[b]Erin Farain
[u]The Boot Buckle, Deliar[/u][/b]

[b]“Aye lass, we got food. Mutton, chicken, bread – some beer blasted onions, too. Might be able to getcha some fish’n ‘tatoes, n’all, if that suits the ladyship?”[/b] There was a friendly sort of respect to the man's words, even if it wasn't something she'd asked for. Just as swiftly as the conversation had begun however, the elder man gave his attention elsewhere, inevitably drawing Erin's eyes with him to the entering crowd. The man excused himself to go speak with them, and Erin twisted to spectate out of the corner of her eye.

Then came the second man, posting a quick query about what she wanted. Haggling wasn't on her mind any longer, whatever this was would no doubt be interesting enough to follow, so just handing the man her coin and mouthing 'food'. It seemed to work well enough. Maybe even gave her a little confidence in her dealings. Or not. It didn't really matter, her interests were on the man who rather clearly stood out, and his interactions with the rough-yet-friendly barkeep. Whatever was going on, it was exactly the kind of thing she left the store to see. Right?

Something about an injured soldier. The same group as outside perhaps? Would it be that recent, perhaps an ill stroke of luck on the barkeep's part. Apparently they'd accosted a girl and paid the price for it. Serves them right. The gentle stir of emotions rises again, though not powerful enough that she risks doing anything but watch the exchange. It would be typical injustice for the barkeep to suffer for this. But it's not her business, is it? She shouldn't get involved. Definately should not get involved.

So she watches from her corner, skulking by the edge of the counter.