He was impatient, but he was reasonable, that wasn’t a bad thing all in all. She felt a shiver of dread wash over her as she realized that unless he was paying shit for the job she was going to take it. As hungry as she was, as good as Florie’s cooking was, as soothing as Martin’s playing was she felt the food in her gut turn leaden and cold at the thought. She felt her nerves, already strained, begin to snap and fray under the pressure. She put her fork down and wrapped suddenly shaking fingers around her mug of Ale and busied herself pretending to take a sip. Her throat simply wouldn’t work. 

[i]Fuck that[/i], she thought to herself. She was a mercenary, she was a sword for hire and this was all she really knew. She wasn’t going to lose her livelihood over a battle gone awry. She wasn’t going to be a scared little girl, even if she was absolutely terrified. 

Forcing herself to fake a calm she did not in the least feel, she looked over at the ink stained man and knew that it was a good opportunity. Escort work, not war, not overt fighting. Not guarding a train of valuable goods. Just a walking a man through the wilderness who clearly didn’t know much more than the front end from the ass end of a horse. It was work as easy as she was likely to get, she only had to get him to Avantshire and then see if she wanted to hire on for the other leg, simple, easy.

And it felt like the hardest thing ever just then. 

She flicked her eyes over to Martin who had strummed his way over into a humorous folk-song about a shepherdess who had gotten in over her head and who had to [i]pay[/i] the wolf over and over. She scowled, narrowing her eyes at the skinny bard who paid her no mind as he kept on playing the lilting melody.
 
She pulled her eyes back to her prospective client and smiled at him, a slight, professional smile. She put her mug down but kept her fingers around it to hide their shaking. By the powers above she wanted a good slug from her flask. Instead she cleared her throat and spoke.

“So then, I suppose the last bit of business is to ask what you are offering to pay for the leg to Avantshire. If I agree, I will want one third up front, two thirds on delivery.” 

She cocked her head, raised a brow and waited, hoping that the sweat she felt beading on her forehead wasn’t too apparent, or could be attributed to the warmth of the fire.