[color=ed1c24][h1][u][center]Fiona Grear[/center][/u][/h1][/color]

Fiona was not half asleep on her feet; to suggest such a thing would be a gross dereliction of duty. What duty, one might ask? She hadn't been given one, but surely being almost comatose would be frowned upon. Ever a 'half mug of ale' kind of girl, she preferred to look at herself as "half awake". Semantics at the end of the day, but those were for engineers to fuss over, not her.

With hope, the boisterous gentleman that approached her then wouldn't take offense to her languid demeanor. Eyes lidded, staring more through than at him, she likely didn't come across as keen on any speech. Indeed, she held a finger up, covered her mouth, then leaned back, spine popping audibly. With a slight shudder she rolled her shoulders and flashed a lazy smile. [color=ed1c24]"I cannae admit I had a clue what this was for."[/color] Except she did know, she had likely been told prior to settling in for the night upon arrival. In one ear and out the other. Were someone to blow into the left, they'd likely hear a whistling from her right. 

With all the fervor of a melting glacier, Fiona tried to make herself a bit more presentable. After all, the Prince himself was to appear! A fact that her sleep addled mind didn't quite appreciate, as evident by her casual pace. She tugged at her gloves, removing one to shake out... Was that a cricket? Her fingers combed through her hair again, catching on a knot which came free with a few muttered curses. Her clothes were... Fine. A bit dirty, clearly rumpled, and obviously not armor, something she could remedy later. After all, it wasn't as though a farmhand had much coinage to go around and buy suits of mail with. What little armor she had worn before as a militia member had been hand-me-down, shared between herself and two other people of similar build. Her clothing stank, probably, but at least it was her own stink she was smelling. While she was nose blind to it, other people around her were likely less fortunate.

Another yawn into her palm, a rub of the eyes. Fiona smacked her lips as she stood on one foot, scratching her calf with the other, then gave her head a shake. [color=ed1c24]"Ah ken they've got ale somewhere..."[/color] she grumbled, smacking her cheeks audibly, then wriggling her nose. Would the guard-man-person know where she might find some? Would it be improper for her to drink while the Prince was in attendance? Even her limited courtly manners - she had none, told her that would be a poor showing.

[color=ed1c24]"Bastarts... Not leaving anything out for us..."[/color]