“<b>A pint of mead, please,</b>” she requested of the barkeep, her eyes flickering to the cup of mead her neighbor was drinking to her right. The smile she returned him was a mirror of his: polite, gentle, and warm, one that extended past her pursed pink lips to her eyes. She was rather good at those, she had been told, and after so much practice, it came easily to her. The trick was to move the muscles around the eyes in unison with those around her lips.<br/><br/>Her gaze swept around the room again as she looked to her right, taking note of the calculating stare of the bard. His gaze was slow and measured, landing from one party to another. She had missed the moment when he had spared his attention her way, but if it didn’t flicker back to her, she knew it was intentional. Her entrance, cloaked and quiet, had kept her a fly on the wall. Hardly anyone paid any notice to just another traveler entering the tavern for warmth and shelter. Taking off her cowl hardly attracted attention either, save the few cursory glances. It wasn’t until she stripped down to her skin bearing dress that heads turned. The way she was dressed was a conversation starter, to say the least. She had mapped those that paid her no mind earlier and now, as her eyes swept from the bard to the fireplace, she mentally marked those who were now giving her figure notice.<br/><br/>One of those marked that gave her noticeably steadfast attention was a fellow by the fireplace, gathered with his group of men by the fire, the group that had been whispering curiosities when she had been cloaked and near them. She challenged his hard gaze with a taunting smirk, her own gaze holding his for a couple of seconds so he knew that he had her attention as well. But he only had it for moment before she removed it to look to the barkeep.