Eirynor arrived with a bundle of clothes, which he offered to Cyran. The assassin did not startle at the sudden entrance- he merely accepted the bundle with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Eirynor then began making a series of unfamiliar hand gestures that Cyran did not understand, which the half-elf seemed to quickly realize, if the blush all the way to his ears meant anything. He made a few quick movements, communicating with charades that he would be outside with Snow, before making haste to stand guard with the tabaxi, leaving Cyran and Iryla alone.

He ran his hands over the cloth, satisfied with the material. “Here.” He handed the clothing to Iryla, who wore an expression on her face that indicated she’d much rather step outside and fight a two-headed basilisk than get into whatever finery Eirynor had procured for her.

He couldn’t help but laugh at her expression, covering it up with his hand before she could get offended by his slip. “I’ll call you at the first sign of danger, okay?” He wasn’t sure he wanted her to be near any of the fighting, but he had a feeling she might try to find a way to slip out and join any fighting if he told her no.

He closed the door behind him, joining Eirynor and Snow outside. The hall was empty, filled with the echoes of noise from the tavern. “Did the thug give you any trouble?” He asked Snow. Snow looked like he could handle himself, but Cyran still found himself worrying nonetheless. To Eirynor, he said, “I’m sorry I can’t properly understand you. Perhaps while I’m in town, you could show me a couple of those hand signs?” The silent communication seemed useful for missions as well, should he ever need to use something like that during a mission.

He rested a hand on his dagger as he leaned against the wall, keeping an eye on their surroundings. With the three of them here, any thug would have a difficult time starting anything. Still, he had a nagging feeling that someone was still lurking around, so he pulled himself up and began setting off down the hall. “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to have a quick look around the hotel.”

In the shadows cast by the dim light of the hotel, Cyran was practically invisible, blending into his surroundings as he kept his eyes and ears out for any trouble. It looked like the thug from earlier had left, but was he still lingering, waiting to strike? Experimentally, Cyran poked his head outside to find that the street was nearly empty- at this time of day, most everyone would be in taverns or huddling in their homes. People in Darkveil, Cyran had come to learn, didn’t like to linger outside often.

The sound of raised voices around the corner caught his attention- Cyran’s ears perked up as they slowly began to grow lowder, as if getting closer…

“They’re certainly testing my patience. Though the crowd is working in our favor for the time being.” Snow explains while shifting their weight back on one leg, their fluffy tail brushing against the wooden floor. “We should be cautious when we leave later.”

Eirynor nods in agreement then looks at Cyran as he addresses him. The half-elf considers the request for a moment then signs to their feline companion. Snow takes a moment to put the message together for Cyran.

“Uhm, he says that he would be happy to, but it’d be good to have Master Zarius help with that.”

The half-elf nods in approval of the catfolk’s translation which causes Snow’s tail to twitch again, a small sign of pride in the accomplishment of properly communicating the swordsman’s meaning.

“It doesn’t take that long to learn, though I admit I still am practicing myself.” Snow adds.

After a few moments of silence between the three, Cyran breaks off from the two guards. Snow and Eirynor exchange a bit of a look but ultimately nod and remain at their post to ensure Iryla is well defended while she gets cleaned up.

---

Meanwhile, the thugs were still bickering back and forth about what to do.

“I say we circle around back and surround them.” The lizardfolk suggests.

The bulkier dwarven man shakes his head. “I’m tellin’ you, it’s a bad idea.”

“You ain’t coming up with anything better.”

“As I said earlier, we should send for back up if we’re going to do anything at all.”

“By then they might be long gone.”

“Enough of this! I ain’t no coward. It’s just the tiefling, cat, and whoever that elf is. We can take ‘em.” The thug turns and stomps around to the front with the others relenting and following after.

The two quieter members of the group check over their equipment in preparation for a fight. The clink of some bottles in one of their packs draws Zarius’ attention. An alchemist most likely, while the other four appear to be armed with various weapons including swords, daggers, and crossbows. The dwarf carries a heavy warhammer, but other than that, nothing indicates anyone is a spellcaster.

Zarius skulks along the exterior of the building as the group rounds the corner of the Dancer’s Den. Not wanting to drag this fight into the establishment where it could easily get out of hand, Zarius steps off the wall and lets himself fall and land behind the one of the thugs checking their packs.^[1]

He slips his hands out of his pockets and slams his fist into the back of the thug as the veil of invisibility drops.^[2] The thug shouts out in pain as they tumble forward onto their hands and knees, clutching at their back in pain. The other thugs whip around in surprise, drawing their weapons.

“My apologies gentlemen, but I am going to have to ask you once again to leave.”

---

[1] Cats Grace
[2] Backstab

There was a clear look of confusion as Iryla took the bundled clothing from Cyran and looked at it. What the- What… was this? This was clothing? How in the world was she meant to put it on…?

When Cyran and the other half-elf leave, Iryla carefully sets down the clothing on a small dressing table in the room and decides to tackle the easier task than getting dressed. The bath.

With a look of stern concentration, she hesitantly approaches the steaming water. She eyes the bottles on the edge of the tub warily as if they were so many bottles of poisons.

Right. She could do this. She could take a bath and get dressed in the overly nice clothing that was brought for her. No problem. This would be easy.

….

Several minutes later, she walks out of the bathroom with her tunic on backwards.

Cyran hastily leaned against the wall, blending into the shadows as he unsheathed his dagger. Five men- led by the thug from earlier that was harassing the bartender- rounded the corner, most bearing weapons, and all of them looking ready for a scrap. His grip tightened on the sheath of his blade out of reflex. He had not wanted this to come to combat, but there were some people that were just so stupid that fighting was the only way to get a message through their thick skulls. It was no surprise that these two-bit criminals fell into that category.

Before he could dart out of the shadows and strike with his blade, Zarius dropped down below them from some unspecified place Cyran hadn’t noticed, immediately delivering a devastating blow to the small, vulnerable part of a criminal’s back, sending him sprawling to the ground. The others all immediately assumed battle stances as Zarius gave them all one final warning, tone firm. Any sane person would have gotten the message by now to back off, but these men were either some of the bravest people in the realm… or the most foolish.

“No can do, tiefling. We ain’t gonna kowtow to the likes o’ you just because of your father.”

So his hunch had been right. They had recognized Zarius as someone important.

Another one of the thugs raised their crossbow, pointing it at Zarius in warning. “Yeah, there’s no big cat to protect you now, is there?”

Cyran resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the hackneyed attempts at intimidation. The threats obviously weren’t working, and it didn’t take a fool to tell that even alone, Zarius was not one to be trifled with. Before the scene could get too ugly, he pulled up his hood, the shadows dancing across his face making him resemble more of a gaunt specter than an elven man, and stepped out from his hiding place.

“I really wouldn’t do that, if I were you. My friend here has given you ample opportunity to walk away from this in one piece. If you were smart, you’d go home to your nice, safe beds and forget all this happened come morning.”

Two of the men whipped around to face him, effectively splitting the group’s attention between Zarius and Cyran.

“It’s the elf!” One of them cried.

“Big whoop, he’s only got a dagger!” One of the others reasoned. “And the other’s unarmed! We can take ‘em both.”

Cyran narrowed his eyes.

The lizardfolk, who had been making direct eye contact with Cyran, suddenly seized up, all muscles locking into place. His pupils dilated and contracted, mouth hanging open as he was filled with an inexplicable sense of dread, subjected to visions that could only be described as a nightmare.^[1] In his fear, he dropped his weapon to the ground, frozen stiff with fear.

One of his friends glanced over at him. “Oi, what’s wrong?”

The lizardfolk opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“Do you get the picture now?” Cyran asked. “You are hopelessly outmatched.”

Indecision briefly flashed across the leader’s face before he collected his composure, raising his weapon with a derisive scoff. “We still outnumber both of ya!”

Well, that was answer enough, he guessed. If they weren't going to give up when offered the chance, it was their funerals. He only toped they could wrap this up as quickly as possible before Iryla noticed anything was amiss. 

---

1. Hood of Horrors

Eirynor and Snow glance back at Iryla as she emerges from the bathroom. Eirynor tilts his head curiously. Had she put on her shirt backwards? It did not look comfortable. Snow isn’t sure if they should correct the half-elf or not and decides to leave it to Cyran when he returns.

“Is there anything else you require, miss?” The catfolk asks before their attention snaps to the sound of something getting slammed into the exterior wall of the Dancer’s Den, causing the bard strumming on a lute to miss pluck a note with an off-key twang.

Some of the patrons of the inn start to glance towards the front door and whisper amongst themselves about what could be going on outside. The two guards exchange a look and the mute half-elf starts towards the door while Snow stays back with Iryla. Bold of the two men to assume the young half-elf would stay put like a rational being.

---

A few moments before this, the thugs were in the midst of starting a fight with Zarius and Cyran. The one Zarius had gotten the drop on, the alchemist, was already back on their feet, though hunched and in obvious pain. He could barely hold himself together but looked worried when the lizardfolk froze in fear at the visage of Cyran.

The tiefling wastes no time in closing the gap between himself and the thug with the crossbow thanks to Cyran’s distraction. The man panics and fires the weapon, which proves to be a mistake as Zarius snatches the bolt from the air and stabs it into the man’s upper thigh once he is within striking range.^[1,2] Zarius grabs onto his weapon, pulls him forward, and whips him around into the wall of the building, letting them slide limply down to the ground with a bloodied face.^[3]

“Allow me to educate you gentlemen.” He says, stepping towards the group. “It is not my father who you should cower before. I need no protection from anyone. And, I do not need a weapon to make you regret the poor life choices you have made this day.”

The alchemist and the dwarven man can’t help but take a step back from the tiefling as an aura of intimidation washes over them.^[4]

---

[1] Dashing
[2] Deflecting Palm (½)
[3] Iron Grip
[4] Looming Fear (½)

“Miss..?” She murmurs back, a little confused by the form of address. Iryla doesn’t get too much time to be caught off guard, though, when the sound of banging from outside catches the Tabaxi’s attention and her own. She looks around quickly for the source of the noise, noticing immediately that the thug from earlier, Cyran, and Zarius are no where to be seen. Not to mention Zarius’ half-elf was already making his way to the front door. Which… Probably meant that noise was trouble involving her current benefactors.

Great.

Well, at least now she’d have a quick way to pay them back for the new clothes.

It was easy enough to guess that none of the adults would likely want her getting involved in any kind of fighting, at least not in the open. So passing the tabaxi and half-elf to get to the front door probably wasn’t an option. Which left finding another exit to be her only option in the situation.

So she spins on her heel and darts for the stairs before Snow can stop her, keeping in mind the side of the building she heard that bang on. The only window in the hallway was far from where she’d heard that noise, but it’s just her luck when it seems Cyran’s room overlooks the very alley that fight was breaking out in.

“Hm. This really is my lucky day.”

Shimming open the window is quick and easy work. Looking down she can see them all, Cyran and Zarius ready to fight. A taller thug and a shorter one backing away from them. One man already on the ground. Two others. Huh. Maybe this was a fight that those two could handle.

But where would be the fun in letting them do it all on their own?

She slips out of the window, quiet and fearless, and lets herself drop through the air. Her aim is careful as she falls to go for the safest landing. Which in this case would be landing with her feet squarely on one of the thugish figure’s shoulders, letting him take the brunt of the fall as she knocks him to the ground and crouches on his back with a small ‘oof’.

There’s a sting that zips up from her ankles that Iryla steadfastly ignores in favor of pressing her trusted dagger to the man’s throat as she crouches on him. Looking up, she makes eye contact with Cyran and Zarius and smiles at them both, raising her free hand to give a little wave.

"Hey, sorry I'm late."

“I- you-” Cyran gaped, briefly forgetting the battle as his eyes flit up to the second-story window belonging to his room that Iryla had just flung herself out of. “Did you just defenestrate yourself? Do you know how dangerous that stunt was? What if you hadn’t landed on that man’s back?” In contrast to the calm attitude he’d had while dealing with the criminals, Cyran was now approaching near-hysterics, Iryla’s drop from above worrying him more than the fight itself.

With Iryla holding one of the thugs hostage, the others were hesitant to move, even with the lizardfolk shaking off the effects of the fear, they were frozen in a sort of stalemate, all staring in shock from the half-elf’s sudden entrance, to the bloody, mangled mess on the ground that Zarius had made of his would-be attacker.

Nobody dared move, lest Iryla slit their companion’s throat.

The dwarf with the warhammer broke the tense silence first, raising his weapon with a cry, clearly willing to risk his teammate to hurt Iryla. Cyran dashed past the still-paralyzed lizardfolk, raising his arm to catch the dwarf before he could hurt her- shadows seemed to cling to his hand, looking as if it had been dipped in ink to form claws, as he slashed across the dwarf’s back, cutting through layers of padded leather armor and slicing through the skin beneath.^[1,2]

“Oh, no you don’t.” Cyran uttered, voice dangerously calm despite the cold anger simmering under the surface. The dwarf twitched before dropping his hammer and collapsing to the ground, wound festering in his skin. Cyran stood over his body, blackened blood dripping from the claws that were already beginning to retract.

---

1. Death Swipe
2. Back Stab

Zarius looks surprised at the half-elf girl who just lept down from the second story window. She didn't land great, but luckily she hadn't hurt herself. He makes a mental note to get her some training so she doesn't shatter her shins pulling stunts like that. Cyran's reaction was pretty amusing though, he really is acting like he is the girl's father despite just having met. 

Snow runs up to the open window and notches an arrow while drawing their bow. They aim down out of the opening at the remaining thugs. 

Zarius glances up at the catfolk. "She got past you? That is surprising."

"She just took off running for the stairs!"

The tiefling snickers a bit at how flustered Snow is. The sound of a sword being unsheathed behind Cyran catches his attention. Eirynor allows their invisibility to drop as they aid the elf in blocking any path of escape for the thugs. 

Two thugs were basically down for the count while Iryla had control of another. They outnumbered the lizardfolk and leader easily now. Zarius approaches the leader with unwavering confidence and a smirk on his face. He stops a foot away from the man. 

"So, you started this fight, I will be generous and allow you to choose how it ends. An arrow through the skull, a knife to the throat, fed alive to the jackals, thrown into the volcano's fires, or each bone in your body crushed one at a time. Which would you prefer?"

The leader breaks out in a sweat, his eyes darting nervously between all the enemies that now are around him. He grits his teeth.

"You bastard!"

In a fit of desperation and rage he attempts to slash at the tiefling. Zarius is quick to react and deflects the blade by striking the man's grip on the hilt of the sword.^[1,2] The leader's vision spins as he finds himself suddenly flipped and slammed down into the ground. 

He barely has a moment to recover before Eirynor looms over him and stabs his blade down into the man's shoulder, effectively pinning him to the ash dusted ground. 

Zarius steps back and looks at Cyran and Iryla. "I can send for some people to collect these folks unless you have other ideas."

---

[1] Fighter's Senses
[2] Reverse of Momentum

“Did you just defenestrate yourself? Do you know how dangerous that stunt was? What if you hadn’t landed on that man’s back?”

Cyran’s reaction catches Iryla off guard and it shows clearly on her face as she looks up at him and blinks with large blue eyes. He seemed upset, though for the life of her she couldn’t quite figure out why. Not to mention…

“I.. What does… Defen….. De… Wha…?”

Underneath her feet and blade the man she dropped onto him groans and tries to move under her weight, so she presses her rusted dagger a little more firmly into the skin of his neck to keep him in place. It wasn’t the first time she had been forced to draw blood from someone else, though she never liked it. But when the dwarf in the group raises his hammer and starts to move forward, she think she’ll have to spill even more blood to defend herself-

Until she…. Doesn’t. Because Cyran is there instead, defending her. Strange shadows cling to Cyran’s hand as the dwarf falls before he can hurt her, but that’s not the part that catches Iryla off guard. It’s just.. Cyran, standing there, looking at her like he’s concerned for her. His voice is coldly furious and it makes her flinch for reasons she doesn’t quite understand.

The strange moment is cut off when Zarius speaks to Snow, and Iryla watches as Zarius confronts what must be the leader of this little group. Zarius is quick to cut off his attempt at a last stand and Iryla only barely winces as the man is pinned painfully to the ground by his shoulder.

She shakes her head when Zarius addresses her and Cyran. Best to let the man with connection deal with this lot, she supposed. It’s not like she’d be able to do anything with them after all. She knew none of these men would likely be missed, she certainly wouldn’t. But she had no connections to deal with them.

With Snow and Eirynor joining the fray, tipping the scales further in their favor, quick work was made of the final thugs, with Zarius taking care of the leader. It was likely only courtesy that dictated that he offer the choice to decide the leader’s fate to them. All those options sounded slow and painful, the kind of retribution that Cyran expected of a man of Zarous’s caliber, though not how he handled things. Cyran preferred quick deaths, efficient cuts from daggers that got the job done fast.

But then again, his name had not been the one slighted in this encounter.

At Zarius’s inquiry, Iryla uncomfortably shook her head, which Cyran was grateful for. There was no need to drag her into this nasty business any further. Cyran turned his attention to the man pinned to the ground, who was looking up at the two pleadingly, as if aware that his fate lied in their answer. That only left Cyran as the deciding factor.

“I don’t care what happens to them. Do what you need to do.” He glanced nervously at Iryla, figuring that it would probably be best for her not to be here while Zarius made them disappear. “Though perhaps… Iryla, would you mind joining me to grab dinner for everyone while Zarius deals with them?” He asked, tone deliberately mild.

Before he made his way inside, he turned around and approached the thug that Zarius had pinned down, before bending down to look the thug in the eye. With fluid movements and practiced ease, he pulled his dagger out of its sheath and held it up to the thug’s face, steel barely brushing against his skin.

He raised the dagger, and the thug flinched before Cyran brought it down to neatly slice off a piece of cloth from his jacket. As he straightened, he folded the square and tucked it neatly in his pocket before addressing Zarius. “Insurance.” He offered in way of explanation. “For if you let him go.” This time, he turned back down and addressed the thug. “I’d better not see you again. If, on the rare chance you live, then you’d better not be dumb enough to try anything again. If you do, there’s nowhere that I won’t be able to find you.”

With that, he turned back around and made his way into the Dancer’s Den.

Zarius nods at Cyran and Iryla. Fine by him. He had plans already forming in his head, if they did not have any preference, then he could do as he pleases. 

He waits for Cyran and Iryla to leave around the corner and out of sight before he turns his attention back on the thugs. By this point, Snow has jumped down out of the window and lands softly in the street.^[1] Zarius walks around and swiftly knocks out each of the thugs still conscious and drags them over to the next alley away from the Dancer's Den. 

"Eirynor, go get some more hands to deal with these guys. Tell Eameia I want to know who they work for." 

Eirynor nods and runs off to quickly get some back up while Snow stands guard with Zarius until the silent half-elf returns with a few more of the tiefling's family's staff. The thugs are gathered up and taken away to who knows where. 

After everything is cleaned up in the alleyway, Zarius heads back inside the inn while Snow and Eirynor head back. In all honesty, he didn't keep them around as body guards. He didn't need that kind of support, it was more of a status thing than anything else.

Unlike many of the others associated with the Ashen Fathers, Zarius didn't believe in anonymity. There were risks to people knowing who he was, certainly, but there was also something to be said about being brazen while being able to back up being a more notoriously known figure in the community.

While he had been careful in his travels, he couldn't keep up a false identity amongst those he wants support from. Thus he must accept that he would have to be the face of his operations and deal with the target on his back from it. At least he had friends standing behind him these days. 

Stepping back inside, he kicks some of the soot off his boots and looks around for Cyran and Iryla. 

---

[1] Cats Grace (Snow)

Blinking between Cyran and Zarius, Iryla slowly nods in agreement. She supposes it would be best to not linger in this alley while Zarius takes care of business. At least that way she wouldn’t be in the way of the dirty work.

She keeps her dagger close to the man’s body underneath her as she carefully steps off of his back, making sure he doesn’t make any fast moves before she straightens herself out to walk by Cyran’s side.

Iryla isn’t sure what will happen next, why Cyran took some cloth from that man, what Zarius will do with these men. And while maybe she should care about those things, it’s hard to really think about them right now. Not when she’s stuck on the concern Cyran had just showed for her and her safety.

She’s staring at him, she realizes with a start, as they make their way back inside the dancer’s den. Looking up at him with an openly curious and confused expression. As soon as she realizes, she looks down at her new trousers and tries to smooth the look away into something a little more guarded, but somehow she feels like she’ll likely be seen through.

For a moment, a distant memory of seeing a child being scolded by their mother flashes through her mind. She had been younger then, smaller and hiding in an alley watching some of the kids with parents play in the streets. One of them had been running too fast and had slipped on the ashen streets, causing him to cry. His mother had come quickly then, and scolded him while looking at his bloody knee.

No one had ever done that for Iryla before. Not once. She had always picked herself up after falling and either bandaged her own wounds or simply learned to ignore them. She isn’t even sure why she’s thinking of that memory now, what brought it to the forefront of her mind.

Honestly, what was she doing getting so distracted? She should be worried about what would be said to her as soon as they got back to the room. Iryla had a feeling she shouldn’t have joined that fight, at least Cyran gave that impression. But she wasn’t sure why…

“....Cyran…? Are you…” She swallows. “...Are you mad at me? Why?”

It did not escape Cyran’s notice that Iryla was silent on the way back into the Dancer’s Den, or that she was occasionally regarding him with guarded curiosity and confusion while they made their way inside. At first, he said nothing, unwilling to be the first to break the silence for fear that he might have scared her with his actions during the fight. That any question he would ask would open the floodgates, and she would admit that she was afraid of him.

He opened his mouth in an attempt to ask how her ankles were- she seemed to be walking without much pain, but he had no idea how good she was at putting on a brave face- but he couldn’t seem to get the words out. It was ridiculous, really, that he was already so worried about what she thought of him, but he’d always been a sentimental old fool, getting attached too easily to others. But before he could spiral further into self-pity, Iryla spoke up, voice small and hesitant, asking if he was mad at her, and all of his fear fizzled out.

Had she mistaken his worry for anger? Cyran had not meant to raise his voice in such a way, but he’d been so anxious watching her throw herself out of his room’s window without a care in the world. What if she’d broken a leg? What if she hadn’t managed to take one of the bandits hostage, and they managed to surround her before Cyran or Zarius could get to her on time? All of those thoughts had plagued him, the fear that he wouldn’t have been able to protect her.

“Oh, I’m not mad at you at all.” Cyran exhaled softly, all the tension from the sight slowly bleeding out from his shoulders. He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words. He had only a vague inkling of Iryla’s background, but he could only imagine the kind of feelings that he’d carelessly caused. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I was only worried for you… mad at the men who tried to attack you, yes, but not you. You did nothing wrong.”

He paused.

“Well. Aside from sneaking past Snow and throwing yourself out a window.” He hoped she didn’t do that again while they were staying together in the Dancer’s Den, for his own sanity. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t do that again…” He paused. “Though, between you and me, I’ve thrown myself out a window once before, as well.”

That last part was spoken quietly, though with the intent to lighten the heavy mood that had seemed to settle over them.

“But I should buy us dinner first.” He could see Zarius entering the tavern after them, Snow and Eirynor noticeably absent. He started making his way to the bar to order food, but stopped for a moment, turning back to Iryla. “For what it’s worth… I believe you handled yourself very well.”

He quickly left, off to order food for the three of them.

Spotting the pair just inside the Dancer's Den. They unfortunately were drawing attention from the other patrons of the inn as they had their hushed conversation. Zarius walks over and gives anyone looking their way a pointed look, which makes them turn away. Further evidence that his notoriety had been rising. 

He sees Cyran head off to order more food to which he makes a mental note to make sure to pick up the tab before he leaves. Iryla still had all of Cyran's money after all. The tiefling is left with the half-elf for a moment and he looks down at her. 

"That was a risky move." He comments, then gestures for them to move to one of the more private booths in the room. 

She had guts, he would acknowledge that. She lacked proper training though. Sure, she likely knew how to use that knife well enough to defend herself from random drunks in the streets, but if she hadn't gotten the drop on that other guy how well would she have actually faired in the fight? They got lucky, had the timing been off even slightly one of them could have gotten seriously hurt or worse. 

If Cyran was going to invest more time into this random street child, she would need to not hold him back or become a liability. Zarius had his own plans involving the hunter elf. He was a useful ally and the powers he displayed today only cemented that opinion in the tiefling's mind. 

The elf had no allegiance to Darkveil, just a sellsword. A mercenary. Usually those types had their limited use for the kind of work Zarius needed done since they could be easily bought out by rival crime families. Cyran was different though. The hunter had a strong moral compass despite falling into the same questionable line of work that Caedes did. Some would view that as a weakness, but to Zarius it was an opportunity to forge actual trust between them. That trust could be used to further his own goals if he was subtle. In short, Cyran was malleable.

This child though? Well, it was useful to have someone who was underestimated and ignored on the streets of the city. She was just another orphan trying to get by. Most wouldn't give her a passing glance here. She would have to be reined in though and carefully trained, otherwise that teenage recklessness could be more trouble than it was worth. She needed to be able to be trusted to look after herself if she was going to be of any value keeping around.

Then again, if Cyran decided to take her under his own wing, then Zarius would gain some good faith from the elf by supporting that venture even if only financially. It was worth a try. Time would tell if it was a worthwhile investment. 

Sitting down in the booth and waiting on Cyran's return, he looks at Iryla. 

"You could have run away in the chaos. I am surprised you did not." He eyes her up and down a bit, the clothes seemed to fit well enough but...

"Did you put your shirt on backwards?" He asks with an amused lilt in his voice. 

“Oh, I’m not mad at you at all.”

Relief is an immediate balm to Iryla’s nerves as she lets out a soft sigh. She isn’t sure why the idea of Cyran being mad at her bothered her so much. Maybe it was because he was the first person to show her kindness in- In a very, very long time. To have someone be kind to her, even if it was for his own benefit, if she had nearly immediately ruined that…

She is drawn out of her contemplation by his next words, which bring a stubborn look to her face.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t do that again… Though, between you and me, I’ve thrown myself out a window once before, as well.”

“Hey- Wait! How come you can jump out of windows but I can’t? I knew what I was doing…!”

Her consternation is only mildly abated when he compliments the way that she handled herself in the fight. She hadn’t done much, but she was proud of her quick thinking, thank you. But then she’s left alone with the other one.

The Half-Elf girl follows Zarius to one of the booths in the den. It’s a little bit of a struggle as she scoots her way into the seat opposite of Zarius and makes herself comfortable.

To be honest. Her ankles hurt. Knees, too. Not horribly, but enough she might be limping later. She was confident she hadn’t broken anything, but the impact of her fall hadn’t exactly been a soft one. At least it was worse for the other guy.

When they’re settled, she responds to his comments.

“It was risky, but I knew what I was doing.” She retorts, though not with the same stubborn sourness as she had to Cyran. “I’m not very big and I’m not very strong, all I’ve got going for me in a fight is the fact that I’m quick and easy to miss. Knew if I wanted to help, I’d have to use surprise to get a hand up on one of those punks.” She explained. Her reasoning made perfect sense to her, at least. “It may have been a risk, but getting into a fight in general is a risk. I just took the option that had the greatest chance of succeeding. I knew they would expect me to get the drop on them, literally. Who would?”

Iryla was well aware of her strengths and weaknesses, especially in a fight. She had to be. Living on the streets wasn’t easy, and competition was fierce. She’d been in fights many, many times. Either to defend what was hers, or because others saw her as someone small and weak and easy to bully. Those people she enjoyed proving wrong.

"You could have run away in the chaos. I am surprised you did not."

“I could have, but I didn’t. I’m no freeloader. I’ve been given food and clean clothes, and an opportunity for a safe place to sleep. I would be a fool to not take advantage of that. Besides...”

Lowering her voice slightly, she gives Zarius a surprisingly serious stare.

“I’m no idiot. I don’t expect any of what I’ve been given today to be given to me for free, regardless of what Cyran says. You’re someone with power here, aren’t you? I know you didn’t get that by giving things away just for charity’s sake. You think I could be useful, don’t you? It’d be in my best interest to prove you right.”

Then.

“...Did I?” She looks down at the shirt as the serious moment breaks and blinks. “...I didn’t know how to put this on.. Couldn’t tell which one was the nice side and which one wasn’t. Both sides were nice…”

Shuffling her arms back into the tunic, she wriggles around for a moment and turns it around on her body, then when it is facing the correct direction, her arms pop back out.

“Is this right?”