Nemera notices the scantily-clad stripper woman trying to defuse the situation by hitting on the two half-orcs. Probably offering to sleep with them. It would be unfortunate if violence didn’t break out in the crowded bar, but there was still hope the situation could escalate. However, time was short. Eying the caster’s belt, Nem seeks out the most coin-purse looking one.<br/><br/><i>The problem with casters is they carry so much shit. Sometimes literally.</i><br/><br/>But hopefully one of them would have the familiar curves of coin distending its sides. Keeping her head raised towards the commotion, she skillfully uses side glances and peripheral vision to monitor her quarry. Gnawing at her lower lip in feigned concern, she makes her way indirectly past the villainous caster. Or at least the one with aggressive friends. That was solid justification for a bit of personal thievery. Not that Nem needed justification, but it was nice to have a thinly-veiled excuse to do what she wanted to do anyhow. Warms the cockles of the heart and all.<br/><br/>Fingers snaking out, she attempts to liberate the man’s presumably ill-gotten gains from his personage, while fluidly moving past. Nemera was a fan of style and panache, but she was a bigger fan of escaping notice. Or, failing that, just escaping in general.