No, the best place she reasoned was by the door itself. Back to the wall it rested in, most people would walk straight past without looking to their sides; giving the quick enough time to slip out if need be. Besides, it was normally a vacant space. People had a tendency to not like sitting next to it due to the weather and the affairs of the world outside. So leaning back on her stool by the door Gale watched the inhabitants of the tavern find themselves for the evening.
It was the usual crowd, humans and wicks, workers from the mills, the forgers, the bakers, the weavers and workers of machines, some of the more intellectual among them.
There was no Galdori. Which was Gale’s preference any day.
The Metalsmith rubbed at her lids. With the end of the work day she had rubbed the worse of the grime from her hands and face, the mop of hair still damp from dunking her head into the brine water in her forge. It was not ideal; she still needed a good scrub, but it did the job for now. The rest of her was the usual scruffy attire. A lick of lips, she took a gulp from the tankard – some light beer she had never heard of – and went back to her waiting game. Solid Stu was hovering around quietly taking in the environment. People had kept to themselves currently, if not for the small rivalry jeers between the steelworkers. They had other things on their minds, and judging by the growing scent coming from the back they were all here for a hot meal. Why risk losing such an opportunity to picking a fight now?
She tilted her head slightly, just enough so she got another look of the inhabitants before she settled down. Emptying her pockets, she mindlessly fiddled with a screw and a tube of scrap metal barely the width and length of her little finger. They were things she frequently worked with, having them was far from unusual -but they were things that scratched at her mind. She sighed.
What am I missing?
She blended among the inhabitants well enough, another nondescript worker even if she was sitting alone. That was another attractor of attention, though that was one to rectified soon enough. She had requested the attention of Valor on this occasion, the pretence being ‘getting a drink’. Of course, it was really to scratch at his mind; to pick at the details and his experience with such matters. He was the man in the know. Least, that was what she was lead to believe during her years in the resistance.