Conversations began to swirl -- the door to the tavern opened and closed. 

Gabriela extended her fingers toward the fire. She held her hands out and appeared like any person who might be trying to warm themselves. Her golden eyes focused on the billow of the flames, how they churned, and whirled around the thick logs. The heat radiated and her icy flesh absorbed it hungrily. But there was no comfort in the warmth. There was no solace in the heat. 

With her head inclined, she listened to the conversations that began to take place near and around the bar -- it had become a popular location and she was glad to have steered clear. Mostly, it was men who stomped in and went to demand drinks -- rum seemed to be the drink of choice for the evening. Meanwhile, she feigned a sort of annoyance as she glanced over her shoulder and swept the room with a chilled gaze. Was it the noise that was bothering her? Was it the notable lack of a teacup before her on the table? 

[i]Who knew?

Who cared…[/i]

This whole charade was for the benefit of no one other than herself. 

[i]No one[/i] was following her.

[i]No one[/i] was coming.

Her shoulders dropped a little -- she visibly relaxed. 

The young girl seemed to have been called forth by Gabriela’s physical manifestation of calm. She appeared, seemingly out of thin air, with a worn, wooden tray. Silently, but with a suspicious side-ways glance, the waitress set down a white saucer with a simple-looking tea cup atop it. It was steaming and a dense, and earthy fragrance floated up in the haze. Next came a folded napkin with a spoon, and next to it a small container of milk, and a dainty sugar bowl. Lastly, she set down a plate with a pretty arrangement of lemon slices. 

[i]“We don’t have honey,” [/i]she said, by way of explanation. 

“That’s perfectly fine,” Gabriela replied.

[i]“Can I get you anything else?” [/i]The girl was obviously itching to get going -- to get away.

“No, thank you.” 

She was gone no sooner had Gabriela thanked her. And of course, Gabriela took the opportunity to turn her head again, and look after her -- but really she was looking at her fellow patrons. The tavern was getting crowded. She was growing uncomfortable again. And there came the smell of blood again, circulating round and round through the plethora of stenches that were starting to become rather overbearing. The one who had called for help and his wounded companion were coming down the stairs, but she had only a moment to think of them before the door opened and closed.

The taste of power lingered on her tongue like the thick coating of rendered fat -- oily, and unpleasant. Whoever -- or whatever -- the creature that had just entered was, there was no doubt in her mind that he was monstrous in nature. And she would have continued to observe the creature, had it not been for the nearly observed occurrence that took place next. 

A woman entered the tavern. A high-ranking military person judging by her attire. Gabriela turned back to her tea just as the woman marched over to a table that was set down right smack in the middle of the tavern. The performance that ensured was more than just a little agitating since it drowned out much of everything else that was going on in the tavern. A scuffle began. A chair fell over, and then the tell-tale sound of metal coins hitting and dancing on the wooden floor as a table was rudely shoved and pushed aside. 

Gabriela frowned deeply within the shadows of her hood. She plucked the small spoon up and poured and stirred a serving of the granulated stuff into her tea cup. It changed the smell of the tea, but she doubted anyone would notice -- anyone but her. And then, just as she was about to pretend to take a sip -- her peace and quiet were assaulted. 

[i]“She needs a seat,”[/i] said a man -- an apologetic but very matter-of-fact smile on his face.

Aghast, Gabriela sat there with her teacup floating halfway up her body, held with such perfect motionlessness that most would find it uncanny -- she had not noticed their approach. Shocked, and grateful that her face was still mostly concerned under her hood, she remained silent as the hurt woman was deposited into a chair across from her own. 

[i]“Keep an eye on her and everything is on the house for you tonight.”[/i]

Surprise quickly turned into barely contained rage. And the rounded handle by which she supported the tea cup suddenly cracked -- just a hairline crack, just a delicate break that did not immediately throw into peril the structural integrity of the small vessel. 

“Excuse me?” Gabriela forced herself to ask, her voice still that soft sound, still that sultry accent -- but sharp.

[i]“Here you go,”[/i] said the man to his companion, and then he was leaving.

“Excuse me!” Gabriela insisted, but the man did not look back. He went to the bar and began to tend to the patrons. 

With no one left to turn her anger towards, molten-golden eyes turned upon Alex. The teacup was finally set down and abandoned completely. Gabriela made to stand up, but then again, she was interrupted as they were approached by a cheerful-looking young man.

[i]“I don’t know if this will help, but it’s all I have to offer. If not is there anything I can do for you?”[/i]

He set on the table -- [i]on her table[/i] -- a jar of fucking fairies. And then, for good measure, his emptied cup of rum -- there, right next to her teacup. 

“This is my table,” she said suddenly, and at long last, she reached up and drew back the hood of her cloak. A pale and lovely face was revealed, framed in wild wisps of dark hair, chocolate in color with undertones of gold cutting through like marble. In appearance she was young -- painfully young for a place like this, yearly twenties perhaps. And her elegantly shaped brows were pinched into a severe frown as she glanced from Link to Alex. “Kindly, leave me be.” 

But then [i]it[/i] struck her…

It was a putrid smell and it was so intimately intertwined with the smell of the woman’s blood and that of corrosive metal -- so subtle that she knew it was the very beginning stages of infection. She swallowed hard, choking back this knowledge. The smell was foul and the knowledge of it made her look away, down to the gloves in her lap. 

She did not want to get involved, but she knew a jar full of fairies was not about to resolve the issue of putrefied flesh and blood fevers that were soon to come. 

“I can’t help you,” she said quietly, refusing to meet the woman’s gaze.