Most of the patrons of the tavern were happy, pleased to get on with the meals, drinks, and conversations. Or, if they weren't happy, they were at least content to nurse their ale in sullen silence, and bother no-one else with their ill temper - and, if harsh words did become thrown fists, the offending persons were quickly 'escorted' outside to brawl in the streets. So it was that the place was bustling, loud, but not unduly so as far as such things went. It was a comforting mixture of sounds and smells that would lure in many a passer by to come in, rest for a while, and sample the food and drink on offer. Maybe spend the time listening to the enthusiastic singing of seamen, duelling with song. People cheered for their favourite, or heckled the ones they didn't like, and generally had a good time.
Rhafala hated it.
"'See the sights' he said. 'It'll do you good' he said," she growled to herself, shooting narrowed looks at anyone who dared turn their head to look her way. Jayden, that insufferable, smug daemon had abandoned her here, and gone off somewhere on some fool's errand. Claimed that she would slow him down had she come along. Oh, sure just because she wasn't some back-stabbing, unfeeling devil raised from birth to be the world's cat's-paw, she might as well be a ball and chain! Alright so maybe she was still a bit wobbly on two legs, and so far running ended up in falling more than anything else, but if she were in her proper shape…
We wouldn't be here at all, she thought to herself, her irritation falling away, as if she were a punctured waterskin. In its place was a vague, empty worry, a kind of grey, stormy tangle of thoughts, feelings, and concerns. All chasing each other to no avail. She didn't know if she'd ever be back to normal, ever feel the wind beneath her wings, or see the world through her true eye again. Jayden could laugh and mock all he wanted, but he wasn't the one trapped in a pathetic sack of skin when she was used to being fury and fire. Now all she had was fury - and it was getting harder and harder to be angry, rather than just moping over what was lost.
Exhaling gustily, Rhaf moved over towards a table. She managed to seat herself with a minimum of fuss, and only stumbled a little. The tight trousers helped, as did the flat shoes - that dress she had worn for the ball was utterly ridiculous. She had been of a mind to burn the thing, had Jayden not said he'd thought that was what she would do. To prove him wrong, she had reined in her temper, and instead donated the thing to the first passing woman she had seen. So what if it had been a half-orc in heavy plate armour. Surely even half-orcs wanted stupid dresses at some point - or so she assumed, and wouldn't hear otherwise. Long as Rhaf was rid of the sands-cursed gown, she didn't care. Still, she was pleased that this body was at least capable of producing flame, even if it was wholly inefficient and pathetic compared to her fiery breath. Glancing at her hands, loathing the blunt, short fingers with their rounded nails, Rhaf sighed once more. She hadn't even attempted to cast any of her glass magic, for fear she'd find herself incapable. Losing her feathers, wings, talons, that was bad enough, but to lose her glass magic, too? That would destroy her. It had been her sword and shield, as well as a hobby. She had crafted tools of war, as well as pretty baubles and gifts.
A tankard was placed before her on the table, the dull thunk snapping her out of her thoughts. Glancing up, Rhaf blinked at the woman who had put it there.
"One of the men at the bar thought you could use it," was all she said, before moving away to attend to other duties.
A quick look at the men assembled didn't shed any light on the matter, all humans looking more or less the same to her. Though, being on their level, and in their dwellings, she had started to notice differences. Still, she was painfully oblivious to the social queues and body language of landwalkers, and couldn't discern who was actually studying her, and thus likely to have provided the drink, who was marginally curious at the scowling woman, and who didn't care one jot she was there. If they had, say, a handy crest, or wings to mantle and shuffle, or cocked their heads properly, maybe she could figure out what was going on. At least with Jayden she could tell what he was thinking and feeling - their Bond didn't allow much in the way of privacy. He was an irritating, smug, arrogant piece of hide, but he was her irritating, smug, arrogant piece of hide - and he could interpret this situation for her. Hopefully he wouldn't be too long about his business - there were more people moving about now, and more people approaching her table.
Oh Sands help her, she actually missed Jayden.