With her tunic and chain draped over her arm like a sagging quilt, Fallon stares blankly at the apologetic innkeeper.  "You let out<em>all </em>the rooms," she says with a grim sigh.  "All of my Rengard's rooms are now taken?" her expression stiffens, and she draws her lips into a grimace.  "Fine.  I'll just go plead for sympathy."<br/><br/>She turns from the innkeeper's desk and waves her hand in dismissal of his apologies.  The man had done nothing wrong-- Rengard had secured fine rooms, but evidently there were only so many to go around.<br/><br/>With a thud, she lands her backpack and shield into an empty space atop a bar bench near the wall, then plops herself next to it with her back towards the attendant and his row of oak casks, bottles, and clay mugs.  Maybe it is having spent so long in a temple of a goddess of beauty, but Fallon's pride stings at her failure to elicit a response from her companions; at the temple, she'd been one of many far more beautiful acolytes, youths who primped and teased so effortlessly that she often felt like a coarse barbarian in contrast.  Fallon had always detested being objectified or so superficially appreciated back then, but... well, now she rather hopes for it.<br/><br/>She draws a silver piece from her few remaining coins and places it upon the bar.  "Just make it strong," she murmurs over her shoulder to the tender, then watches the others to take a little consolation that they are, so far, quite genial companions.  She smiles at first, then twinges a bit at the sting of mild jealousy, as Jo takes one of the other hirelings' hands and makes for the dance floor.  She focuses instead on Koram and Sword, wondering for a moment at their pairing.  "That, I'd like to see," she mumbles to herself.