There were three types of taverns throughout the Old World. Ones that were so safe that no one fought. Those where fighting was so common no one batted an eye. And those where no one fought, because the environment was too dangerous to warrant it. Any scuffle would turn too brutal for any establishment to handle. Amal could see this was the latter as clear as day. That was likely why he spotted no bouncer. He would have spotted even a disguised one. The wood was stark and well laminated, with only one board he guessed had an old bloodstain, likely from a quick kill a long time ago. All this he gathered in a matter of a moment from a glance, keeping his hands on the hilts of his daggers, both framing his trim hips. 

"Several days?" The lady innkeeper mused as she chewed on some form of tobacco, placing the cup on the desk with a soft 'clack'. "Rich enough for that, are you?" 

She openly appraised Amal and continually gazed back at Emmaline, though whether because she was attracted to Amal or because she could see two rogues a mile away, it wasn't clear. Without further conjecture, she spat out the substance in her mouth and nodded, taking out a sheet of cloth parchment and produced a quill pin from behind the counter, marking it with a swift and sloppy movement of her hand. Emmaline payed her with two gold crowns and five silver schillings, by Amal's keen eye. The barwoman slid the paper to them as a mark of temporary ownership. 

"The room is upstairs to the left. Breakfast and dinner are discounted to residents here, even to foreigners." She specified.

"Am I not just special?" Amal asked, though Emmaline was already pushing him towards the stairway. 

Half of the hardened mercenaries and toughs in the common room were playing some form of cards or dice in various forms of unscrupulous wagers. The others spoke in tight knit groups, speaking with the occasional chuckle or threat, lacking the boisterous nature of a lot of establishments. Only one man was drunk in any real capacity, almost leaning back in his chair a bit too far, nearly bumping into Amal. The Arabyan caught him, causing the entire table to halt their conversation he caught a few sentences of, and glare at the dark man. Amal made no move to engage them, he simply pushed the man back into place as the fellow chortled, sputtering a thanks. Amal and Emmaline made it to the stairs, stepping up two steps at a time until they were on the second floor. 

That was when they began to hurry to their room, Emmaline fumbling for the key, cursing and then dropping it onto the floor in that order. Amal caught it before it hit the ground, grinning. They made it inside a moment later and shut the door. Amal locked the door, his dark hair now disheveled. 

"You've got good ears." They both said at the same time. 

The room was spacious for such a small establishment, with a moderately sized bed with linen sheets, and a window that overlooked a portion of the bay. There was only a small fireplace, used for heating the room rather than being something to lounge besides. That coupled with a desk and three chairs, and two oil lamps that Emmaline began to light. The gold lust was mounting in Amal. "You know there's no way they would let us join their little plan. We'd need to sabatoge theirs." 

"Without them seeing us." Emmaline replied. 

"In broad moonlight." Amal concluded, placing a hand to his finely shaped chin and openly roving his eyes over Emmaline. "You'll need to be a bit less beautiful, you might stand out." Not deigning to comment on the fact that he was an Arabyan in Altdorf.