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Rayne nearly chocked on the cider. His face became a picture of hidden panic, he knew he

Kyvan looked hard at the kit.

"Something's not right," he thought, "But he's obviously terrified. And this new one is equally as uncomfortable."

"Alright, lad," Kyvan said, still whispering, "You can tell me in your own time."

He leaned back and looked around to see who might have heard Rayne's gaff. He also noticed that the three of them had demolished the food on the table.

"I'll go get us more bread and cider," Kyvan said, standing, "You two amuse yourselves, I'll be right back."

Leaning over the table to get the pitcher and bread plate, he put's his head between the two of them and whispers, "I'm willing to help you, if you'll have me. Think about it and tell me when I return."

Kyvan takes the plate and pitcher to the bar for refills, leaving the kits alone, but in his sight at all times.

There was a dull

"Bad day for you too, huh?"

Kathryn looked warily at the kit, even though the greeting was casual. He couldn't have been a day over twelve, but there was something about him that made him seem older... as if he'd had to grow up long before was proper. She immediately distrusted him, though she couldn't say why. Something on the edge of her mind, her subconscious told her that something was... out of place with him. She could almost kenn it, but it was like trying to grasp a shadow or recall a dream -- the harder she tried to pin it down, the more fleeting it became.

You have no idea, kid...

For a moment there was an awkward pause, and she considered flat-out ignoring him. But that would have only drawn attention to her further, as he would likely try again to get her attention, or maybe even make a scene out of it. She could move to another table, but that would make her all the more noticable to the barkeep, and that was the last thing she wanted. Most taverns didn't take very kindly to those who didn't buy something and tried to get a free night's stay; She'd learned this the hard way the past week. Finally, she spoke.

"Yeah, you could say that."

"Kathryn." She said by way of meeting as she took his hand and shook it lightly. "Kathryn Brightwater. I'm... I was a student at the University in Sanctuary City. As you can see, things haven't been going my way for quite a while."

OOC: I thought something up on the way home tonight and I just have to get it down. In no way is this meant to take away from Rayne & Kathryn's conversation.

While the kits talk, Kyvan is at the bar, getting more bread and cider.

"Here you go, Kyv," the bartender says, "Got a few more mouths to feed, I see."

"Yeah," Kyvan says, with a slight smile, "I'm just glad they're finally talking to each other."

"You know," the bartender says absentmindedly, "He really reminds me of Con..."

Kyvan shoots him a look of shock and anger.

"Sorry, Kyv," the bartender says, looking very guilty, "I didn't mean anything by it."

"I know," Kyvan says, hanging his head a little, "It's just a sore subject. It's been five years and ..."

"I know, old friend," the bartender says, "Here, on the house." He pulls out a bottle of wine and pours them each a glass.

"To Connar," Kyvan says and they both sip their drinks, watching the kits talk.

A dark figure sits at the end of the bar, far from the bartender and Kyvan, sipping his drinks and pretending to mind his own business. His mood is obvious by the scowl on his face, the scar over his left eye making him look downright mean. He scans the room from time to time, seeming to be interested in nothing, but in truth watching everything. The kit and the girl sitting next to him seem to have caught his attention, giving them more glances than the rest of the crowd. He stays silent as his eyes take in nothing and everything.

His clothes are pretty average, made to endure the elements and the wear and tear put to it by the owner. His boots are damp, suggesting he came in not too long ago himself, having warmed up inside and out. From his belt hang two wicked looking knives crafted perfectly for danger, their gemstones and runes catching whatever light reaches them in the dark corner. He has a bright bandana fitted on his head, not very good at stopping the cold, but then no one usually expected a storm this bad. Snow wasn't common, and he wasn't alone in being unprepared. Still, his ears and tail were fine, though a bit frostbitten, and the warmth of the fire had soaked into his bones before long. A couple of odd-looking guantlets are tucked just inside his belt, seemingly unaffected by the snow.

He wonders where the kit came from, and why he seems so nervous among his fellow Rac Conans. True, not all of them were trustworthy, but you'd think he'd never seen another of his kind before. That, and he moved strangely. It was like he wasn't used to having a tail or ears that moved. A shape-shifter perhaps? Why any of the werebeasts would choose the form of a Rac Cona Daihm kit was beyond him. But then again, none lived anywhere near the Seven Villages as far as he knew. And who was to say the boy had chosen his form?

No, there was something else to this kit... something strange. He had to keep an eye on him, make sure he didn't bring trouble. Why he felt so compelled to do this, he didn't know. Maybe it was just his sense of duty left over from his time in with the Guardsmen. Even though he'd been thrown out for fighting, he still felt a kinship with them, and they with him. So, he probably should follow up on this kit and make sure he wasn't a threat or a spy. If he was, he'd have to either deal with it himself or tell the Guardsmen. He knew he was quite capable of dealing with it himself. He idly strokes the hilt of one of his knives. Yes, quite capable indeed.

He continues to sip his drinks and watch the room, giving most of his attention to the kit at the table.

The archivist chuckles at the smith's comment. "Well, the news-scrips are all hot and bothered about this new Questor who's turned up. Maybe the blizzard is just to keep things balanced." He stands and walks over to a window to peer out at the storm, his left hand automatically resting on the sealed pouch as he turns his back to the room even briefly. "Never seen anything like this mess." After a minute he returns to his seat, his glance flicking briefly over the two kits and the rest of the patrons. Wonder what Kyvan's up to, there? The boy's more than he seems, but the girl... she's no beggar-waif, she's not any good at sneaking into places. I wonder what her story is.

He'd had dealings with the smith on occasion over the years, delivering contracts and such; they're acquaintances, though he's not been in this town often enough to count any of the locals as true friends. But he's not going anywhere until the storm abates, and this looks interesting. He's about to get up and join Kyvan at the bar, but then he sees the passing wash of shock on the smith's face and decides to leave them be for a bit, not wanting to intrude on some private grief.

After sipping his wine, Kyvan notices the archivist again. He puts some beads down on the bar and asks for another glass to be poured.

"Falcon," he calls out to the archivist, "Come join us."

The little courier nods as Kyvan calls him over and joins him at the bar, hooking a stool close with one foot and hopping up to sit on it. "Thank you, Kyvan. I'm afraid I don't have anything for you this trip." He lowers his voice to a whisper and just barely gestures in the direction of the kits. His eyes look elsewhere, keeping watch on the other patrons. "Where d'you reckon the boy comes from? It's not from around the Seven Villages, I'll wager. And he's hiding something. He's got to be soaked with the snow melting into his clothing, but he hasn't taken his coat off."

"It's strange, alright," Kyvan answers in an equally low tone, "He's terrified of something. Maybe part of it is what he's got on under that coat of his. I don't know, but I've got to help him. Both of them, actually. Kits shouldn't be alone in strange times like this."

Kathryn almost immediately regretted having volunteered the information. Now the full story was likely to come out. If the Barkeeper got wind of the fact that she had no money... she shuddered as she thought about the sudden snowstorm. A body could end up very dead in that. For the moment, she tried to effect damage control and exercise caution in what she said.

"I was studying artifactory, though I've been doing some research in alternative methodologies as well."

She thought about how the conversation was going and quickly realized that the best thing to do would be to get the focus off of herself.

"What about you? What do you plan to study when you get out of grade-school?" she quickly added.

"Hmm," Kyvan thought, "They look like they're getting aggitated."

"Come on, Falcon," Kyvan said, picking up the bread and cider, "Bring my wine over and join us at the table."

Kyvan heads over to the table and sits down.

"Here we go," he says, as if he didn't notice anything wrong, "I'd like to introduce you to my friend, Falcon. He's a courier for the Archvists Guild. Falcon, this is Rayne. Oh, I'm sorry, but I didn't get your name, young lady."

Kathryn let out an inward sigh of relief. This, at least was a safer topic.

"I'm headed toward Freeman Downs." She jerked her thumb in the direction of the road outside. "I'm going to try to start up a business there in specialty repair and fabrication." She didn't add that she had little choice in the matter, having no other real skills of which to speak and no money on which to travel.

Suddenly, one of the ones who had left for the bar came back and sat down, bringing someone with him. Kathryn immediately tensed, fearing having to start the entire interrogation all over again.

"I'd like to introduce you to my friend, Falcon. He's a courier for the Archvists Guild. Falcon, this is Rayne."

The new arrival to the table acknowledged the introduction, as did her new aquaintance 'Rayne'.

"Oh, I'm sorry, but I didn't get your name, young lady."

Another inward sigh, this time anything but relief.

"Kathryn." She stated tersely, still looking at both of the men suspiciously.

Falcon nods. "Rayne, Kathryn. Nice to meet you both." He sits beside Kyvan, allowing the youngsters to remain on one side of the table. We'll be less threatening that way, I hope. He turns back to the smith, deciding that perhaps a bit of talk that's not directed at them will put the kits more at ease. "So how's business been, Kyvan?"

Haven

"I've never been there before, though I'm told it's a nice enough place. A bit less..." Kathryn struggled to keep from making a face at the thought of outhouses, and was not entirely successful. "luxurious than Sanctuary, but where isn't?"