The animal-girl's eyes darted wildly around the room. With almost cat-like reflexes she ducked under her stool and began muttering in a language that Hardwick couldn't quite place - like the Polish his mother spoke, but harsher... Russki maybe? Regardless, he couldn't help but feel a little bit confused by the girl's erratic behaviour. [color=0072bc]'My apologies, ma'am'[/color] He muttered, turning back to his drink.

He glanced at the door once more, the sturdy Iron-studded oak a formidable barrier between this place and whatever strange machinations lay beyond. How did it work?

[@Song Book]