Cyryl noticed a figure walking up towards. Another soul who probably didn't want to brave the swarm of angry folks.  He approached casually, in stark contrast to the scene playing out behind him. He had the stride of a man who had been travelling all day, and his brown trousers did little to hide the autumn mud crusted around his boots. He still displayed a proud and pleasant navy-blue top, a rich but subtle colour, which was to be appreciated in courts for it's practicality and it's not-so-cheap price. A warming and practised half-smile sat upon his comely features, and she waved calmly to him in greeting.

She noticed she had been absent mindedly chewing her hair, so she brushed it back out of her face before greeting him with an equally practised and disarming smile. [color=violet]"A pleasant enough view, wouldn't you agree?"[/color] [i]shame about the city[/i] was the unspoken addition she refrained from saying. Diplomacy was as much about what was spoken and what was left unspoken.

At first glance she had no idea why she was approaching him, but she knew from the flamboyant clothes, yet practicality and lack of commitments and guard he was no noble, but a spitting image of a bard

[@Graviloquence]