Frances
A dry tankard clanked dryly against the wooden bar, the sound of utensils scraping wood drogging through the room as the shapeshifting Roc, Lucius, ate a pathetically small meal of stew and bread. His chest was deflated moreso than usual, a spark that used to roar (or rather, screech) malevolently in him simply hushed to an inaudible whimper, his dull drab leather tunic, leggings, and boots soaking the colour out of his surroundings with self-loathing and wounded pride.
As of lately, things had not been well for the shaggy shapeshifter, as evidenced by the fact he dined in an inn instead of an unfortunate ox or sheep whilst soaring to town on not-so-metaphorical wide wings. Nobody seemed to want to travel, leaving him nobody to take from, which meant another hoarse day where his spirit simply turned to liquid.
"Egh.." Lucius proclaimed after his eighth bite of stew soaked bread, unaccustomed to the taste of truly prepared food and bread, both of which were not choice picks of large predatory birds such as Lucius. 
"Could have at least left some fine cut in there, eh?" He indirectly muttered at the innkeeper, who gave him a disgusted stinkeye and a firm 'No' in response, most likely regretting leasing a room to the unfortunate shapeshifter.
Tara
*Nearby Theradin the Smith sat by the fire, plucking the strings of his lyre. Dwarves were by no means uncommon in these parts, and a few in the tavern had stopped to listen to the smith. He was known for his love of the old tales, and while most thought him crazy, none could deny his suprising passion for the tales nearly matched his skill as a smith. He slowly plucked the mornful tune, before beginning to sing in Dwarvish. The long, deep voice echoed through the room, and the tavern, although not quiet, was made significantly more so by his quiet singing, as several patrons stopped to listen.*

*His song continued for a few minutes, the long notes flowing together, but a distinct driving undertone beneath it all. Eventually the song closes out, plucking a few more chords, before falling slient, the last note seeming to linger for a moment before the bustle of the tavern resumes. He converses briefly with a few of the other dwarves, before sitting back down to enjoy his own meal.*
Frances
Lucius, only one empty seat apart from the dwarf, gives them a hard to read look before taking an unnecessarily time consuming bite of his bread and stew, grimacing softly as though the food had offended him in some strange way, but he was too exaspirated to do anything about it.
"So you sing and play? Quite a talent you have, no? Seems everyone respects you around here enough to shut up for a few gods forsken moments." The shapeshifter comments idly, his tone veiled under a careful layer of steel, not sounding particularly annoyed or relieved at the fact.
Shifting in his seat, Lucius spins his spoon in his hand a few times, eventually flicking it to rest in his neigh-empty bowl and his half-eaten bread roll, both of which are severely cold after how long he took to eat his shrewd meal. Of course, he was by no means poor, but definitely had an extremely fair amount of wealth that audibly clanked and jangled in his saddlebag slung across his shoulder as he moved. His attire was simple and clearly worn, but not a single hole could be found in his entire outfit, and his boots were shined to the point they appeared almost-new, leaving no chance to mistake the 'man' for a beggar.