A gloved hand gripped the knob of door to the Black Foot, and pushed inwards. Entering the establishment was an ominous figure clad in voluminous robes and a beaked mask, the telltale garb of a plague doctor. Politely closing the door behind him, Doctor Variel Ventris Septimus looked around the warm, homely environs that entailed an inn, drinking in the candlelit hardwoods, the presumed keeper behind the bar, and the humble architecture through unfeeling glass portholes. He perked up and thoughtfully stilled as he heard something interesting, then quickly moved to join the blonde at the counter, intending on capitalizing upon this chance.

"What a coincidence," came his muffled voice on approach. "I am also here for Room Four. Hm," he mused, as he settled himself on a stool and regarded his two potential customers, "you two look like healthy women indeed, although I could not help but notice that your complexions seemed a bit... wan, from afar."

Time for the killing blow. The good doctor slipped a hand under the flap of his satchel. "Which is why I was wondering if either of you would be interested in therapeutic snake oil," he said, procuring two corked vials of the liquid. "It has been proven, [i]proven[/i]," he repeated, "to result in skin radiance in women, and I will testify to this with my own eyes, for my patrons have never been unsatisfied with any of their purchases coming from me. If you are still doubtful, then I am Doctor Septimus -- if my name and title lend any weight to my attestations."

"So, interested? Are you, miss?" He held the vials close to Amelia's countenance, then proffered them to the presumed innkeeper. "What about you, miss? It is cheap: only one penny's worth of cheap. Two if you wish for skillful application at the hands of a professional."