[CENTER][url=https://fontmeme.com/old-english-fonts/][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/200330/fb4db06ebbb12e839ccc8dc69a1c3c59.png[/img][/url][/CENTER]

	It was annoying to say the least, any time Rowan was [i]"summoned[/i]" by Jonathon Morris. Just because he supplied her with an abundance of hired work didn't mean he [i]owned[/i] her. So when the rapping at the door of the small room she rented stirred her from her slumber, she was less than cordial to the one on the other side. The person spoke, obviously not caring that they had disturbed her, "Mr Morris wants you in his office as soon as possible," and with that she could hear the heavy footsteps retreat at an ungodly pace. A smirk crossing her ethereal features. It would have been unwise to remain at the door of a pissed and groggy assassin's door.

	That was nearly five hours ago and the reason of her summoning was to [i][b][color=green]'Keep me company,'[/color][/b][/i] Morris' words. Rowan, in any other mood would have fought against his wishes not giving a shit about what it is he wanted of her. Though, her tune was easily changed the night before when she was given free range of the booze and quarters he so generously prepared for her. [color=5B83A5][i]'I'm strictly here to observe... [b]for now[/b],'[/i][/color] she continued to remind herself as she took internal notes on all the souls that waltzed through those heavy doors to speak with Morris. In the time that she was there, Rowan was privy to a myriad of bodies coming and going from Morris' office ranging anywhere and everywhere from drunkards, common whores, junkies looking for their next Parem fix and the like. 

	However, there were a select few that caught her attention and instead of her just leaning against the back wall, shrouded in the shadows, eyes closed in boredom and disinterest; she was alert and focused.

	A young man, no younger than herself if she were to be honest, tanned skin - that she could discern even in the low lights of Morris' office gazed at Jonathon, lighting a bushel as their conversation began. While they spoke, Rowan focused in on his features. He was too familiar to her and the fact that she couldn't place him in her subconscious, was annoying her. Something that doesn't happen to Rowan Tallstagg. Morris mentioned a job and a merchant's place and an explosion? Why was this all news to her. She would have broken out of her hiding spot to hit the man upside the head, however giving away her position too soon would be unrewarding at best. So, she kept quiet, though leaned forward, ears open and listening.

	As soon as the room was cleared and it was just the two of them once again, Rowan emerged from shadows a scowl gracing her features as she glared daggers at her... employer. [color=5B83A5]"The hells Morris,"[/color] a hand slammed down on the top of his mahogany desk, ink well jostling and nearly tipping over onto some important looking files. [color=5B83A5]"Why wasn't I consulted on a job? Hells, why haven't I been given anything aside from your personal guard?"[/color] Her tone was acidic, yet calm. If it had been any other patron of the bar they would have submitted to her line of questioning. But this was Jonathon and he knew her and her tricks too well.

	Their conversation was soon interrupted when a lower tiered lackey, one that she had recognized as a regular during her nightly recon as she sipped her ale in a dark and shadowed corner booth. Jonathon motioned for his employee to enter and get settled, turning to Rowan, [color=green]"You're more than welcome to stay, or if you would like, enjoy some food and ale below."[/color] The newest warm body that joined apologized, lightly dipping his head and body out of the way as she sauntered her way out of the office calling over her shoulder, [color=5B83A5]"You and me, Morris, we aren't done yet."[/color]

[center][b][i]A nice cold ale sounded too good to pass up right about now.[/i][/b][/center]