A Night at The Irrines Tavern

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A while after sunset, and few remained in the tavern. Jacob looked over the place with an air of curiosity, thinking this was probably one of the odder assortments he'd seen. There was the tattooed one in the darkest possible corner who Jacob speculated worked for one of the less gentle lenders of the town, and the wolf that had evidently declared his hearth rug its territory..a performer who chose now, of all times, to take the stage--at least that would entertain him, thought Jacob: He had no time during the busier hours to pay attention to entertainment--a hyperactive cleric and another who seemed nearly so with nervousness, and a lady whose voice held much of her beauty, something the barkeep attributed to some supernatural aspect of her.
Did all of them want a room? Not likely, but some probably did. For the moment they were doing whatever suited them, and could order drinks as long as Jacob--quite the night owl himself--wasn't abed. Food, though, was not available; or at least not good food, for the cook had long since gone home.

Inusiera sniffed the air, detecting some scent other than a fire nearby. It was a very small amount of blood, from an equally small injury. Not moving her body, but her eyes, she looked to the source...which had not been there when she had lay down earlier in the evening.
The night was still young, and she had trouble sleeping this long after sunset. Her nap was long over, and boredom was going to set in. Curiosity mixed with it a bit...and she was tempted to ask, how the man near her had managed to injure himself. Tempted...but not yet inclined. Rather she kept her eyes on him, wondering if at some point he might notice this more subtle form of communication.
The bartender had cast him a quick look, he was aware of that. Almost nothing escaped the magic rune that tattooed his eye. But he wasn't paying attention to the bar-keep. He was focused on the nervous man in the tattered clothes. Was he the man he was looking for? It was hard to tell. His clothes were tattered and covered with filth, but obviously belonged to a high nobility. His hair was disheveled, but the face looked close to the pictures he'd seen. Still, he didn't want to go after him unless he was sure. He was a professional, afterall. He couldn't go capturing anyone who just looked like his charge. He had to make sure.
He flicked the little charm that dangled from his ear, hoping its magical power would whisper a clue into his ear.

Laurence had to breathe deeply before taking his glass. Even so, his hands shook violently. How he regretted being on the run! All this trouble for a quick profit.
He turned slowly, trying to look unconcerned, but his head quickly snapped back forward when he saw that he was still staring at him. The corner where he sat may have been dark, but Laurence still saw the man all too clearly. What was he doing in the corner? And why had he not taken his eyes off of Laurence once since he walked in here? And what about the performer, who had so few to entertain?
No. The performer wasn't what bothered him. Even the fact that there was a wolf in the bar didn't worry him that much. It was the man in the corner.
"Is he here for me?" he asked himself in a hushed whisper that he was sure no one, not even the wolf, could hear. But dispite this, the man in the corner nodded his head, as if answering the question.
Arria had a far-away look as she sat there, almost completely oblivious to the rest of the tavern, with her fingers aimlessly caressing the rim of her cup. Her stomach was rumbling and she was almost out of money, but after having travelled so far and her reason for doing so at her fingertips, she couldn't turn back now.
She glanced over her shoulder at the stage, then pushed the thoughts bubbling up in her head away and replaced them with memories. Memories from the last time she sang in public. The people thought her voice so wonderful they attempted to kidnap her, but luckly her father was there to rescue her, and that was when she found out the truth.
Turning back to the table she noticed the other patrons, hoping she didn't stick out too much, and pulled her hood further over her head before bring her attention back to her drink.
This was pointless. Frederick was getting nowhere at the rate he was going. He needed the money for his next hot meal, something he'd been going without for the last few days. Cold meat was only good for so long, but cooked food was always welcome.
He kept eyeing the man at the bar. He was sure it was him. It had to be! How many people would fit his description? Maybe five could be caught in a case of mistaken identity. But not by him. He didn't mess up. He strived himself on that.
"No foul ups," he whispered through his scarf. It was his motto, and he lived by it. He knew he couldn't stay in his seat and get results. He needed to get closer. All he had to do was wait for the man to turn back around!