In one of the more likely corners of the tavern, a buxom half-elven woman played her lute, working her way through a facetious tale about a cobbler coming to a halfling village, unable to find work in a place where shoes were worn.  Not all the people were paying close enough attention, with many simply admiring the brunette's assets in the skintight silk, but a fair number listening and chuckling to themselves.<br/><br/>"'Ah, my friend,' the lass told him, pity in her eyes."  The bard's eyes danced through the crowd, looking for those who might be looking a bit more generous.  A simple pouch lay upon one of the tables, with coins periodically tossed inside.  "'I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to put your shoes back on.'"<br/><br/>As she told the tale, strumming her lute to provide gentle music to accentuate the mood, her expression grew somber.  "'Am I even unable to fit in here?' the cobbler asked.  'You said I'd be welcome to live among your people.'"<br/><br/>As she switched tones to speak for the halfling again, her voice grew apologetic, even evasive.  "'Ah, but you see,' said she, 'halfling feet don't smell like THAT!'"<br/><br/>A simple chord ended the joke as the tavern erupted into laughter, and she bowed, grinning and taking up the pouch to catch the various copper pieces tossed her way.