[RPG] [FE] [Eth] Dyre

[Kimberly Amthor]

>Eyes that.../
>
>/Then he looked away, picking up the meager offerings for the show that he 
>provided, then set off for the nearest pub.../

The two scouts sitting across from Riamh were blithering fools when 
inebriated.  Even when not inebriated, they were nigh insufferable.  She'd 
long ago ceased making friends of the hired help.  If they didn't get paid, 
they always deserted; if they didn't desert, they always died; if they 
didn't die...she was too fond to keep them until they DID die, so she sent 
them away.  She missed the company of old...liquor-laced tea...sacred 
caverns...though never an admission of nostalgic longings would escape her 
lips.

Riamh was about to excuse herself and retire early to a temporary upstairs 
room for the night when the corner of her eye caught movement, and instinct 
turned her attention to the tavern entrance.  Her gaze was fixed, unbidden, 
by a familiar face.  Not a face familiar in features, but a familiar 
overcast expression, nontheless; piercing eyes that bore events of the past 
as tenuously as they would events of the future.  She was looking into a 
mirror, for all intents and purposes.

Eye contact?  Riamh realizes she's staring.  "But so is he," a silent 
thought as her attention diverts to a nearly empty glass of wine on the 
table.  She downs the rest and stands, heading for the bar.  "That's not an 
expression," she thinks, "It's an <i>impression</i>."  The subconscious hint 
of a smile graces her features.

[META :: I realize that 'so is he' could be construed as playing your 
character, and I admit that I know nothing about him...if it would be 
uncharacteristic, you're welcome to omit or change that piece accordingly.]