The thing is, the girl is so obviously out of her depth—she sits buried in the corner of the inn with her cloak pulled tight around her, hunched over her drink but never raising it to her lips, glancing warily around the darkened room like a prey animal. It draws Eliana's attention from all the way over at the bar. It's drawn her attention since the girl stepped through the door, hastily ordered a mug of something that she looked at like it had insulted her, fumbled her coin purse when paying, and tripped her way over to the booth where she's sat for the past hour. Eliana would bet that her mug's still full. She'd also bet that she's not the only one who's been drawn to the scared-looking stranger. Eliana's used to keeping track of where more predatory eyes than hers are pointed in this part of town, but from the way the stranger keeps looking over her shoulder, she isn't.
So Eliana picks up her drink and slides into the booth next to the girl, who jumps and stares in fright at her entrance. Her skin is nearly as dark as her hair, braided close to her head, and is that the glint of a necklace under the fine clasp of her cloak? That's not good. Her lips are painted deep red, and they quiver as she speaks. "W-what do you think you're doing?"
"You're not from around here," says Eliana easily, and takes a sip of her own drink. Eyes are watching them. She watches back, unsmiling.
On her left, the stranger huddles a little further into her own cloak, despite the balmy temperature indoors. "And...so what if I'm not?"
"It's dangerous," remarks Eliana. A stray wisp of hair has fallen from where it's tied back at the top of her head, and she brushes it away. She observes the girl from the corner of her eye: she's fairly young, probably the age of some of the students at the Academy up north. Probably well-off enough to go there, judging by the hair and the makeup and the necklace and the general unfamiliarity with taverns of this level of repute. So what's she doing down south here instead?
The stranger looks over her shoulder, and Eliana wonders who's chasing her. "Perhaps," she responds.
She eyes Eliana, up and down: her torn vest and scarf, her bag, the strap of her holster slung low on her hip. The practical way dust has leeched itself into every fiber of her trousers.
"What's your name?" says the girl. Her accent is certainly northern, but Eliana still startles at the line. Slightly less timid than she thought, then.
"Eliana," she replies. She shoots a particularly broad patron a look when he stares too long, until he turns away. She knows him. He starts trouble.
"Eliana," the stranger says, careful with her syllables, "Are you from these parts?"
"I've been around," Eliana says simply, watching the rest of the inn. Her eyes dart back to the girl, sitting straight-backed and letting her cloak rest slightly lower on her shoulders. That's definitely a necklace. Some sort of precious metals on it, too. She shouldn't be letting it out in the open with this sort of clientele about.
"I'm looking to hire...a guide," explains the girl, and Eliana perks up. This girl would not survive a day in town without one, nor with most of the bar's other clients as one. She glances again at her necklace, then stirs her full drink. "For a...journey of sorts."
"A guide." Eliana sips her drink. "What's your name?" she echoes, turning her full gaze on the girl for the first time since she sat down. The girl straightens slightly more.
"D—" The girl bites her tongue, swallows. She tries again. "Delia." She frowns up at Eliana. "If you're not interested, you need only say."
Eliana extends a hand, unsmiling. "Delia. You're very lucky you asked me."
