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	[u]Weather[/u]: Clouds blanket most of the sky now. The temperature begins a steady drop from the mildly uncomfortable to the genuinely cold. Anyone outside might even catch the odd droplet of precipitation, hinting at possible rain before the night is through. 
 
	[u]Time[/u]: Early evening. The sun has dipped low, but this is difficult to tell from within the stone walls of the ground floor of the Coach House.  

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The initial impersonal chill of the Coach House slowly abated as the fireplace did its work admirably. Lamplight did the rest of the work for illumination in the form of what one may assume to be grapeseed oil, from the light scent of it burning upon thick wicks. The clink of dishes highlights the meal laid upon the table nearest the taproom's fireplace, which carries its own inviting aromas around the room.

[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center]

	Lizbeth took the odd string of words unceremoniously spilling from Kathryn with a grain of salt. Her tone was slightly amused as she looked to her wintertime mentor with an inflected, [color=darkgray]"Ew."[/color] She maintained a smile, however, and swiftly replaced the now empty bottle on the table with a fresh one from behind the bar. [color=darkgray]"It's okay, Dame Kathryn. I have my eye on the Tinker's boy, anyway. Or, I did, but Grandpa forbade it..."[/color] She seemed lost in thought for a moment, [color=darkgray]"I guess that doesn't matter anymore, does it?"[/color] The girl sniffled a little bit but quickly forced herself to recover. 

	The main door opened suddenly, admitting two of the vineyard's Human laborers in heavy coats. They were wheeling in the barrel of ale, moving wordlessly (though with a grunt or two) past the threshold and into the room proper. Further acts of leverage and strength of arm got the barrel onto the smooth, polished wood of the bar, whereupon they expertly hammered in a spigot and set it upright. [color=darkgray][sub][i]"...enjoy your suds..."[/i][/sub][/color] said one in quiet, sarcastic tones. The second man took off his hat and slapped his companion's shoulder with it, motioning for him to return outside. As if the previous exchange did not occur, he addressed the party assembled. [color=darkgray]"We got any personal items from your wagon in the common room on the top floor, on account of us not knowing which rooms you wanted. Your um, armory? Is here at the bar, and those Ankheg parts are strung up off the floor with ropes in the outbuilding. Lemme tell you, when old Urmdrus heard you brought in intact Ankheg chitin, he got real serious. I guess that's how their kind shows [i]excited[/i]. Expect a visit from that one, for sure."[/color] He shifted from one foot to another, [color=darkgray]"Unless there's anything else you'll need from me, Miss?"[/color] This last part was directed at Lizbeth.

	[color=darkgray]"Yes please,"[/color] she answered politely but firmly. [color=darkgray]"Do make sure that the drinking and washing water is fresh from the well. Take care to refill, do not top off. And please? Tell your friend to be nicer to these people if he wishes to come back for work next season. They are our guests. Aunt Cecily and I owe them our lives, besides."[/color] She fished out a silver coin and pressed it into the man's hand with a whisper of, [color=darkgray]"Thank you for helping us tonight. I know it's getting cold out there."[/color] 

	Lizbeth made the leap from bubbly teenage girl to Lady of the Manor very quickly, and returned equally as fast. She wandered over to the recovered weapons on the bar, taking stock of them. The daggers, she mostly passed over. She paused at the shortswords, one of which she was still wearing at her hip, and flexed a shortbow to test it. Then her eyes fell upon the spear and the whip. her fingers played across the haft of the first, but quickly moved on to the Constable's whip. She uncoiled it carefully and looked it up and down before carefully replacing it on the bartop. [color=darkgray]"I want to learn them all."[/color] she said aloud. No concern over who they had belonged to nor what they had been used for. By her tone, they were just the tools she needed to learn what she wanted. [color=darkgray]"And your sword, Miss Victoria! [i]And[/i] the big hammer! I'm not so strong, but if I train really hard with you all... Well, we have a winter, if you'll help me."[/color] How to fight, how to think on her feet, strategize, put a weapon into something standing before her - these thoughts burned in her eyes just as much as the flicker of firelight. Some unknown quality was motivating her. 
	
	She broke out of it quickly, remembering her duties. [color=darkgray]"Oh, I'm sorry!"[/color] she exclaimed. Lizbeth moved to fill water glasses and make sure soup was portioned. She garnished with a touch of fresh tarragon leaves and coarse salt, and poured glasses of wine all around. She giggled at Baronfjord's assessment of the wine on the table and nodded in agreement. It was indeed wine. It was white. And it was sweet. She also took Baronfjord's advice and set a place for herself at the table, complete with full settings and enough food to satisfy her fill. She only took a partial glass of wine, however, opting to mostly sip from a water glass.[color=darkgray]"Aunt Ceecee doesn't want me having but a little, until I'm older,"[/color] she confessed. 

	[color=darkgray]"Miss V is mostly right about the wine."[/color] Lizbeth announced, holding up a forkful of roasted pheasant. [color=darkgray]"It's the same sweet grape as our Honigblume, and it [i]was[/i] early season, so it's a lot drier. No blend, though. We were experimenting with aging it in polished stone rather than oak barrels, so it's pretty neutral, and we added chestnut staves halfway through to mellow the flavors. It didn't catch on enough to warrant the expense. We still do some like that for just us."[/color] She shrugged, and dug into the food in front of her. With her mouth partly full, she added, [color=darkgray]"That other taste in the wine? Grandpa said it comes from the land. Like the ground flavors the grapes. He said it doesn't happen anywhere else like that. It's why our wine is special."[/color]

	The laborer returned again, intoning that the water had been handled and that the containers had been wiped down with a stock wine prior to refilling, just in case. [color=darkgray]"Thank you!"[/color] Lizbeth said cheerily. The man departed, leaving the Coach House truly without presence aside from the party and their young host/guest. It seemed a little quieter within the taproom in the growing evening.

	Completely off topic and a little late to the discussion, Lizbeth curiously inquired, [color=darkgray]"Yeah. What [i]is[/i] a camel?"[/color]