Senna stands between the fading gloom outside and looks around.  Palace indeed.  She'd spent little time on the road in her life, and there had never been a tent that impressed her.  The notion of spending her nights in a bedroll on top of dirt and rocks is not appealing, even with that 'glorious luxury' of standing room.  Then, her gaze shifts to Fallon, and some part of her brain begins to go haywire.  The wandering merchant's face goes flush, her heart begins to race; seeing the elf undoing her braid seems almost as intense if she were standing there naked.  She seals the tent out of fear, wanting to banish the intense image from her sight, to regain her control, but the blanket of darkness doesn't help.  Knowing that glint of moving metal in the shadows is that same warrior with that same, haunting smile...<br/><br/>She pulls out a crossbow bolt and utters a few words.  In an instant, it glows brightly, almost too brightly for this confined space, and drives it into the ground at the side of the tent.  She sets down her pack with a clatter and sits next to the lovely lady knight, looking for words, not sure what to talk about.  Work?  Family?  Life?  The past?  The future?  Business?  Yes!  Business!  A topic Senna knows all too well.  Down to business!  "So..." she says nervously, turning away from the brightly shining bolt.  "How does the armor feel?  Any chafing?  Pinching?  Undue pressure?  Does it obstruct your swing at all?"  She rattles off the standard array of questions she asks any client who has been recently fitted with a suit of armor.  Comfortable, familiar, safe, and impersonal.  No risk, nothing to worry about.