Nathaniel
**Ylva Vilulf**
**The Streets of the Capital**

The silent nights of Ibethiel were a great conduit for Ylva finding her peace after sullen days; there were many who prowled on the streets with ill intention, but something about their quiet hunting created both a thrill and sense of placidity in Ylva's conscious. The arid winds coming down from the high mountains were perfect for an evening such as this. The breeze trickled into the few openings of Ylva's robes, worn-out from the many years of nighttime walks that they endured. Her headdress that covered the majority of her scalp, saving a few thick braids that draped past her shoulders, did well in shielding enough wind where her face would not become too chilled. Ylva did not have any need to disguise herself in the city, but hiding away her more brash clothing made her feel more in tune with the melodies of the city's behaviors.

Battered from her exasperating daily duties, Ylva needed to indulge in some mead. Unobtrusively, she entered one of her favorite taverns to grab drinks from, slipping past small crowds of already inebriated individuals who were muttering enough where her presence didn't cause any heads to turn. Ylva wanted to avoid any conversation with the drunken hordes, as they did nothing but give Ylva headaches just thinking about them attempting to hold conversation with her.

She sat atop a barstool next to a rough-looking woman; which judging by her attire, Ylva assumed she was a vagabond. She had most likely just arrived to the tavern considering the lack of drunken qualities she showed. Ylva showed intrigue in the woman, making this clear by her blatant stare at the woman's face. She was assessing her features—they were no more different than the average individual, but still—something intrigued her about the way the woman carried herself. She ignored her urges to speak to her, though this did not stop the occassional glance.
Michael
**Caspia Stafyen
Unnamed Tavern**
With an idle glance ahead the young foreigner observed the bar, taking into account the personally unconventional scrribles etched on the menu - which was simply the written language of Ibethiel. In spite of this obstacle Caspia adjusted her seating momentarily, gawking ahead in striking ineptness as to await the attention of a barmaid. Meanwhile, her falcon slowly made the effort to crane it's head and stare down Ylva, catching her every glance without shame—.. It's little beady eyes unwavering and unpleasant for some. 

Eventually having caught sight of the nearest barmaid and beckoning her over, Caspia spoke aloud in a tangled mess of the exotic Ibethielan language, butchered by her accent from that of the Witherlands. She was proficient, but her dialect was shredded by that unfortunate pronunciation. "Any ale, a small glass of whiskey, and platter of whatever food you have to spare." With the subtle placement of proper coinage Caspia felt content, awaiting her drink and grub. 

Now, that she was free, followed the stare of her avian-companion. Her muddied and unimpressed stare latched onto that of Ylva, having caught sight of her own ogling, lips taut with detached bewilderment. "Yes?" Caspia rasped out, as she was verily assessed by the heiress - her appearance now fully regarded. A head of thick brown hair with the possibility of curling, although currently roused with frizzing from travel; features sharp at the jaw despite bolder and somewhat rounder nearer the nose, and speckled with mild freckles; hair and eyes - that same coloring of dirt - although her eyes had the faintest hue of silver rather than that of a typical underlying hazel. Tucked beneath her worn attire of grassy-greens and dull browns lay the slightest peer of a violet material shrouded in darkness, seen only barely at the collar. Caspia, acknowledging the refused urge to speak, came back stronger with sharp quip and unyielding gawk.
Nathaniel
**Ylva Vilulf**
**Unnamed Tavern**

Ylva became unnerved by Caspia's quick tongue and her companion staring her down. She quickly rotated her head toward the now-disappeared bartender. The hope of having a visual distraction from the hardened tension had faded, so a direct confrontation without anything to take her mind off of the woman was necessary. She had no issues, though Caspia's forthright response had stumbled her. "What brings you around?" Ylva inquired, attempting to bring the strain of the interaction weighing down on her to a halt.

She turned her head back to the woman, observing her features more closely. Caspia looked mishappen; lethargic eyes, untamed hair, and clothes that seemed to be much too worn to be deemed suitable for use. Ylva assumed she looked this way due to traveling, as she did not give off the semblance of a beggar.

The bartender returned just in time as Ylva finished her question, the aging man sliding Caspia her small glass of whiskey with two heels of bread on the side. The heels of bread were irregularly fresh, a quality of food not seen much in this tavern. Ylva nodded to the man and requested eldeberry mead—one of her favorites. She adored the deep flavors it had which counteracted the usual sweetness of other melomel meads. "Thank you," She softly spoke as the man attended the wine station.
Michael
**Caspia Stafyen
Unnamed Tavern**

Caspia took a moment to loft the bread from it's silver platter below, thumbs digging into the softness of the fresh loaf as to tear into halves. She then went to reach into her satchel as to retrieve a wrap bundle of dried beef, attempting to wedge it in between the torn loaf previously received. 

"My travels led me here." Responded the woman with the makeshift sandwich being brought toward her mouth, jaw going agape for a hefty bite. The Witherslander seemed disinterested a first, talking a moment to indulge on her meal with the occasional sip of whiskey. Perhaps in pity - Caspia eventually found the care to ask; "What of you?"