"An excellent suggestion, good man!" Tasaril was all in favor of getting out of the rain, and smiled at the cleric of St. Cuthbert. The scene with the guards had made him frown before - a guard working with the thieves? And obviously not too afraid of the consequences of his arrest, bold enough even to match words with the dwarf? This was cause for concern for the young bard. A thieves guild with a lot of influence with the guard was a formidable foe indeed, not one one should make lightly.<br/><br/>Not that he had, he had good motives for his actions, even though - the bard took notice of the way the hunter was slipping an arm around the pretty cleric - they had turned out to be more altruistic than originally intended.<br/><br/>The laughter and mocking words from the rooftop made him whirl around. People didn't take that tone without feeling secure in their power or position. The sight of the woman made his eyes go wide in surprise, then in appreciation of her slender form, and her grace when she ran over the slick rooftop, as surefooted as if she was on the street. That was an appearance - and exit - worthy of an actress, or so he thought as a bard aware of such niceties.<br/><br/>Staring after her, Tasaril wondered if her face, once freed from that horribly tacky facepaint, was a match for the beauty of her movements. Should he give chase? He did no see an easy way up to the roof, maybe he could keep pace on the ground... it did not seem likely, and might lead into an ambush...<br/><br/>Tasaril was still wondering when he felt his body change - caught up in the moment he had forgotten the rain was still falling, and looking up to the roof his hood had not offered him any protection.<br/><br/>The curse he spat - at the rain as much as at his foolish self - sounded as feminine as he currently looked. The shriek when he remembered his torn shirt even more so.