<div class="floatleft">(http://i43.tinypic.com/16718y9.jpg)</div><strong><em><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: andale mono;">Lyguardia Fen (Iggy)</span></span></em></strong><br/>Location: County Road 923; Reedland, Utah; Murphy's Tavern<br/>Time: Day 1, Evening<br/>Tagged:Oyohusa Adawehi<br/><br/><hr/><br/>There was something bothering the man, she could tell from the moment her eyes had set upon his figure; his last few words confirmed it. It was rare, these days, for people to simply state such a fact. Or maybe she thought it was rare because she wouldn't dare to even think about such a thing, let alone make others aware of it. Whatever the case, she shrugged the thought away. She knew all too well the repercussions of questioning a person about their past, especially a person who endlessly forced themselves to forget it. Somewhat loosening the apparent death grip she had on the handles of her duffel bag, Iggy breathed deep before releasing a long, silent sigh, eyes opening back up to the world after a short nod (a trick she had acquired at a monastery in northern Texas).<br/><br/>Wondering why the man had stopped to stare up at the building, she chose to do the same, standing beside him with a scrunched up nose- her trademark for frivolous thought. "Murphy's, huh? Must be family own," she shrugged. Her faced turned to him with a bright smile, finger flicking at the feather in his hair while her body moved forward. "Come on, FeatherTail! Let's get inside. I'm dying to get away from having to spend another night out in the desert."<em>Hmm... FeatherTail. I think I've got a nickname for this man.</em>A chuckle and a head shake and the tavern door opened.<br/><br/>Now, the woman had known her body craved food; it had told her. Growling stomach, a little bit of squish off the thighs. All obvious signs toward the need for food. However, what she didn't know was how much she needed that food. The second the warmth hit her face and the grand breeze of freshly cooked food wafted in-- oh, she just died. "Hallelujah!" She couldn't help but laugh loudly as her butt found one of the wooden chairs, duffle bag set beside the table in a manner that would allow her constant monitoring of it (her feet rested atop the bag, crossed at the ankles in sheer comfort). Positiveness that she had received several strange looks from those around her didn't change the woman's demeanor at all. A menu now in her hands, she peered down at it, looking for the most home-cooked-styled item in there; she may be a lady, but anyone could tell by her cowboy hat and worn boots that she worked hard, and hard work meant good grub.<br/><br/>As she expected Oyohusa to have seated himself across from her, she chose to converse with the man, eyes still glued to the menu.<br/><br/>"So what brings you to good ole Reedland, Utah, FeatherTail?" A smirk at the now-in-use nickname.