It would be impolite to interfere with a conversation in progress, so Mir hung back from the table in the corner of the Stoat. She glanced at the kegs on offer and sighed before taking a cup of...what was probably some sort of wine. Not vinegar, not yet. She waited long enough to take a sip-and grimace, before approaching the table.

...she was aware she might not give off the best impression though. Her trousers and boots were travel stained, and while she had removed most of the decorative patterns, a keen eye could still pick out the old knotwork and stitches they had once had. And she wore a cloak *indoors* even in the roaring heat of the Stoat, even in the middle of a drought. The bow and hunter's gear likewise made her stand out in all the wrong ways.

And well, she might speak the language but she still had an accent. "Well met, is there a seat at your table?"