Rooftops, spiral stairways, chandeliers, extravagant lounges, parlours, salons, foyers, each echoed with her foot steps, the relic of her presence a waft of perfume and the sweet memory of her smile. It broke hearts doncha know.


The surly kender-cross came striding and low down the street, she knew that docklands kept secrets and kept them well. Hideous, atrocious landscapes for those darkly inclined folks-grifters, renegades, hobo's and thieves. Those that she dealt with on a daily basis, via telegram, telephone and the newest of the high tech acid gadgetry she had been brought up to speed on on her visist through realms.

Target tonight was a lovely little club at the shores side of WestEnd. She'd have a base here one way or another, for transaction and discussion, pleasure and leisure. Black boots brought her up to date with the feline embellished door of the Alley Cat. She pushed it and walked through.

Storm hued eyes wandered the walls as she casually meandered in, hands clasped behind her back, footfalls silent bar the hiss of leather thigh touching. She looked to the bar and made her way there, proud and very, very short, debarcles long gone for her mind. Now was for beer and a chat. To check out a place, for a base, to meet a face, to lace claims and learn names..