Nobody told her she couldn't come.  It was a point worth mentioning if Janna really wanted to mention it.  She did not, but the point stands.  She claimed no prizes of war, as was customary after a row, because the trophies claimed from demons and cult leaders had a nasty way of coming back and corrupting those that claimed it.  Besides, she had no need for fiend's teeth even if alchemist would pay handsome for some of the more rare reagents she could have scrounged together in their slow but steady departure from the depths of, if not hell itself, hellish dungeon and into the hands of the Cult's healers.  It was a delight to remove her armor, even mithril was uncomfortable when worn for such a long period of time, and when ointment and magic tended to her burns and swollen joints, the sweet relief was announced with a sigh and gracious thanks.<br/><br/>Dressed in sensible long tunic and trousers, she follows Himmel to the dining room.  Subdued was the only way to describe it, her thoughts finally turning back to the confrontation that had entrapped her in the demon pits.  Her weapons were left with the master of ceremony, though she seems loathe to seperate from the axe painted a fierce red shade.  So enraptured in her misery and disappointment, she does not even recognize the applaud that would normally send her to preening and posing for a crowd.  Instead, she settles down quietly next to the bardess and the temperamental dragon, sitting quietly for a few moments as her plate is prepared.<br/><br/>Finally, she looks up and inquires of Aya with a weary expression.  "Do ye' think tha' they be havin' men folks that tend to certain needs' that we could be requestin'?"  She picks up her fork, eyeballing the sparse crowd as if searching for a likely candidate.  "Ah-- supposin' it's not too bloody likely issit?"<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>