[h3][sup][color=sienna]Sorja - Galloway[/color][/sup][/h3][hr]
Sorja the Swift- more commonly known as Blue Fox- stretched luxuriously in his bed. For several moments, he writhed happily in bed, still attempting to find that perfect comfortable spot that had suddenly disappeared. After trying to find it and failing, he got up instead.

The Blue Fox slept relatively naked- that is, underpants and socks. He slung his bare feet over the side of the bed and staggered upright, swaying slightly before steadying. He scratched at his chest or shoulder idly as he puttered around his room, collecting his gear and piling it on his bed. Normally, he'd already be up, but yesterday was a good day.

And the fact that his 'day' is someone else's 'night.' He's a major night owl, and it always works to his advantage. It's a little obvious, after all, walking around in broad daylight in black and blue- he wasn't convicted or a criminal, technically, but he didn't want [i]everyone[/i] to see him. 

So, throwing on his tunic and leggings, fitting all his silky-smooth clothing in everywhere to make sure his appearance was perfect as always, he strode out his door to the candlelight of the tavern's upstairs corridor. He was, technically speaking, an honest working man. He was given a deal, he completed his side of the deal, and he got paid. And because there was no evidence of any wrongdoing on his part, even if an expensive, rare necklace recently went missing or a man was found dead in his sleep, he was free to walk around. Not that the common guard won't harass him and try to bring him in for questioning, simply because they believe he's the murderer and thief.

Which he was. They just couldn't prove it. That, and the higher-ups rather liked him, since they gave him half his contracts. Their underlings couldn't do much because of this.

Descending down into the common room of the inn, he gave a nod to his distant relative, the innkeeper, and took his normal seat on the far side of the room, adjacent to the door, in the rather lit corner- there was a torch there, see. Having sat down, he waited for the innkeeper's daughter to bring his usual fare of stew, bread, and special mead. Oh, he loved mead- but not ale. Mead was smoother, with honey. Ale was crude, rougher, like beer. 

He paid the innkeeper's daughter with the proper coin, his usual silver tip, and a flash of a smile. And as usual, the girl smiled back, cheeks rosy, and headed back off to help her father. He didn't like many people, but the innkeeper and his family was the exception.

As he dug into his meal, eating carefully and quickly- not spilling a single drop, or any more than a couple crumbs- he listened in on everyone else, and surveyed the room.

More talk of crazy things, and two newcomers. He recognized everyone else- he wouldn't take contracts that involved the people who frequented or occasionally came to the tavern. These two are new.

He eyed them, subtly, as he ate. The torch highlighted him, of sorts, but also made his less dangerous. Anyone could see him; they'd certainly note that he rarely, if ever, looked up, and wouldn't think that he'd be watching everyone just the same.