"Hah. Well, better to check and not find anything, than not check and miss something dangerous, I'd say." He raises the glass of beer and drains what remains of it.

"Hear-hear."

She goes off to acquire food and beer. She takes a sip of the beer, and fails not to make a face at it's taste.

The food at least is OK, if not spectacular.

A waiter comments, "We gots stronger stuff if you wanna pay for it. That's the one that everybody drinks, 'cause beer don't make you sick like water does sometimes."

"Nah, I'm good. Just found it surprising." She is a Lunar, she can deal with it. (She is a Lunar, she could also deal with the water, but she isn't letting that on.)

"So, George, how was your day?"

"Well, you've seen most of it, haven't you? Work and travel. It was good, though. You're more fun to talk to than my neighbors."

"I pride myself on being entertaining."

George makes a sound of suppressed amusement.

A table away, a relatively nicely dressed man comments not quite quietly enough, "Well, those clothes are certainly entertaining." He and his friends let out a loud laugh. A few other people make annoyed or irritated faces, including George.

The nice thing about being a Lunar on the road is you can fuck with people, and not have to worry about the consequences too much. So why not have a little fun.

"I'm sure you're very entertaining too--" she says in her best sugar-pie voice, before switching to more threatening tone "--when you're running." She shows enough fang to be subconsciously offputting, but not enough that it's obvious her teeth are actually sharp.

"Aheh, heh, heh... Heh."

"Uh... Clem, maybe you shouldn't have said that."

"Yeah, maybe not."

"Clem, maybe you should apologize."

"Nah, don't think I will."

Clem's friends glance at the probably-a-witch-given-current-social-context, and edge slightly away from him.

"You've got a good choice in friends. They're smart."

"I'm surprised you didn't hear something like that sooner, dressed like a French woman as you are."

"Clem..."

"No, shut up. I'll say what I wanna say, we got free speech 'ere, don't we? And if you're doing some kind of magic blathery to me, that's probably against some kind of law, innit? Can't scare me."

"Clem, if she turns you into a frog or sommat and gets tossed in jail you're still a frog."

This seems to get through his drunkenness. He twitches, looks around, and says, "...Sorry. 'M leaving now." And hurries, wobbling, out the door, leaving coins on his table.

She turns to George. "Sorry about that display.

And, uh, not meaning to show my foreign-ness too much, but what are the French like?"

"You seemed to teach him a lesson, just by talkin'. Best way to end a fight in my opinion - not having one. So it's fine. The French - er. I've never actually seen a Frenchman but when people compare you to one they're calling you a coward or weak or all fur and no meat or disloyal or, er, a, uh, whore." He rubs his head and looks away.

"Yeah, better than him getting a table thrown at him.

Ah, that makes sense. Still kinda a weird insult, I imagine French women have other things they do with their time."

"One would presume so, yes. Farming and housework and weaving or whatever their trade is if nothing else... I'm not sure why, but everyone hates someone, it seems. I'm probably guilty of the same sin, and just can't tell."

"It's a thing. I think people need someone they can point at and say 'I'm better than them'. Can't say I've never done it myself."

"Pff. It's my neighbors for me, if it's anyone. Clint will go on and on and on about his pigs, and Marla keeps dumping trash in my mam's field, and so on. Now, I try to take things calmly and be kind and understanding. My father said that a man that's as steady as a rock is more of a man than a knight, or even a noble, whose temper is like a flag in the wind. I'd like to think I'm good at it."

George finishes his food. "I'll probably turn in soon. Shall we get going bright and early tomorrow, or rest up a little?"

"You've struck me as fairly steady.

As much as I'd like a lie in, I should probably get to Bristol sooner rather than later."

"Thank you."

George knits his brows together and frowns slightly. He says, quietly, "You can't just find a broom and fly there if you're truly in such a hurry?"

Brooms can fly? WHAT

"I've, uh, lost mine. And where I'm from, it's very rude to just borrow someone else's. I'm not in that much of a hurry, I just don't want to lose too much time."

...Maybe she's not a witch. 

Has she actually done anything definitely magical as far as he can see? She's obviously a witch, bold and foreign and the way she carries herself, and yet...

Well, it's not his business, really, if she's pretending. Nothing he's done really changes based on this, except perhaps how trustworthy she is.

He thinks about it for a few moments, then shrugs. "Well, I'll see you bright and early tomorrow, then." And goes to talk to the innkeeper about a room.

"See you tomorrow!"

And once George has finished his transaction, she goes and pays for a room for herself, and falls into bed.

The room is tolerable, if a bit cramped and very plain. It's also cheap.

The next morning George gets up at sunrise and goes to feed and water his horse, then sits out in front of the inn, snacking on bread from the nearby bakery and another mug of the weak but safe beer.

Marena also wakes up at dawn, and meets him outside the inn. "Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough. It's a bit odd to get up and not have to go to the field. Feels like Sunday. Shall we set off right away, then, since you're in a hurry?"