[h2][b]The Cowl Inn[/b][/h2]
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The Cowl Inn

It was a quaint day for Princess. The sort that ended faster than one would initially perceive, hours gone in an eyes blink.

But it was a semblance of enjoyable, a semblance of something that itches away at that need for experience. That need to find oneself.

Now here she…they sit in a bar. A place as quaint as her daily work, even if it's much cooler than that fire. Small talk filled the air like smoke, the walls had a grunge to them like soot, and she saw the same one each place she looked.

Opposed to those mixed drinks and cans of those around her, she had something more befitting her names stations. A curved glass, one befitting wine and filled with such a crimson liquor. Sips had been taken, but it mostly sat idly swirled.

[Quote][color=skyblue]"Anyway. You got plans for the weekend? Up to anything nice that doesn't involve running into burning buildings or splitting cars in two? Normal stuff? You're all people at the end of the day, this isn't some workplace sitcom that my......yeah."[/color][/quote]

Another swirl, Princess studies her glass. Noting how sticky it seemed, clinging to the glass so unlike what wine should.

“A fair question to ask, yet one I have had no forward thoughts to.” She takes a lazy lean to the side, not against the wall but again thin air. As if there was something there.

“Maybe I shall go to my cabin for a day, see how nature has treated it. Maybe I shall wander the streets alone or with my darling raven, perhaps I shall visit a gallery or draw my own art.” Princess muses, a wistful tone in her voice, but each word seems to draw color from the air. Leaving things noticeable more in shades of Grey, except her drink that seems to gain a deep hue of red.

A hum comes from deep in her chest, something orchestral. “There are many paths laid before us, we must merely pick one. Not to worry, nothing shall bar us from them all. Afterall, a path in the wood has no end just as it has no walls, the end is never…the end…” The words seem to linger, echo, her eyes tracking something not quite there as she mutters in and out of a plural reference to herself.