Upon entering what were, at least, for the moment, her own quarters, the dunmeri mercenary finally allowed herself to relax, her stress beginning to melt away as she slid into a crudely carved pine chair, savory pie in hand. Too hungry to give any thought to manners, Venasa dug into it ravenously, the thick gravy base of the inside of the dish just warm enough to make it more than palatable. Pastry crumbs flaked onto her already stained leathers as she finished off the pie in a matter of a few minutes, disregarding the innkeep’s previous request as she brushed the remnants of her meal off her clothes and onto the floor before standing.
Still have to clean up my armor before I can call it a night, she remembered with a start, some of the tension returning to her shoulders at the thought. Why can't my marks show some courtesy and keep their filthy blood to themselves?
Now in a slightly better humor, Venasa stripped out of her leather armor with familiar celerity, her fingers flying as she unbuckled straps and removed each individual piece until she was left wearing nothing but a rather form-fitting, light black long sleeved silk shirt and leggings. She then exchanged these for a much looser, coarser grey tunic and dark brown breeches stored in the rude chest of drawers beside her surprisingly comfortable double bed. Gathering up her loose pieces of armor, she grabbed her waterskin, a bar of lye, and a rather grimy old cloth and began scrubbing at the blood that hadn't quite dried yet. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad investment to get some boiled leather pieces… it'd at least save me the trouble of having to clean this stuff so often. I've had this set so long it's starting to look more like suede than usable armor, the dunmer thought with a chuckle, sobering rather quickly as she continued, But it's going to take everything I have to get back to Morrowind. Not sure spending more time outside of my organization’s influence is worth a new set of armor, particularly when everything pays so shabbily.
By the time half an hour had passed, she had finished with her armor, having worked in contemplative and exhausted silence. Leaving her weathered garb to dry in haphazard places on the floor and strewn across her chair, the now even sleepier dunmer made her way over to the bed. She threw the near-threadbare covers back and didn't bother to draw them over herself, finding the night too hot to have any need of them. Venasa drifted off to sleep rather quickly afterwards, one hand at her side and the other under her pillow, her grip tight on the knife she slept with. She did this just in case of potential intruders, but felt rather certain that, with the way things had been going, she likely would never be pressed to use it while in Cyrodiil.
Little did she know how wrong her assumption would soon be proven.