An oddly matched trio of travelers entered the tavern, looking surprisingly alert and energetic for the late hour. The men were hardy warrior types and Kite had seen their like come and go, but the girl was young and looked quite out of place. She was leaning against one of them, clearly trying to keep all of her weight on one foot. The other was moving but scraping slightly on the floor by its toes. She was also dressed very differently from her companions, with a considerably more colorful ensemble.<br/><br/>Kite immediately suspected adventurers - again. With a sign, she hurried to shove her meager belongings into the bag as well, where they would be somewhat safe from sticky fingers. With little to her name except her writing materials, she wasn't exactly a prime target for thieves, but desperate people were not known for being picky.<br/><br/>The newcomers didn't seem to be a particularly desperate lot, but this was only the first night. The Citadel had a way of breeding malice in its denizens. Birds of a feather, as the proverb said.<br/><br/>The shorter of the two men approached with the young lady at his side. She cast her eyes over them, raising her eyebrow in surprise when the man addressed her politely. "Sir," she responded. Rough greetings done, he left to deal with the innkeeper, leaving her to muse that he must have been raised properly - not a common sight.<br/><br/>The girl next to her was in an unsociable mood, likely due to her injury, so Kite chose not to engage her in conversation until Sherry came by in her coquettish corset and curls, prompting some disgruntled muttering from the girl. Kite's lips twitched into a smile at her antics. Sherry threw them both a dirty look, not that Kite particularly cared about the barmaid's opinion of her, and flounced away. "You know," she nudged the girl lightly, "she will probably dump a laxative into your next drink."