The tavern was alive like any other night, the scent of hearty roast, bubbling stew, and warming ale filling the atmosphere while patrons laughed, made merry, and drank themselves into their nightly comas. A troubadour flitted about the stage on the far wall, accompanied by a ragtag band of fellow patrons in telling some adventurer's tale with a jaunty tune that had some men and women on their feet. Khayr's laughter joined in the din as she was briefly pulled into a dance, guided in a circle, while minding the tray stacked with dishes balanced in her free hand. After one turn, she was released just in time to catch sight of the hand lifted at the bar. Smile softening, she excused herself to resume her duties.
The innkeeper observed another guest as she worked behind the bar—setting aside the dishes in favor of filling a pint to the brim with fresh ale. The first thing she noted was that he looked ill—pale and gastly, which were never two words she'd use to describe the absurdly handsome man with a habit of using her rooms for nightly escapades. While a sneaking suspicion told her it wasn't 'ill' in the traditional sense, her natural curiosity had her itching to know more about the regular she'd rarely spoken to. Khayr was sociable, and she typically made conversation with everyone. Though, for obvious reasons, this patron in particular wasn't an easy one to nail down so she'd never quite had the chance until now. Pint in hand, along with a complimentary dish of cheese and seasonal fruits, she made her way to his solitary end of the bar.
"You're alone today," she observed, the solid thunk of the pint nearly drowning out a word. She offered a smile, setting the food in front of him too and leaned against the bar on her elbows. "And you look like you could use a friend."
