Slowly, intolerably, the streets began to fill with people. For the first phase of the public's reclamation of their once darkened city streets, the attention a lone person wandering covered in blood and wine gathered was unbearable, painful even, to someone whose occupation was centered around discretion. Eventually, though, there were simply too many bodies in the streets, and she faded away into the morning in obscurity, except for the occasional set of interested eyes in a crowd. Among the list of things she had spent a night or longer smelling like, wine was not a particularly harsh scent, but still the investigator longed for nothing more than a wash and the time to properly treat her arm. The time for that particular action had passed, but that wasn't on her mind. Mullen looked different in daylight, and despite her long night the view of her first day in Mullen was impressive. There was an entire world of difference between Keilaudrin and her corner of Lachne. She'd learned quickly that the South was her homeland, but she was a stranger in most of it. The Crossroads came up suddenly, as it had before, and abruptly the bloodied Maria turned into the inn, grimacing at its morning crowd. A girl in a red jacket stole the majority of the color in the room, and after that she tried not to stand around gawking at the crowd. Quickly, she walked up to the bar and flagged down the morning shift tender, it was high time that she got a room.