Most of [them] wouldn't set foot outside their little rooms at dusk, much less to exercise.

But no self-respecting local would be caught dead at [this] inn, either." She tipped her head towards the tavern's swinging sign. "You're getting swindled, O Noble Sir."

"Not that, no... too well-traveled for it, I think."

[Deception: 20]

She tips her head in appraisal, not that she's really stopped looking at him since she made herself known. He doesn't leave much incentive to look away.

"Reaction aside, you're not half so jumpy as some bumpkin.

“Have you ever heard the story of Cairn the Goliath?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Cairn was a formidable fighter, able to beat any challengers he came across.

He travelled the land far and wide, searching for someone to give him a real challenge. He fought knights and kings and beasts, +

Her head tips with a curiosity deeper than the roaming eye she'd first met him with. "You're new to this city, I think. Am I wrong?"

"I've always liked a little trouble. You don't seem a stranger to it, either."

A little high-strung, perhaps, acting as if he'd been interrupted by a drill sergeant when she made herself known - but willing to play along, or at least to entertain her antics until she moves on.

"But perhaps I'm merely taking my rest here. I think more [should] watch, though – for the, ah, osmosis benefits, of course."

and when she speaks, it's her own voice he hears, not his. "A girl in this town can never be [too] prepared."

Just as easily, she shifts back to her natural form, wearing the skin of a Changeling with rare pride, or perhaps with a profound and stubborn spite.

"Perhaps [I'm] practicing." A few seconds of time and focus pass, and with the soft ripple of flesh, her skin darkens and morphs until her face mirrors his own almost perfectly, barring a few key details: her hair remains the same, her playful smirk still curves over [his] features,

I'm merely a passerby, finding my rest before continuing on like a... well, a thief in the night, really."

She makes no attempt to mask her gaze as she studies his features, his scars - meeting his eyes with her own empty grey canvasses when she's satisfied.

If he was expecting meek retreat from his company, he'd be gravely mistaken. Instead, a rakish grin crossed her grey face, sparking life into the few defined features she had. A leg swings freely over the rain gutter where it dangles from her perch on the roof.

"Oh, you needn't stop on my account.

I think you just described my last ex. I should save up for an exorcism.

Can... can you elaborate?

Well, no, but with the right magic, you could make someone personify their own rage? Or maybe that's something like what spirits are?

There's options, is all.

Not... not literally, sweetheart, it's a metaphor.

I didn't think you were supposed to make eye contact with those. Sounds too risky, really.

Well [I] thought it was rather catchy...

Quicklight, actually. Regards, you bitty thing!

What truth? That she feels foolish? She doesn't feel at all.

Didn't you just crack a joke about my dead mother?