As he watched Anwen disappear back into her own little mundane waitress reality, Alason couldn't help but let out a quiet snicker. [i]Oh, the simple life.[/i] Perhaps he thought himself above the nymph and was mentally mocking her, perhaps he was attempting to suffocate some hidden envy for the content, sensible creature, unburdened by the manufactured problems of social existence, but none of these thoughts possibilities crossed Alason's mind at the present moment. Just then, all that he could be bothered to think about was how unexpected the past few minutes had been, and just how insipid his sandwich truly was without some powerful element of flavor, usually donated by a cheese. He chuckled to himself and shook his head before placing the half-eaten sandwich back on its plate and rising, quietly pushing in his stool as he did so. [i]Oh, irony, my oldest enemy[/i], he thought as he headed for the door. 

With a cursory glance behind him as he opened the door, Alason considered the various possible ends his day might have after this unprecedented fork in his lack of a plan. Exiting the building, he was about to turn back forwards and figure what to do for his three free hours before noting something rather odd.

[i]Huh. Didn't notice the cracks in the windows on my way in. Weird, figured this place'd be on that as soon as it happened.[/i] Running a thin vine of ivy between his thumb and forefinger before breaking it off the wall, Alason went about his business, promptly forgetting about the chinks in the glass.

[centre]*		*		*[/centre]

"I can't believe I forgot to set up a proper location; she's probably already forgotten about our encounter entirely by now," Alason mumbled to himself. He let out an uncharacteristically angry groan as he tore a burr from his pants. About three hours and twenty minutes after his last interaction with Anwen, he was exiting the forest bordering the town following an unfruitful and, retrospectively, ill-reasoned attempt at finding her "house". Considering the possibility that some staff at the tavern would know where she went off to, Alason headed for the Tipsy dragon, all the while attempting in vain to brush dirt and grass-stains from his knees after a fall during his woodland escapade.

Perhaps a block from the tavern, he finally gave up with a final indignant slap at his pants. [i]I really do need to get outside more often.[/i] Turning his attention to the now in-view Tipsy Dragon, Alason squinted as he examined a familiar figure candidly sitting at an outdoor table. Approaching her slowly, Alason, with mossy knees and top button undone, attempted to find an eloquent way of addressing the woman. In all of his intellect and proficiency in language, he managed to muster a mighty and confident,

"What?"