Descending the stairs into the tavern's main room, Quitxi would be stomping her way sleepily down the wooden steps if not for the rote practice of moving silently and carefully.  With a yawn that bares even white teeth and pink tongue, she scrubs her hand through the hastily tied-back, fiery red mane of hair on her head.  She carries her full compliment of equipment out of paranoia at the changes in the city, leaving behind in the moderate-quality chest in her rented room only a few bulky or fagile items.<br/><br/>Her compact form is clad in traveler's clothes, tied at the wrists, elbows, and knees to prevent sagging, but sharp eyes can discern the glint of exquisite black leather, like a second skin, at the openings near her throat and ankles.  Even without costuming or adornment, her features are pretty, exotic... coppery skin glows vibrantly, and virulent gold eyes scan the tavern room with cautious, but seemingly casual, appraisal as she settles at a corner table near the stairs.<br/><br/>After weeks here, the tavern keeper surely knows her habits, and will hopefully provide her a cup of hot tea with something passably edible for breakfast.  Over the past 3 weeks, she's tinkered with clocks carried by travelers or proferred by shopkeepers, and earned a few silver in the process for her efforts, though she's yet to identify a reasonable solution for the universal failure of any such devices, and after the first few days the business dried up at the owners' frustrations.<br/><br/>The lack of night is disconcerting for one in Quitxi's line of work, and she's found her coins dwindling slowly... though the prospect of becoming peniless is a long way off, she's considered it... in her life, she's known poverty, and though distasteful, she has no fear of it.