Having gathered herself, she follows the steady footfalls of the men, allowing the gorgon her place in the rear.  A soft steady step accompanied by the gentle swish of her skirts as she descends.<br/><br/>"Catulus, do you think it possible I could have someone shorten my skirts a bit.  I do not relish having them tangle underfoot should the need arise for actual physical altercation.  Quite embarrassing really.  Not overmuch, but enough not to impede."<br/><br/>Sibyl's hushed interrogative purposefully pitched as to keep intrusion of the conversation in the tavern to a minimum.  Entering with the others her step assured, her bearing elegant in its simple feminine grace as she makes her way to the bar. A willowy hand seeks her habitual cup's placement behind the carved wood, the wine bottle next to it as she draws it forth efficiently pouring for herself, returning the re-corked bottle before turning to face the assemblage.