"They're not real works," Neil whispered to Emmaline. She nearly choked on the mead halfway down her throat. 

The small band of bandits had found a table near the center of the left room, connected by a large opening to the wider right room where the hearth lay. A few men in hard leathers and armed like them have given them a few looks, ranging from suspicious to a jovial 'cheers.' Within a moment, Johann and his band were seated and mead and ale were swiftly granted to them. Emmaline said she wanted something sweet, and so mead it was. After Neil forked down some links of sausage, he leaned over, elbow on the table, and whispered to her. 

When she regained her dignity, coughing a couple of times, she whispered back hoarsely: "Who?" 

Neil nodded forward to the armed men across the floor. At her next unspoken question, he elaborated. "They're wearing their swords wrong. Any hard man would keep it in easy reach, and their armor looks castle-made in some places and scrap in others. And that one's helmet, see the ridge at the top? There was a plume there." 

"Their looters," She reasoned quickly, and Neil nodded. She liked to pretend she was clueless, but she was smart as a whip. Emmaline glanced at Neil, and he glanced back. Their faces were very close, and he gave her a wink. 

"Just keep your valuables close by," he said, and she planted a kiss on his cheek. 

Meanwhile, the rest of the gang had begun discussing the past few days, glad the hunger and thirst was over, but still demoralized by the lack of a good score. Neil caught some of it, and he could empathise. But sometimes one's life was good enough, at least for people not blessed by Ranald like he figured he was. How else could he and Emmaline still be alive after all the chaotic messes and near misses they had been through? 

"I'm tellin ya, all we need is some food and we can grab a prize tonight," Brandt said a bit too loudly. Neil glanced around, but luckily people were too spooked or too busy in their own conversations to really pay attention. Johann looked grim, looking at Brandt like he was asking him to sacrifice his first born child. 

"We just got in here, ya fool. You really want to sleep on the ground tonight? And on Hexennacht? You heard the woman." 

"Blind superstition!" Kurt said, banging his fist on the table hard enough to shake the silverware. "But gold is very real." 

"We thought the walking talking rats were fake too, didn't we?" Johann remarked, and for a second, no response was forthcoming. Neil thought that simple piece of logic was enough to turn the tide, but Gert spoke through a mouthful of mutton. 

"We can't get back in the city like this, boss." He reminded him, chewing loudly as he did so. "If we don't get a score, we'll be on the ground for another few weeks." 

Johann deflated at that, and Emmaline's eyes widened at the thought of not sleeping in a bed again. Neil steadied her, but before he could speak, Johann groaned loudly. "Fine, you bloody louts! We're going out, but if by morning we have nothing but sore backs, I'm gutting everyone of ya and finding a new band." He warned. Neil doubted he meant it, but one could never tell with bandits. A few glanced at Neil and Emmaline, who had been just whispering to one another, and by their looks it was clear the two of them were expected to follow. 

Emmaline's head fell into her arms, crossed atop the table, hiding her face behind flesh and her waves of blonde hair. Neil rubbed her back, sympathy on his face. "Hey, you can sleep ontop of me, babe." He told her.