A wave of sound and light rolled over the otherwise quiet street when the pub door opened for the first time. Adele turned to look and arched a brow at the following mercenary—from what she could hear of the party, it was way too early for drunks to be stumbling back to the barracks. With the fleeting light of the closing door surrounding the man, it was easy to pick him out as one of the older mercenaries. He also seemed to be among the more unique, what with the sun baked skin. He was unmistakably Ramzi, the Ramzi younger recruits like her never shut up about when the endless re-livings of Belencrest’s skirmishes with the greyskin barbarians were made around the table.

Wait! He started walking in her general direction. Pace? Leisurely. Purpose? Probably to head back to the barracks—at least until he decided to pop her inflated personal bubble and get right next to her. She could smell the stench of alcohol on him before he even opened his mouth to speak.

"Good evening. Why do you stand alone out here and not inside the Finnic, comrade?"

Her brain pulled a blank. In her mind, her intent had been obvious: she’d wanted to get away from smelly, noisy soldiers, and now he was ruining her perfect little cool-off spot. Had her sarcasm from earlier not given any hints as to how much she wanted to punch something? Only then did it occur to her that she’d been addressing no one in particular, and in the heat of the heavy drinking after Thorpe’s toast, it was likely that no one had heard her at all.

Adele’s shoulders twitched and the smallest sort came out. What amusing frustration she’d imposed on herself, feeling like she could toss cold water into a room full of fiery comradery. Perhaps it was best that no one had noticed her exit, or were at least feigning ignorance. She wasn’t in the mood for a lecture or pity talk.

“Some people have the ability to think whilst surrounded by merry-making. I lack that particular gift.” Adele’s gaze finally swiveled up to meet Ramzi’s and she felt a strange sort of satisfaction knowing the difference between eye-levels was miniscule. People could call her prissy if they liked, but she still had a stature that could compete with the other trained women of the White Guard.

Simple facts like that unfortunately weren’t capable of dispelling awkward silences. Her lips parted as her brain dug for something to add to her former statement; then she noticed Ramzi shivering. The night air [i]did[/i] lean towards the chilly side and the ghost-like street lamps weren’t really helping the atmosphere. Before she knew it, her arms were folded around her chest against the cold and the pub’s stone wall was that much more uncomfortable.

“Wow, it [i]is[/i] kind of cold out tonight, isn’t it?” When in doubt, always default to weather. Adele knew it was clichéd, still awkward, and poor excuse for conversation, but any sound at all to fill the silence building between her and the ‘old’ man was music to her ears.

How long was it now? Minutes? Seconds? [i]Another[/i] White Guard exited the tavern with the same pop of light and sound. [i]Oh no[/i]. Was he [i]waving[/i] at them? [i]You’re walking towards me. Crap. Stop walking. Now you’re waaaaay to close. Did you have to bring that booze with you? I swear, all of you are up to your eyes in that stuff. Do you have any idea how bad your breath is? You’re going to melt my face off![/i]. Adele’s arms tightened around her as she braced herself for Awkward Encounter II.

"I thought I was supposed to be the antisocial one at parties, I'd expect a young lass like you to be having a ball in there. You're Adele right?" That was [i]so[/i] Djonn, niggling a greener recruit with that dry humor. In all honesty, though, she couldn’t blame him—he did his job really, really well. She just tended to enjoy it more when someone else was getting the end of it.

After Djonn finished addressing Ramzi and offered out the snacks (which she would not have touched even if she’d been kept from food for days—maybe), Adele was quick to answer him blow for blow. “Yes, I’m Adele Brunsque. As it happens, the people back home have a different idea of what a party is. Just try to imagine a buffet table, some music, a sweet-smelling gentleman and some dancing—then you wouldn’t find me outside trying to catch a breath. You haven’t happened to see any gentlemen around these parts, have you?”

Whether or not Djonn’s reaction was worth his invasion fell beyond Adele’s attention span as the pub’s door opened. Again. Out came White Guard III, the bear with a mystery arm. She’d seen him around, just like the others, though his stature alone made him impossible to miss. While she’d learned to fear the vengeful stench of a man in armor at the end of a day, for some reason, Marcel was more tolerable. Probably due to the hair.

Since her little moment of solitude was already broken, she was out of complaints as Marcel joined them—until he reached for one of those [i]things[/i]. Yay for her—it was a beer-cabbage breath special tonight.

Marcel was in the middle of saying something, but her distracted brain got worse with the simultaneous entrance (or exit, rather) of another mercenary. [i]Forget pub bashes—this is a full-on family reunion. The party ends and they’re still talking. Am I going to have to sit through another war re-telling? Think of some excuse, Adele! You’re going to die here if you don’t leave! You’re going to die young and pretty and so full of regrets and these guys are still going to be chatting.[/i]

Was there a way to detach herself without being rude? Did she care about being rude at this point? Adele’s back began to sink down against the wall, only for her hand to relax [i]just[/i] enough to drop her notebook. She blinked and bent down to pick it up, only to notice a pair of boots that weren’t Ramzi’s. They had to belong to the last person exiting the pub, but… no way.

Those taut calves? It was so wrong, but what could she do besides follow the rest of the guy’s leg up to his face as she stood back up? Maybe it was because she’d just been socializing with two veterans, or maybe it was because she was feeling something other than frustration for the first time that evening, but this guy was something else. It wasn’t the leather armor (a common sight among mercenaries), but the way he wore it with that lanky, confident sort of gait. And that sash! Since when did anyone besides her have a fashion sense beyond armor practicality?

[i]He’s totally looking at me and I’m ogling! Crap! Play it smooth, Adele![/I] After all, it wasn’t like she hadn’t done this sort of thing before. At the academy, most particularly in the engineering department, she ran into guys [i]all the time[/i], even dated a few. She knew the look he was giving her and she knew how to start a recovery after that awkward little gawk session.

The trick was not to stare and not to shyly avert her gaze, either. She tilted her head slightly, meeting his gaze innocently and speaking with her eyes, “[i]Yeah, you’re not so bad, either.[/i].” Then she turned her head to pretend that she was listening to Djonn as he piped up again. She got the impression that he was saying something about being old again, but was a little bit distracted by the blue pair of eyes that made the cold suddenly not so cold.

Enter the what, seventh mercenary now? This was another of the interesting personalities she knew of among the mercenaries—the guy with the weird eye. She’d never asked him directly about the story there, but given the gristly condition of half his face, she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know. For all strange appearances, though, Zacharias was still quite the smooth one, diving into the conversation as casually as if he’d been standing there the whole time. He wasn’t going to get away with that one.

“Just to be clear here, not [i]everyone[/i] considers standing around guzzling ale a [i]party[/i]. I mean, seriously, when was the last time any of you danced with a girl?” Ooch, maybe she was starting off a bit too harsh. She softened her tone a bit before continuing. “Anyways, I’m also concerned about preparations. I haven’t been on caravan duty before and I’ve got [i]a lot[/i] to sort through as far as my weaponry is concerned.  How do these travel sessions even work? Do we just walk all day?”