Sarel didn’t like the attention he was receiving. The Bosmer asked questions while everyone else was still curious about the robbing. Things became rather uncomfortable at the Inn rather quickly, and Sarel questioned why he didn’t just take his drink upstairs with him. He knew he’d have to put a quick end to it. There were few options, and most required serious risk. 

​“Sotha Sil, at your service madame.” Sarel answered sarcastically. His defenses were fractured by his recent intoxication and he hadn’t the time for wit, so he settled for barbaric backtalk. He was still mostly unsure how he would deal with this situation, he would need to roll with the punches. Sarel grabbed a small metal case from his bag and opened the top. He took a pinch of the Balmora Blue tobacco and stuffed into the bone pipe. It had stripes of black in places on the ivory bowl while the ebony mouthpiece was adorned with the impression of Boethiah. 

​“I must say, my dear girl, I’m finding this entire exchange to be already tiresome. I do appreciate your help, don’t mistake me.”

Sarel lifted the pipe from the table and brought it to his mouth. He created a tiny ball of fire in his palm and lifted it to the pipe’s bowl. He inhaled and lit the tobacco mixture, allowing the fire ball to evaporate once the pipe was smoking. He took a few puffs and let the smoke drift from his mouth up to his eyes. The smoke was sweet and yet pungent, and was oddly tinted blue. Sarel eyed the girl for the small silence. Crimson piercing through smoke, Sarel realized where he wanted this encounter to lead. 

The scent of the pipe's smoke was sickening to Ilta. It was sickly sweet, yet it had a unpleasant odour to it that made her eyes water. She watched the blue clouds waft upwards in the silence, watched them swirl and blend with eachother until they dissipated into thin air.

​“I do, however, realize how important it is for me to respond to your curiosity. I don’t care what your disposition is, or where your allegiances lie, I am not subject to your morality.”

Sarel set himself forward, shifting his 180 pound frame into an imposing, confrontational, position. Sarel cast a telekinesis spell on the chair and slammed it forward onto all of it’s legs. The shock from how quickly the chair fell was enough to draw a few glances, but mostly they just returned to their drinks. Sarel couldn’t tell what the Bosmer thought of it. He was putting on a show, all he wanted to do was drink in peace. He couldn’t tell if he was threatening, but he sure did try. 

​“I am not a man to be triffled with, girl. At one time I would have thanked you for such righteousness. Unluckily for you I’m half a century away from that life.” Sarel made sure he was very close to the girl’s face then. He puffed his pipe, “Do you understand? I want you to walk away now.”

Ilta had no problems listening to the older man's claims of not wishing for her curiosity or kindness, but it was the moment that magic was used to intimidate her that she could not stand. The Bosmer rose from the chair and slammed her hands down onto the table, shaking the fragile structure. The Dunmer was acting like a spoilt child, unappreciative of assistance and common courtesy and simply [i]tired[/i] of speaking with another, so he resorted to intimidation to shoo Ilta away like a lowly fly. 

"If I am not mistaken Dunmer, it was you who invited me to sit with yourself. I did not ask for much more than your name and whether or not you had drunk moonsugar before, the latter I did not expect an answer for. I could have quite happily taken the coin for myself but luckily enough for you I am a good enough person to return it. In fact, I could have left the boy off with your purse," Ilta snapped, raising her voice slightly.

She lifted her hands off the table and took a step back. "A simple "thank you" would have been sufficient, the hospitality was not necessary and we would have both been on our ways, never to speak again. So I would ask of you so kindly Mr Sil, whether that is even your name I can no longer be sure, that you not complain about my questions as you brought them on yourself. I am going to do you a favour and leave you in your peace as you requested. But next time, before you choose to throw a tantrum, do not ask for what you do not wish for."

Ilta began to walk back to her place on the barstool - noticing a two figures watching in the direction of the quarrelling elves - when she turned back to face the Dunmer. "And thank you for your time, this conversation was wonderful."

Sarel was quite take aback by the girls show of power. It was entirely unexpected. Sarel merely sat back in his chair and puffed on his pipe. When the Bosmer seemed like she was almost entirely done Sarel simply nodded and smiled. He was unsuccessful in his attempts to intimidate, but this was essentially the desired effects. Sarel watched as the girl proclaimed her feelings and he wondered if she was even aware of the irony of it all. When she walked away Sarel gathered his mug and bag and started toward the stairs. When she called back to him Sarel raised his mug and spoke loudly, “Indeed! Akatosh save the Empire!” Sarel spouted more sarcasm to staunch his wounds. He made his way upstairs, unlocked his door and entered his room. It was dark and quiet, just as he wanted. He cursed himself for not coming up here earlier, it was quite nice. He lit a sconce near him, illuminating not even half of the L-shaped room, and sat at the table nearest him. He placed his mug on the table after taking a nice long chug. 

Sarel puffed his pipe once more, turned it off, and placed it quietly on the table as well. The fruit basket before him began transforming into colorful gates which splayed on the wallpaper behind it and spread over the entire wall. The colors of the fruits traced into city streets and cobbled Colovian architecture. Sarel sat entranced in the dark room and cursed himself for not coming up earlier for the last time.