The White Horse Inn, Act III

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn glanced uncaringly at her clothing. Surprisingly, her breeches and blouse had entirely avoided the mess. She wiped a splash of something unidentifiable off of her hand and grinned.

"M'lady Giedd, I think I have some dry clothing that would fit you, at least until your own are no longer playing host to breakfast." She smiled the question.

"My apoligies, young miss, but I'm afraid I missed your name. Who might you be?" Saeryn froze, thinking quickly. Though her recollection was nearly what it had been before the fall, she most certainly preferred that her identity remain safely inconspicuous. Where was Degas when she needed his quick wits? He was the morning person, not her, and yet she'd seen him not even when she infiltrated his room in the early hours to borrow a shirt.

"My name is Saeryn." she replied with a friendly smile. "I have been travelling and this seemed as good a place as any to stop for a time."

"As good a place as any," Falco repeated. "Why you said that you'd been here with--" Saeryn glared with a look that could cut glass.

"I said that my brother had been, and that I'd had word of the Inn's quality through him. In my travels, I came across The White Horse, and decided to stay for awhile. Might I find you something dry, m'lady?"