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.