[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]

[@Psyker Landshark][@Raineh Daze][@The Otter]

[color=goldenrod]"Speak of the damn devil..."[/color] Gerard muttered as his eyes snapped up to the source of the crash, past Sir Renar, the dining hall's entryway flooding with sound as Fionn damn near booted the thing inward. [color=goldenrod]"Fionn!"[/color]

He raised his hand in greeting as the Veltic man's eyes scanned the hall before locking in upon his own. After the initial burst of motion, Gerard then began to take in the whole picture— and quickly noticed something amiss, aside from his fellow ex-mercenary's waved greetings morphing, quite quickly, into [i]insistent[/i] beckoning.

A dash of mint green behind one burly shoulder.

A thin, long crook of an elbow, like a wire or branch of a young tree, poking out from beneath the upraised arm.

A distinctly [i]pointed[/i] ear, poking out from behind the aforementioned verdant locks as they flew and tried to shrink further behind Fionn's back, upon their owner's understanding that his gaze had shifted onto her. What were the odds?

He frowned, brow furrowing in mild confusion as he tried to wave Fionn in for a moment, bringing the guest with— but the older swordsman managed to, entirely without either of them engaging in the realm of speech, bowl right over him. The Shilagean brawler sighed through the nose, propped his hands against the table, and stood. [color=goldenrod]"I'll go see what he wants."[/color]

Where certain details fit, namely between the hair and the more gracile and tall build, they could already rule out the [i]monumental[/i] coincidence that would have been "Fionn found the Gentle Blade wandering the streets himself after the morning jog". And yet, there was a spark of familiarity to her, as more details revealed themselves— despite her best efforts to the contrary. The gears, freshly greased, were set to turn. If he wanted to talk all big about using his brain... here'd be a good place to start.

[color=goldenrod][i]Oh, the ball. That's where I saw the mint hair, right.[/i][/color]

As he stalked forward, he made little if any attempt to hide his gaze rapidly flickering between the unlikely pair before him, and pulled up with folded arms and an indelicate question on his tongue.

[color=goldenrod]"Hey, brother. Your friend here's... the one that was with The Gentle Blade at the ball, right? She lost? Looking for Dame Cecilia?"[/color]

He'd introduce himself if she seemed game to talk, but currently, that didn't look likely.