Names Have Power (Irena)

[Elen]

30th of Glade, 121

The stars weren't out. It had been raining, and the air smelled of treachery. Elen Mel-Amarthan had even witnessed part of it- men and women scrambling in the earlier parts of the day to run from the police who shot them down with tasers and shouted for them to drop their stolen goods. Part of her was saddened by the lives they must have lead to commit such acts, but the other part of her- the storyteller, the chronicler- was excited by it. Not so much about the burning of their bodies that would happen the following day, but of the tales she could tell. And hopefully, the lives she could save in the future by warning people that actions had consequences; especially in a city such as this.

And she was no different. Unfortunately, it also meant that upon her arrival, she was subjected to a heavy search. No magic this, no magic that, a sneer and a scowl, all but a kick to the face was given to Elen before she passed through the gates and allowed passage into the city. It wasn't like she hadn't been prepared, though the brash treatment of her belongings is what had initially set her off. The guards had rummaged through her things as if she were a criminal, and flat out refused to give her any information on how to acquire a permit for her magic.

Not that she cared. If the stars had led her here, it meant she'd follow the path they set for her. And currently that path meant a back alley street towards a tiny, run down pub with more rats than people. Pushing the rickety door open, the first thing she found herself experiencing was the god awful stench of piss. Or was that ale? Perhaps both. No, definitely both. The leucistic girls nose scrunched as she peered around the bar already rowdy with patrons half clothed and half conscious. It was small, dark, multiple broken candles upon each table and only a single set of lights dangling by poorly organized wires hung from the ceiling lighting the space.

But there were smiles. Smiles unbecoming of people who were likely spending their food and rent money on booze, which meant there were certainly stories here. And given her lack of ability to do masquerade magic inside these walls, the next best option was listening. And getting uncomfortably close to anyone interesting.

So with her own cheerful smile the starlight girl sauntered over the counter where a burly human man, was sliding a pitcher of ale down to a customer. As he straightened up, he eyed her first with interest. Then disgust. His unkempt, scraggly bearded face contorted and showed off the life he'd fallen in to. Scars, skin damage from working near pipes most likely, all scattered his face like a map of hardship. But he was muscular. Something he clearly used to his own advantage as he towered over the much shorter elven girl and leaned forward with a scoff.

"I don't serve elvish whores, least of all magic-scum like you!" He nearly shouted, drawing attention from the entire line of people to her left.

Elen's brow twitched. What was it with bars and whores recently?

"Well luckily for you I'm not-"

"I said I don't host yer kind, now beat it!" The man spat at her, the glob of his mouth-waste landing just in front of her on the counter. She would have vomited if she'd been any other lady, but as for Elen she'd smelled and seen much worse on her trip. Not that he didn't stack up with the worst of them.

"And I said I'm not here to whore! Now pass me some ale, the more I drink the faster I'll leave." She was quick witted, that's for sure, though perhaps a bit too much so for a Siltori inside a human-run bar in one of the more conservative, racist parts of the city. She had of course heard of the struggles elves and such had to face in the city, especially those with runes such as her own,

The man just sighed. "Fine. But you're paying double." The man said, to which Elen shrugged, sitting at one of the empty chairs and snatching the ale that was slid her way. Tossing the proper coin back at him, she relaxed into the corner of the room and let out a long sigh. The rest of her mind quieted. She closed her eyes. Her ears stilled as she let the noises and voices in the room fill her senses and in a practiced perfection filtered through them, listening to each one individually and yet together.

'Now, let's see who's got an interesting story tonight.'

[Irena]

The Smiling Rat Tavern

30th of Glade, 121

"You wound me," Irena leaned back from his seat, faced adopted a mock-theatric grimace, "Stannis, surely you jest? I only ask for a sip."

A man sat across from Irena. In his late forties and clearly done with the femme across the table from him, he let out an annoyed groan. A meaty fist rested on his forehead as he wiped the greasy sweat from his brow. It had clearly been a long day laboring, and he was on the very edge of his rope dealing with Irena. Such a reality was worn on his face, clear as day, brows furrowed into a glare. Between the two, the subject of this strange commotion sat: two mugs of ale, one half-empty, and the other full to the brim.

"Didn't realize rock bottom had a basement," The low bassy rumble of Stannis' voice matched his expression, nearly pissed, "Y'got your whole life to be a rat-faced whore. Why don't y'take this one day off, eh?"

"Must you play so hard to get, Stannis?" Irena sighed as he rose to a stand, legs stretched as he brushed the side of his nose with his thumb, "You already play the role of hard to want so well, as it stands."

A faltered expression. Stannis' tired demeanor, which slowly shifted towards anger, seemed to freeze. One could almost hear the grinding of teeth at the back of his mouth. Irena skated on thin ice, that much was obvious by the way Stannis balled his fists at his side. Not enough drink to loosen his inhibitions, but not enough to even put his mind off of it. Most of the man's problems were both caused, and fixed by the ambrosia which swirled within that mug, though most of it had been watered down; still an effective mind-number.

"Least my bed aren't filled with filth and foul disease." Stannis turned his attention to the mug as he took a deep sip, as he quaffed down that rotgut through that partially ruined throat.

Finally left your wife, did you?

Irena's mouth didn't even budge. There was a distinctive risk with that statement. The urge to say it rose though, as Stannis continued his drink, as though he had gotten the final word in this crusty battle of words. But, Irena knew that Stannis' wife was, indeed, working the brothel to help make ends meet. Insulting someone's lover, their livelihood, or their proclivities? Singularly, they could crafted into something that led into banter. One or more mixed with another? That was a recipe for a bar brawl waiting to happen.

The languid pull back from the table was reluctant. Grey eyes slowly slid across the room, barely enough light to make out the shadowy figures at the very fringes of this 'fine' establishment. A furrow of the brow. Faces seemed familiar near the front, and that's where Irena's eyes first shifted. A slight hiss inward as he noticed the state of those 'familiar' folk, though. Drunk. Not in the fun kind of way. Bodies nearly unconscious. Some sobbed, some laughed as they puked, while the odd few were boiled over in complete rage over nothing good.

Something even remotely close to a goodbye couldn't even be mustered towards Stannis. It was clear that a free drink wasn't in the cards anymore. Whatever possessed the older man's fancy had clearly ran dry. Perhaps, in the dimly lit chamber of the bar's interior, things simply behaved different. Among the glittering shards of glass upon the floor, to the hushed murmurs and exchanges of strange satchels, this was a far cry from someplace one could simply fully relax, though the promise of alcohol was plenty for some.

There was still the bartender.

A slow turn of the heels. The glass underfoot ground into a fine dust, as attention shifted to the side. There was a man who gruffed out words at a snow white woman at the counter. A slow blink was given, through grey eyes. Irena knew better than to get between the barkeep and whatever it was that caught his ire. No better way to get cut off from drinks. So, he merely waited for a moment as he pieced together some kind of game plan. Being frugal with farthings was the last thing he wanted to be in his life, but one never knew what was around the bend.

This one wasn't someone that Irena recalled. Short tempered, scarred, ill-kept beard. This wouldn't be that hard of a target, when it came to getting into character at least. A slow breath escaped Irena's lips, as he brushed his hair back, steps put forward. There was no time like the present, and perhaps this could be used to his advantage? Once the talk settled, it might be easier to... Blow off steam.

"And what might a fine la-" Irena attempted to speak, as he settled down on a barstool next to Elen, his elbow propped on the counter as he spoke to the bartender.

"No." Came the swift answer, grumbled between cracked lips, the bartender barely even casted a glance in his direction.

"At least give me a shot, yeah?" Irena groaned as he leaned back against the barstool, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, "Didn't even hear me out."

"Y'er shots don't pay my bills." Came the rumbled response, as the bartender's attention slid towards customers who had intentions of paying for his services.

A huff escaped Irena's lips. Eyes fluttered for a moment, before his shoulders rolled, the joints popped within moments. Perhaps it was for the best. Usually the hardest parts of what he got paid for came when he was nearly drunk off his arse. Nothing wrong with being sober for a few weeks straight. But one thing was being made quite clear: that sobriety? Boring. It was like the folk that had some sense of livelihood were elsewhere this season. The blood ran melancholic instead of sanguine.

"Can you believe this? It's like the guardsmen's tower or something." Irena grumbled in Elen's direction as he folded one leg over the other, head kept balanced upright with just a single palm and elbow upon the bar, "Man's got a metal rod up his arse. No fun."

[Elen]

30th of Glade, 121

The stench of piss seemed stronger than the jests and jeers of the patrons, unfortunately. It made drinking whatever it was in her pint a bit difficult, and keeping up appearances was all part of her gig. Should she waver and simply sit alone, it meant the horny and the desperate would approach. Not that she couldn’t handle herself, but more that she was hungry for a story. For conversation. For something more than just cocks and tits- after all she’d had her fill of that in Kalzasi.

And it seemed luck was on her side; someone was working the room for free drinks. Pale ears twitched at the commotion as her eyes fluttered open to point at the source of such desperation. Across the way sat the couple. One gruff, well worked man with a voice that held the texture of gravel and one lovely, feminine individual whose appearance struk Elen as odd. Not that femininity upon a man was odd to her, rather that they seemed drastically out of place among such undignified folk. She wondered, if she dressed the femme in something more regal would they be mistaken for a noble?

Probably. And what a hoot of a story that would be.

A coy smile played at Elen’s lips as the daydream got the better of her. She was only pulled from her thoughts of the raven haired individual in a ballgown when that same human in question had slid themselves upon the seat next to her.

Her brow raised as she took a small sip of the pint. Truly, she’d have preferred a cocktail, but she had already pressed her luck with the ale. And it seemed her new bar-mate was just the same as he attempted to flirt with a man clearly bent on staying upset. But much like she suspected, the lad was turned down and nearly booted the same as she was.

A chortle erupted from the girl's throat as he spoke to her, nearly blowing bubbles in the stein pressed to her lips.

“I think he’d learn to learn to loosen up a little if he did have a rod up there.” She said, an eyebrow cocking in the bartenders direction.

Closeted. She decided, watching his expression falter from stern to defiantly-embarrassed with a huff as he turned his back from them. Likely to avoid further confirmation.

“Trust me, it’s a fun time, really loosens up the hips!” Elen called to him in jest as she placed the mug in front of her. There were more interesting people than the bartender though, and with an apt expression turned on the stool to face him. Now closer, she could make out the feminine features even better. How his jawline curved like the crescents of the moon, soft and yet defined, how his hair flowed like a silken river and only hinted at the barest of cool tones in the broken lights of the bar. Together, his feminine features and unique gestures painted a lovely, exquisite individual.

Perhaps any other person might have averted their strong gaze or at least said hello before appraising another, but not Elen. She didn’t look just at his features but how he held himself, and such things could only be studied with unblinking, lavender eyes.

As she looked him over her smile only grew wider in one corner. Eventually she nodded with approval to herself and her grin spread to both corners and lifted pale cheeks to flush in excitement. He reeked of mystery. Of something more curious than the day to day toil the others in the bar possessed.

Of course, she’d never ask for information freely. Not after she knew exactly how to win him over. With a wave of her hand she pulled the double-payment out from the coinpurse on her hip, and gestured with a knowing glint in her eye to the bartender.

The man sighed as his peripherals caught the shimmer of coin in the air. And unable to pass up extra income, walked over and snatched it from the girls hand none too gently.

“I’ll pay for their drink tonight, so don’t be too hard on us, yeah? We’re too pretty to walk out of here dry.” Elen winked at the man, drawing another groan as he turned from them both.

“What’ll it be, then?” He asked from over his shoulder, waiting for the answer before pouring the requested drink and sliding it over to him. As he did, Elen leaned on the bar with one elbow and with that same unblinking, assertive stare, parted her lips to converse with the curious man in front of her.

“So, what's your name, and what is it that brings you here tonight?”

[Irena]

The Smiling Rat Tavern

30th of Glade, 121

When one starts experiencing human bodies at their worst, the functions of it that many find disgusting often bleed into a soft numbness. The disgust is there, in some part, something that lingered in the back of one's mind. A primal response was often what remained, and when reduced down to it, some things became easier to handle than others. Rancid smells, like that in this tavern, were something that Irena had merely become accustomed to. It was either a sign of life, or one that had long since passed. Whatever the case, still human.

Irena's response was null. There was no curling of the nose, no furrowed brow, not attempts at breath through the lips rather than nostrils. A few hours in places like these, and the senses just surrender the attempt at warning that the surroundings were covered in some degree of filth. The drunkards here weren't going anywhere, and with them, their smells were going to remain. Despite the young femme's laissez faire reactions though, one could spot the idle glances to the side. A hint, perhaps, that his guard was not entirely as lowered as one would guess.

"Nay, don't think he would. Looks like a fella that would be more at home clubbing folk to half to death in a fighting ring." The admission came smooth, paired with the slow rise of the shoulders.

A pale hand slowly raised and brushed a particularly annoying swathe of hair back over his shoulder. Usually when one lived in squalor, hair became far more of a liability than one could afford. Pests could make their abodes upon it, or worse. And yet, here he was, with hair that nearly went down to his lower back. The mint oils used upon it, however, were lost in the miasma of smells that surrounded the two. If the air were perhaps cleaner, there would be some room for it. But such things are luxuries, when this far in the bad parts of the city.

"Loosens the hips? Makes it hard to sit." A chortle slyly left Irena's lips, silver eyes rolled as the subject even crossed his mind, "Pain in the arse, more ways than one. Good pay, though."

The shame attached to the sale of such services was lost as it left Irena's lips. His expression went unchanged from its mildly jovial ease, hands idly made a gesture, oddly engaged in the conversation though it had just begun. In truth, Irena was too accustomed to this life. As early as he could remember, his life revolved around the attempt at making some form of stability in this strange, uneasy life. A manner of doing such often implied the use of things that weren't necessarily useful. Things that people more possessed of propriety would find scandalous.

"Free drinks then, aye? Sure. Can't see why not. Thank you kindly." Irena's eyes slid to the side, towards Elen as he spoke.

At first, some of the patrons cast uneasy glances towards the duo. And yet, much unlike if this were done with any other person, rather than turn to disgust, most of those faces slid into mild amusement. Irena had a bit of a reputation. One that often implied getting his ass handed too him, usually verbally, when he played his luck. Speaking to those that didn't necessarily align with the common clay of Zaichaer was something to be expected. It was as though he was slowly being shaped into a cautionary tale by most of those that stuck around him.

"Name's Irena. Not fancy enough to have a last one." Irena chuckled out in response to the question, as a slow roll of the shoulders soon followed and his slight lean to the side, onto the counter, "Well, I'm here like everyone else. Get a drink, try not to get stabbed, and hopefully make it home with my things where I left it."

A brow couldn't help but be raised, though. There was only so much playing it cool could cover. It was obvious just by the way that Irena glanced across Elen, that her kind wasn't often seen by this person. It was almost as though the reality of such a thing was finally caught up in the femme's mind. It wasn't anger, at the very least. It was more of a confused expression that painted his face, as though wordlessly, a similar question was about to be posited towards the ethereal woman. There were quite a bit of questions that flowed through Irena's mind.

How the feck do you stand in the sun? —Should the first question really be about how pale she is?

You on the run from something? —That doesn't seem like a smart thing to ask, not in the slightest.

Are those eyes real? —No shite they're real, Irena.

"What brought you here, then? This isn't really the best of places if you're trying to find work. Lest you enjoy the dregs." Irena settled upon, eyes flicked to the side once more, in some attempt at making sure no one got too close to slide a finger into a pocket, "Isn't a real good place to visit, either."

Though it wasn't a lie that his name was Irena, there was a twinge at the back of his neck each time he admitted it. It wasn't necessarily something that was truly confirmed, but it was the closest he got to one. It was the one that he signed on the census to be an official citizen, the name that his taxes were under— what taxes he paid. But there was the reality that was no real confirmation that it was who he really was. Surely there was a birth registrar that had his name as something, but that was lost to the ages, or even not at all recorded.

Close enough. Irena decided, perhaps the second time this very day that he came across this thought. It was easier to just not think about it, but it had been a bother to him ever since he had to come up with an identity to be legally recognized. Else, there would be very few places that would take in someone without a state attached to their name. Even refugees had an origin point.

[Elen]

Truth be told Elen hadn't been to a pub like this since early Frost. Not that places such as this were hard to come by, in fact were common in a life as dynamic as Elen's. But unlike the others she’d visited last season the Smiling Rat Tavern had a much more interesting lot.

Sorrow and hardship bled off the auras of the patrons in the room, and it didn’t take semblance magic to notice the protective hunch of their shoulders. Or how their eyes would shift from side to side every few seconds as if expecting a theft. Mostly, though, the stench of suffering wafted through the air in the form of unbrushed teeth, unwashed hair, and likely infected skin. It was just one of those byproducts of a tormented life.

If you were to ask the young woman where she'd gotten such a joyful, fearless expression even while surrounded by those who would rather see her dead or lying beneath their pelvis, you'd get a simple shrug as a response. Perhaps even a short "No use worrying" exclamation. And while that may have been true for the girl, more honest than that was the simple fact that she preferred to tell the tales of others, and not of herself.

Expressions can tell more of a story than words ever could. It was for this reason that gazing upon Elen was like gazing upon a placid moonlit lake under a clear sky. Her presence was calming, and yet somehow just as enchanting and mysterious as whatever else lay beneath the waters.

The girl tucked a strand of hair behind her ear yet again before giving in to the mess and beginning to tie back the lot of her waist-length hair. A few motions later, it sat in a loose ponytail behind her as her hand reached forward to clasp the stein between delicate fingers in fluid movements.

With a short smirk Elen shrugged and sat back into her chair, lavender eyes scanning the person in front of her. “Well then, it’s nice to meet you Irena.”

It didn’t strike her as odd that the man didn’t have a last name. In all her travels, Elen had come across more oddities than ‘normal’ people. In fact if she had to guess she’d say that normalcy was a fraudulent term, or at least one that she hadn’t ever understood. To be normal was to conform to the standard of what one was around, but if that standard changed based on one's life, then was normal even a word worth using?

Elen chuckled at his response, swirling her beer around with a circular motion before taking a swig with a brief grunt in agreement.

But her eyes never left the man. He was an odd sort, after all. Unlike the rest of the room, his hair was well groomed, skin not all together unhealthy, and eyes glimmering with an interest and questions that only those with hope in their future seemed to have- and the rest of the tavern had all but given up on their lives.

It meant this person not only had stories to tell, but had stories to make.

A knowing smirk pulled at the right corner of Elen’s lip, of which she made no movement to hide. The best stories had not been lived yet, after all.

The girl shifted in the wobbling, definitely-about-to-break wooden chair and set the stein down in front of her. Though her hand didn’t leave, it lingered as she let one finger trace the rim like a wine glass. “Just passing through, I’m a storyteller.” She said, the fluting of her voice nearly singing as she spoke the last words while she flicked her eyes around the room with a smile. They traced the simple architecture, admiring each knick in the wood and broken nail jutting out from the beams above.

“This building has character. It’s not kind, it’s not elegant. But it tells a story.” As excitement took over her mind it seeped into her eyes in the form of a light glow. The lavender in her eyes shimmering with her Siltori heritage. “Like this chair.” She said, wiggling her rear to demonstrate the uneven legs and creak of loose bolts. “Who’s sat here? Why? What object was used to break the leg, and who reattached it? What happened to make it so wobbly, was it an altercation or perhaps a romp?” The girls fingers reached forward to trace along a splotch of darkened wood. “And this counter, the old blood that has seeped into the wood, the knife marks and dents into the wood that could only have been made from someone who wanted to make a point- why? When? Who?”

She sat back and smiled as the questions reeled in her mind. This was her element- the why. So many endless possibilities.

“And among all the character and history of this tavern are its people. Like you.” Her eyes pierced his, glowing with interest mirrored in her toothy grin as she leaned forward to study his skin and hair closer, now only mere inches from him. “You don’t match, and yet you do. Your hair and skin are clearly well taken care of, and you dress boldly for someone in a bar surrounded by brown and black and suffering. But you move around the bar like you could do so without your eyes open, like you know it better than the back of your hand. Which means you’re a regular even if you don’t look like one. You’re fascinating.”

[Irena]

The Smiling Rat Tavern

30th of Glade, 121

Irena's eyes slid to the side, as Elen spoke. There was a great many truths to her words. Life pushed forward, and that meant everything else was pressed beneath the waves of time. This was a place that was just as storied as any other. While the future of the world was decided in statehouses and grand debates, there were stories here that posed different paths. Thousands of lives died in the clearings of the land, but those were quick jolts in the rivers of time. Here, there was a decidedly lesser amount, but surely there were even, if not more, lives spent within the walls of this place.

A drunkard hardly kept his drink down. She barely managed to keep herself steady upon the stool in which she sat, illness encroached upon her. To keep the bile down, she had devolved into carefully placed breaths, hidden behind the shivers of her body. The rags that clung to her form obscured her, with only the aged wrinkles upon her face and the cloudy layer upon her retinas visible. Her story was unknown. For all Irena knew, that person could have been someone great, cast aside by the newer generation. The holdover, or perhaps the unfortunate side effect of time's progress.

Elen's direct examples resounded such a sentiment. Indeed, the marks of history scarred themselves upon the wood panels, upon the kicked up stone. Carvings upon the counter, the splintered wood that lay just off to the side of the two. There was indeed a living history that seemed to lay about, for the discerning eye to finally commune with them. It was unsettling, to Irena. Though he blinked slowly, a look of vague understanding plastered upon that pale face, he couldn't shake the uncanny sensation that had budded within. Perhaps there would be something to learn from all this?

Irena knew better than to allow such a thing to bubble to the surface. Instead, his expression remained as it was, on the edge of joviality. Vulnerability in a place like this, indecision, was a bad move.

"That thing's probably soaked up so much bile and nastiness that I wouldn't even think about sitting on it." Irena chuckled, eyes rolled as he gave a slow shrug of the shoulders when the subject of the chair is brought up, "Folk are more likely to get ill or lose control of their faculties when taken so far by the drink."

Thankfully, Irena had an iron stomach for these sorts of things. So what, if a chair was dirty? Dirt could be washed off. As far as Irena was concerned, so long as filth stayed on the outside of the body, it was something that was a mere annoyance at best. Bodies in varying amounts of trauma tended to not care much for propriety. The smells of this place, even after the borderline satirical statement that left his lips, seemed to not even affect him. It was a mere part of life. A fixture of the ecosystem that had became just second nature to Irena, even with the new insight offered by Elen.

"I tend to make sure that the water I bring home is enough to dampen a few rags. The trade I've taken for myself allows for the occasional trip to the bathhouse." Irena answered honestly, in that regard, though he stretched out his limbs and was careful with his wording, he found no point in lying to a foreigner, "If you had found me some time earlier, it would be another story entirely."

Irena allowed Elen to do whatever it was that she pleased. He didn't have a sense for personal space, though he never invaded another's. The closeness would allow Elen to see that while the skin was maintained, it was notably dry. The smell of this place had begun to sink into the fabric by now, so the smell wasn't as good as perhaps expected. Though he was clean, as far as a place like this was concerned, he was most definitely touched by prolong existence here. He lacked the finer oils and balms of a wealthy person, making up for it only in cleanliness and a lack of scarring.

In a place like this, it would be quite questionable how long that would remain. Scars were never voluntary, after all. Irena's form, even from here, didn't look particularly apt when it came to matters of combat. It was unlikely there was any kind of magical interference either, given where the two made their presence known. All it would take is one wrong day, for someone entirely unrelated to Irena, and this semblance would be shattered. In truth, he had only made it this far like this on luck. He had unseen stretch marks upon his body, where Elen's eyes would not tread easily in the slightest.

"I've lived here all my life. Walk around here like I know what I'm doing, because you get that way when you're born here." A slow shrug of the shoulders is offered, before he let out a chuckle, eyes shift towards Elen, "I'm sure from whatever lands you come from, you could walk the shops and taverns with ease as well. Unless there isn't such a place left."

There was talk about fascination. A slight chill traveled down the spine. The last time Irena heard that phrase was in relation to a particularly nosy lawman. While surely, at least as far as Irena was concerned, that specific situation was handled, it was enough to make the icy sensation slide down his back. The subject was soon changed.

"And what brings you, a storyteller, to these parts? Surely the stories of a slum hardly make for decent material for patrons that pay well." A slight raise of the lip, into a mild smirk, "Surely there's something that brought you to someplace so dangerous?"

[Elen]

Watching Irena was like watching the page of a previously read book flip. At first you think you know what the next page holds, that the words should follow a certain pattern and cadence like a dance you'd been practicing. But then you found out that you've grabbed the wrong book, or the music you're to dance to has changed. In that way, Irena was different. The usual surprise to the eyes and confusion, sometimes annoyance, of those who spoke with Elen did not appear on his face. Instead it remained as it had been.

But someone had to wear surprise, and this time it was her. Her brows shot up and a smile took over her lips that let out a soft, amused inflection. How strange, how interesting, how completely novel. She was used to people brushing her aside if they weren't interested, or men leaning in and trying to change the subject. But lack of reactions entirely? Almost forcefully so, now that was interesting.

Elen laughed at his quip, though. "Aye, probably, then again I doubt any surface of this place is any less than fifty percent up-chuck." A toothy grin settled upon her face as she sat back and removed herself from the personal bubble of Irena. "Makes sense, though. You don't come to a place like this to savor just one drink. Especially when half of them end up spilled or thrown." It wasn't hard to tell that much of the establishments unique decor was crafted by drunken fights, she figured as she glanced around the room once more before returning to the very chairs they sat in.

It was rather horrible to think about- the seats they found themselves in likely having been used as a toilet at one point or another, too, but some things you just gotta pretend don't exist in order to function.

Elen's gaze sat on Irena once more as she picked her stein off the table and let a swig run down her throat. "Ooo, bathhouse? Now aren't you a fancy one~" She nearly sang it with a wiggle of her brow. That at least let on why his skin was so well maintained, at least in comparison to those around her. And while dry it was void of any horrible blemishes or the corruption of a bad diet. Which meant he either ate well, or had lucky genetics.

Taking another few gulps of her beer, she listened to his story intently. Ah, the good part. Just a hint perhaps but it was a start. After all sometimes it took days or weeks to work out the meaty bits of peoples lives. And Elen had always been patient, learned how to get what she needed with simple conversation. In many ways she knew, too, that she was a strange looking girl and in any chance she got used that to her advantage. Never to harm, of course, but much like tonight it had been used to gain the attention she desired. So long as she kept it, the words would continue flowing.

The smile had not left her face, though it did deepen. "I do not come from any one land, I am a traveler. Like my family had been. During the day my home is under the sun and at night I find my peace under the moon. I have slept on mountains and made camp at the shores of Lake Udori. But I prefer the change of scenery, too much of the same thing tends to bore me." Elen shrugged and gulped down the rest of her ale with a few hard chugs before letting out a well satisfied sigh.

"I don't think this place is all that dangerous." She said, chuckling a bit. Not so much as the wild boars had been. Or the enchanted forests who seemed to have minds of their own, and likely did. No, mortals like those in this tavern were far less dangerous than any place she'd been. Though, she'd admit, not being allowed to use magic as her defense definitely put her at a slight disadvantage.

"But, I don't make plans. I let the stars tell me where to go and they lead me here." Her eyes were hazy with affection for the very stars. The previous week she'd asked where to go, how she should proceed now that Kalzasi had been behind her. Her answer had come in the form of a shooting star mere seconds after her question had been asked. As it fell her eyes had followed it until it touched the horizon over Zaichaer. The decision had been made, and as fate and luck would have it she'd been able to snag a ride on a trade route as well for the simple exchange of company with the driver. He'd absolutely loved her stories, thankfully.

"So I'm not quite sure what I'll do now that I'm in town, but they wanted me here so, here I am!" She wasn't one to talk about herself much but it usually helped open others up at least. "So, perhaps you're my fated encounter. Or it could be the king, or another shop owner. Or it could be an animal! Who knows, but only one way to find out." With a brush of a strand of hair behind her ear she leaned her elbow down on the table.

But enough about her. She'd come here for Irena- well, not him specifically, but then again not not him specifically either. "You ever been outside the city?"