Open The human condition, and Alcohol (The Malt House)

[Alea Davenport]

From the safety of under the table, Alea peered at the doorway. She didn't recognize whoever had come in, and they appeared to be heading for the bar, rather than looking around for soaked slave girls. She held her breath for a few ticks, but no one else came through the door. Perhaps her swim had successfully lost her pursuit after all. She relaxed, but only by a hair. They could still be out there, searching. But her new company had a point, acting like she had something to hide would only bring attention to herself sooner. With eyes still on the door, she crept out from under the table and slid into a chair facing the door, with her back to the wall.

After a few more ticks, she began kicking her legs idly. She felt like there was this aura of boredom pressing down on her, and now that the adrenaline was wearing off, she began to feel the need to liven things up somehow. Usually she would accomplish that through violence, but she wasn't sure people would respond well to being randomly attacked for no obvious reason. Clearly, she would have to subtly provoke a fight without it getting back to her. But how?

This mentality encouraged her to be rude, which was a nice change from always having to worry about how she presented herself when she was "representing" the NItrozians. But apparently no one here recognized her, so she was almost certain she wouldn't get in trouble. She let her long-subdued curiosity awaken slightly. The man was fairly obviously a typical Ravokian, soft, weak, not terribly interesting. But the little girl was new. "Why's your skin such a weird color?" she asked the girl bluntly, keeping up her swinging legs, more than half hoping to hit at least one of her fellow table-sitters.