[i]Current Threat Assessment of Target: S/A
Ranking top of cleverness index, deep into advanced planning. Current assumption is that all possible-to-likely responses will be accounted for to a level of depth reaching 3 stages.
Favored protocol advises stealth entrance. Confession: personal bias. Hate this city, do not wish to be seen.
Target too likely aware of this, inadvisable. Though note for future: sweep outer walls of Vespergift before final departure to check for signs of tampering.
Data gathering. 
Believe I am being herded through the most traceable entrance with the largest total defensive and deceptive options for Target.
But noting for posterity: I accept this and choose the path of my own free will.[/i]

She will not put it in her notes even under threat of death, but the deepest truth of the matter is that it has been, uh...

Eclair tries to work her way through the reckoning. When that fails she turns to dirty math. Twenty four plus... twelve? Fourteen? Error. She resorts to counting on her fingers, and it takes her four hands' worth to realize she is looping rather than incrementing. Never mind a number, then. It has been an unacceptably long time since she last took in any form of sustenance. 

[i]Personal addendum: this place is smaller in person than in my memories. I can no longer find it within myself to be mad.[/i]

The Marché Couvert, therefore. It is cramped and crowded enough to oblige Eclair to shuffle through what passes for streets here in side profile. Even still the sword at her hip manages to jab a youth in the back and she is further obliged to apologize to occupy a hand holding it in place against her thigh to keep anything from causing further harm or distress. 

Her neck cranes automatically upward, pulled toward the higher labyrinths by the deep and long buried muscle memory that also wraps her tail like a belt around her waist in the same motion. She navigates the pathways in front of her via the ones above, only occasionally glancing down to track the crowds. Despite how many souls there are milling about, it is quiet here. The people of Vespergift know better than to excite the forest.

Eclair makes minimal effort (which is different from zero effort) to look for carrot orange curls or the black and white of a fellow maid. She works slightly harder to pick out any recent markings from attempts at skateboarding or parkour in this city that was practically built begging to be climbed, but these are likewise secondary concerns. There was frankly no concern to apprehend Timtam and no desire to speak with her even until she's put eyes on the display of Sayanastia and confirmed the presence (current or former) of the note she saw in that tablet painting. Any traps or lures encountered prior to that would have to content themselves with springing all on their own. She would not give them the satisfaction of consideration.

Even this is all background noise compared with the hunt for the titan of her childhood. A cafe she used to pine after, used to dream of dining at just a single time as the highest ambition of her tiny Avel life. It's nearer to the walls than most reputable establishments tend to be, but the smell of their ingredients was always so potent she'd just assumed it had to be the best anywhere in all of Thellamie. Even now she idly wonders if it might be worthy of a new conquest for the Manor.

Finally, her feet stop supporting her weight. She settles into a chair. Of course it's still there. From the looks of things, the same staff. Did you expect otherwise? Who could imagine any shop or dwelling collapsing on the [i]ground level?[/i] That's like thinking Princess Heron could lose a duel. Absurd. Just the height of absurdity. 

"Pain au chocolat," the first words out of her mouth since her collapse are strained but satisfyingly clear. She does not look up from her notebook, "With three eggs prepared to the chef's preference. I will also require a cup of tea. Black, steeped for two and a half minutes in water poured just before boiling. Place a serving of blackcurrant jam on the right side of the cup, thank you."