[quote=@Vlad Tepes]
	Matthias sat alone in the dimly lit tavern, concealed beneath the shadows of a corner table.  Gingerly, he sipped of a viscous, ruby liquid in a crystal chalice clutched between his steely fingers, keen, red eyes quietly observing the few patrons remaining.  Long, damp strands of crimson hair clung to his sullen face, neatly framing his stern, angular features, sharp cheekbones and a pointed chin ending in a meticulously trimmed goatee.  Over his broad shoulders was draped a long black cloak, barely covering a modest, charcoal Victorian suit with a frilled, white button shirt and an elegant red cravat tied around his neck...
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The tea had grown cold, evident by the absent swirls of steam. She could still smell the tiny, dried-out, white flowers, which had been steeping for well over an hour. And there was still a hint of sweetness from the honey. But the warmth was gone, so the perfume lost much of its potency even to her heightened senses. Now and then she would stir the small golden spoon in circles inside the rim of the cup to reawaken the fragrance. 

Yes, it had been an hour since she entered the tavern hoping to find some sign of him. Proof of his existence in this strange, new land -- proof of the life she had lived, of the world she had destroyed. But there was nothing. Not so much as a hint of his smell -- the brimstone, the leather, the spice of his skin. And as that hope dwindled and died away, she began to ponder the possibility of seeing any familiar face at all. 

No -- everything had changed. In the span of a few months, the world had turned on its head, and the already unfamiliar terrain shifted and transformed like a distant mirage. 

Rounded hips shifted forward until she was sitting on the edge of her seat. Her booted feet settled on the floor, legs mostly straight to make up for the height of the stool. This position allowed her slender fingers to slip into the pockets of her skin-tight breeches -- nearly an impossible task. 

She was fishing for something in that pocket of hers, just as one of the few patrons that inhabited the tavern made his way to the bar. Her golden gaze narrowed, and by way of a side glance, she saw the creature that approached. Exquisitely elegant in his attire, and rather curious-looking with that ridiculous facial hair, Gabriela took measure of his presence as he whispered an order to the bartender and then claimed a seat -- besides her own. 

Ice-cold fingers touched the edge of a cool coin, and with a wiggle of her digits, she freed the small treasure from its tight confinement. It was a slender silver coin, with the depiction of some unknown monarch upon it -- an unfortunate-looking man. She knew so little about the governing forces of this world and much less about its history. But she had figured out the currency system and made sure to get ahold of enough coins to keep herself out of trouble.

The coin was set upon the bartop, beside her untouched cup of tea. 

“It’s a bit much,” she said out loud, tilting her head toward him, but not turning to look at him directly. A flick of her fingers pushed aside a strand of dark hair, chocolate-brown in color, and in this dim light, nearly black. It was her profile that the man would see if he turned to regard her voice. And it was a glorious sight, a straight and narrow nose, plump lips, a noble and thoughtful brow, with eyebrows that seemed perpetually pinched in concern. And then those eyes -- golden and distant, as she looked straight ahead. 

“You’re cloak,” she finally went on, after a meaningful pause, “...you’re cloak is a bit much.”

Her brows lifted, and she at last deemed him worthy enough to look at. 

She drank in the sight of him.

“Curious creature indeed,” she said, mostly to herself, before moving to leave.