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“I suppose that is one solution.” She said with a laugh herself. It would make sense for her to wear red seeing, as the place she owned was known as The Red Rat, but it seemed a little cheesy to her. Besides she was told greens and blues were much better looking on her, then again those that told her that usually only were after one thing. It was a thought to consider; red is a nice color after all.

“I am in the business of selling fantasies to those who can afford it.” She said in her sultry tone again. A moment later, she smiled softly and confessed, “I am the owner and lead entertainer of The Red Rat, in this district.” She said with a wink. “Were one of the most well-known places in Wynander.” She added as if she were selling the idea to him. “And that’s where I plan to pay you for your work…you said food right? After all The Red Rat is a tavern where you can get food, drinks, a place to sleep and company if you wish…though you don’t strike me as the type of man that wishes that.”

He tilted his head to the side as he listened. He absorbed everything she said and realization dawned in his eyes, "AH! I see...that kind of company...ah no...I've...never desired it nor do I think I will unless I find someone my heart desires as well..." He chuckled lightly. He suddenly felt stupid having spout off such romanticism in the Gates of Hell itself.

He looked at her silently for a couple moments and then nodded his head, "If you direct me, I will carry you to the Red Rat...Then you can pay me for sewing up your leg. Food, or whatever you feel appropriate payment."

He blinked in his own mind, I just set myself up for a really bad situation didn't I? he thought to himself.

“’Tis terrible we’er,” Zasar joked loudly to himself in a cheerful banter, hopping off one of the scattered crates sitting around the harbour, and reaching up to fix his black hat. The decorative purple feather drooped slightly in the dampness of the rain.

Pocketing the now mildly wet, and partly whittled piece of wood he had been working on earlier, he pushed the previously mentioned hat forward over his brow, and headed towards the entrance of the docks; stuffing his hands into his pockets and heading into the city at a cheerful saunter.

And for a while all that Kismet did was walk. Nothing was looking particularly interesting or unusual, and she felt no reason to stop. All the shops were the ones she knew and clearly not a "velvet room" of any kind. At one point she paused at a stall selling apples and purchased one, trading for it a large silver coin that one of her friendlier customers had paid with.

By this time Kismet had all but given up, and was starting to think that the man from earlier was a dream her half-asleep mind had projected into the street. Certainly no one else gave the impression that they'd seen anything. Maybe it would be best to scout out some breakfast, and save the apple for lunch, provided no one tried to steal it from her.

Sighing, she crossed to the run-down tavern across the way and pushed the door open. The inside looked like it had gotten quite a makeover. In fact, it didn't appear to be the tavern at all. Did she have the right place? It had looked like the correct bulding from the outside.

"Hello?" Kismet called uncertainly. Maybe she was mistaken after all.

"Ah! Thallasar! There you are." A baker emerged from the tarp under which he was sitting, his wrinkled smile sagging bitterly. "I thought you had disappeared on me."
Rubido stared up at the gray sky and took off his feathered hat, running a hand through his short hair before replying. He grinned. "Now Sir, I wouldn't do that. I always finish a job once I start one. And besides..." Rubido lowered his voice, his eyes sparkling like those of an eager child. "You are paying me very well. I don't know how long it's been since I had fresh bread."

The aged man looked a little askance, but there was laughter in his voice as he spoke. "I expect good work for it. Now, if you would, Gentleman...?"

Without further prompting, Rubido exchanged his awkward hat for a handful of nails and a makeshift hammer- he had dealt with the man once before, and trusted him not to run off with the garment. For the bread, he had agreed to convert a small, half-rotten cart to a somewhat-stable food stand. "Perishable" wares, he was told, were much better sold by stand than dusty blankets. As drizzle misted his progress, Rubido crouched near the newly prepared boards and set to work.

Feyd listened in silence as they spoke. The strange one called the girl mistress, a servant of her aristocratic family perhaps? He acted terribly familiar with her though, too familiar then would be proper for most servants.

The mention of the beasts, demons, whatever they were, worried him. Unlike most of Kensington’s businesses the Theater had never been attacked, never been searched. The entertainment it provided gave it protection from the Peace Enforcement raids.

Demons wouldn’t know that though.

Frowning Feyd stood, glancing to the windows as though expecting to see a beast hovering beyond the drapes. He did not want the theater to be attacked, but turning out the boy and girl seemed wrong. He was certain now that they were no lackeys of Sehket.

Turning back to the two he swallowed and spoke, tone earnest. “Can I help? Do you need anything? Not— not all the props here are props.”

Indeed, many a fake sword was suspiciously real; it was a good thing the theater had never been raided.