Honour Among Thieves: Kirsten Muses.

Kirsten nodded. She hadn't seemed the least bit put out that the gangster had seen through her ruse. She'd just stood on her tiptoes. shrugged, nodded her head, and flashed a blushing, somewhat mortified smile at her companions.

What ever will they think of me now, acting the doxie like that ?

"It was worth a try." She mumbled, not really willing to look any of them in the eye.

She listened with admiration as Wanda drew information from the man with all the grace and poise of a barber drawing a splinter from a wound. The older woman seemed to have an instinctive grasp of the mans' desire for vengeance. She wondered if it had something to do with her magical education.

Kirsten pondered that while Johann offered what succour he could.

"I'd best go first," she spoke up. "They way is likely to be trapped, and I doubt any of you would know thieves signs if you saw then." She beamed. "Fortunately, I do."

She turned to Malmir, extending her hand. "May I have the crossbow, unless you think it would be better for Harbull to have it in case we are followed?"

She didn't think that was at all likely, mind you. But the little fellow would probably feel better with a decent weapon in hand.

Leading the way out of the room, she surreptitiously turned her gaze back after a few steps, trying not to look directly at Malmir. Hoping (was that actually the right word? Hoping? He was an ELF for Ranald's sake) to catch him eyeing her the way he had previously. It was not that she wanted to encourage the elf's interest, as such. But after so long in men's clothes, her hair, nails and face deliberately dirtied to avoid notice, she was finding she rather enjoyed the attention. She'd forgotten what it was like to feel lovely and desirable -and clean- before she'd taken the time to wash at Oldenhallers. Dirty, street-waif Kirsten would never have caught the eye of a creature so elegant and charming the elf, that much was certain. If she could attract the elf of an elf with so little effort, then perhaps, with the right sort of schooling, she might land herself a richer, more powerful catch one day. A Graf perhaps. Or a merchant-prince.

Wanda looked so elegant and well turned out. She'd watched the older woman closely during the meal, noting how she held her glass. Cut her meat into small, dainty pieces before eating. A girl would need to know such things if she were to find a better place in the world.

Reaching the next, dangerous stretch, she thrust such thoughts aside. There would be time for dreaming later.