"...Anserra," she says, because she doesn't know any local names and sure as hell isn't giving them hers. "And, um, yes. A bit."

"Sounds foreign," says the second one.

"Well, Anserra," says the scarred man, crossing the alley to stand in front of her. "How would you like to come to a party?"

He does not make any particular effort to sound nonthreatening, but neither does he do any obvious leering.

"That doesn't sound very wise."

"Sometimes we offer to pay but you don't look like you need money that badly," he says. "If you're secretly a princess or something, now's the time to say so."

She sighs. "I am not secretly a princess."

"Too bad for you. Are you going to come along if I ask nicely, or do I have to get my friends to carry you?"

"I wouldn't mind carrying her," says the one who spotted her first.

She makes a rude gesture at him and says, "I can walk."

"This way, then."

The scarred man leads her out of the alley; his four friends surround her loosely but don't try to manhandle her.

Locals stay well out of their way as they walk along the riverbank. They cross a bridge into a somewhat nicer part of town, and keep to back alleys as they make their way toward an enormous mansion.

"Take her to the back room and make her comfortable," says the scarred man once they're inside. "I have tax reports to look over."

"I don't know why you bother," says one of the friends, the stocky blond who mentioned she sounded foreign.

"Because unlike you, Jiath, I have a sense of responsibility. Go on, I'll be along in a quarter hour."

"I promise not to let them do any damage before you get there," says a different friend, who hasn't spoken until now. His clothes are noticeably more worn than the rest of them, with a couple of discreet patches here and there, and he's lightly built and has curly red hair tied back in a short tail.

"Thank you," says the scarred man.

"Come along," says the redhead to Elodea.

This is honestly better than she had hoped. She follows.

He walks beside and a little ahead of her, and keeps looking at her thoughtfully. The other three don't seem interested in her unusual attitude; Jiath gets caught up in telling a dirty joke that seems to require a surprising amount of cultural context to understand, and the remaining two are busy laughing along.

But they reach the 'back room' without the redhead actually venturing to strike up a conversation. It's a comfortable sitting room, with couches and tables and an armchair and a few cabinets, and in the middle of it all a piece of furniture consisting of a raised padded surface with a lot of chains anchored to the sides.

"I'll get the wine," says the redhead, going to a cabinet and extracting some cups and a bottle. He glances back at Elodea and asks, "Would you like some? It's been known to help."

"Yes, please."

So she gets the first cup of wine, and everyone else gets some too, and there's a sixth cup left empty, presumably for the scarred man when he gets back from his tax reports. The redhead continues watching her curiously, standing near her with his cup of wine while the rest of them sit down on one of the couches and somebody else starts telling another high-context joke.

She drinks her wine and watches him back.

Finally, one of the other three - the one who spotted her first - asks, "What's eating you, Tarro?"

"It's just..." The redhead frowns thoughtfully at her. "Does it not strike any of you as odd that our guest here is so calm and cooperative?"

"Maybe she hasn't figured it out yet," Jiath suggests.

"I really don't think that's it," says Tarro, gazing into her eyes. "Is it."

"Are you going to tell me that things wouldn't go worse for me if I wasn't, or that I could have gotten away at the beginning if I'd bolted?"

"That still doesn't explain why you're not upset," says Tarro.

"Come off it, she's not an assassin," says the one who thought she looked like she came out of a historical play.

"I never said that," says Tarro.

"It's less 'not upset' and more 'resigned'."

"Well, fair enough," says Tarro. He finishes his wine; he didn't have much to begin with. "I suppose it's your business."

"Why are you being so polite," says Jiath.

"Manners don't cost me anything," says Tarro.

"And at this point, if I did have some way to enact retribution, I'd be a lot more inclined to do so against you than him," she tells Jiath.

"I would very much appreciate it if there wasn't any retribution at all," says Tarro.

"If I had any kind of ability like that it would be much wiser to use it preventatively than vengefully," she points out, and drains the last of her wine.

"Yes, it would," he agrees, clearly not finding that a satisfying explanation. But he doesn't press the point, just lifts the bottle slightly in her direction in a silent offer of a refill.

She holds her glass out in silent acceptance.

He pours her another cup, and a little more for himself, which he finishes almost immediately.

She drinks her second glass more slowly than him but more quickly than her first.