaping helping of colcannon and sausage. She was sick of meat- she'd been eating it raw for some time- but she shrugged and bowed respects to the bartender. Among the monastery, she was the shortest, and took misplaced pride in the fact she could bow lower than them.

Precariously lifting the plate and her staff at the same time, she wove between the tables towards the free seat. She lifted the plate up high, struggling to not elbow sitting customers in the head. Taking the empty seat as an invitation to come near, she didn't take the seat, leaving it for the night elf to take. Noticing the hammer leaning up against the wall, she set her rabbit's-foot staff up against it and sat on the floor, setting her plate down as she started to braid her six years of unkempt, straight, red-purply hair that went past her waist and flanked her shoulders front and back. Though Suthyra, her master, had not been so used to people with hair, she was able to teach Taara this much, at least.

She pressed herself against the wall, stretching out her legs and laying her plate on her blue, dirty dress. She would be lying to herself if she didn't glance at the large man's muscles, before looking back to her food and quietly taking small bites.