Taylor
A storm had swept through the region. It wasn't an uncommon phenomena this time of year. It was so early in the spring, that last vestiges of the winter storms would easily roll in. A warm day could quickly turn frigid, as clouds and water from The Sea of Ghosts crept towards the shores. 

One such storm had rolled in this particular night. It was frigid, with biting rain and chilling winds. But far less violent than its ilk. Salen, wrapped in an oilskin jacket, marched his way through Solitude. While the streets were empty, the taverns were not. His hair was dripping wet, slicked to his skull as he fought his way to his favorite haunt. Eventually he made it. Opening the aged door and stepping into the rather cramped but warm space. 

The Altmer pulled off his coat, and slumped it over a piled up coatrack near the door. He motioned to the barkeep, a tall Nord woman he had come to know over the years. She nodded towards him and went to fill up a pewter mug from a keg. Salen pushed his wet hair out of his eyes, glancing around the room for an open spot.

His eye quickly found the silhouette of another high elf. So rare was his own kind in solitude, well, so rare were those not affiliated with the Thalmor. He didn't immediately recognize the other mer, a good sign. His attention was piqued, perhaps this was a new arrival to Skyrim. And with that, an even smaller chance that he had news from the homeland. 

Salen took a moment to approach the bar and pick up his mug, he set down a septim and nodded towards the Nord woman. Salen took his mug and walked across the small tavern. He pushed past a couple gaggles of travelers, and eventually reached the table the Altmer sat at.

"Greetings, kinsman. I hope you don't mind. This place is dreadfully crowded." Salen spoke as he sat down. He was in his casual garb, the breezy shirt and trousers of Altmeri daily wear. The muddy gold of his skin contrasting with the brilliant raven black of his hair. The massive facial scar along the right side of his face framed the flickering, blind eye within it. His tone was polite, but far from friendly
Maggie
It's easy for the Altmer to simply ignore the people in the Tavern. He didn't intend on actually interacting with the Nords here. He knows his kind isn't exactly welcome, Thalmor or otherwise but they do make for good background noise. And the occasional drinking buddy if one so chooses. 

So to be sat right next to an Altmer, unexpected. But said Altmer is not a member of the Thalmor? A miracle. 

"Well met, kinsman. Long way from Alinor?" He takes a sip of his drink. A goblet by the looks of it, filled with red wine. Erandil turns to face the other, his partially hidden by his hair, draped to the sides. 

Noting the other's scarring, Erandil couldn't help but raise his brows in surprise. Now, this is interesting.
Taylor
Salen let out a slight huff. "Too long, far too long." He nudged the edge of his cup against the wood of the table. "I haven't seen you here before. Not a lot of us in Solitude."

Salen then took a swig from his mug. His movements had a sort of refinement to them. The ingrained behavior of a high-blooded noble. He placed his mug gently back down on the table. Before meeting Erandil's eye. 

"I was curious, to know where you came from." Salen absentmindedly scratched his chin, before running a hand over his thin facial hair to smooth it. 

"I had my suspicions, but you speak like someone from the Dominion. I wanted to know if there was any news? The kind of stuff that wouldn't be filtered by the Thalmor." 

Salen kept his words vague. He knew not to pressure Altmer who weren't directly in uniform with his rank and title. For those who had fled the Dominion it was a source of animosity. Best to be on the safe side till he could figure out the other mer. From his scars he assumed the elf was a veteran, but he knew not for sure.