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A single rich, melodious voice wound its way through the cacophonous din of the tavern. It was compelling not only in its quality, but in the depth of emotion it conveyed. It caressed and cajoled, capturing the attention of every ear it whispered past. Though they might be enjoying their meals and drinks, or trading bawdy stories with their fellows, not one soul in that tavern could ignore that voice. While it sounded, it was queen.

Here, amongst the bawdy and disreputable - or even the semi-reputable - Rajani was in her element. It was a familiar comfort to her. True, there were always dangers; but so long as one kept a sharp eye out, one was safe enough. Of course, carrying a sharp blade or two didn't hurt, either. More than with any rag-tag militia or in any fancy noble's rooms, this was her home: here on the stage singing to the hearts of the masses. Up on the stage, she was untouchable, and once she stepped down, she could handle herself.

As ever, when she sang, her brilliant emerald eyes scanned the crowd, searching both for potential trouble and anything of interest. It was rare that she found anything worth a closer look, but it was not unheard of. There were the usual drunks, the majority who were just out for a good time, and perhaps one or two who could be trouble, but as she searched the perimeter of the room, her eyes lingered on a solitary man in the far corner of the room.

It was hardly a rare sight, that of a brooding man, but there was something about this one that caught her interest. He had kicked back in his chair, his feet propped up on the table, but though he looked careless enough in his repose, he had a certain air about him. This was a predator. A warrior. His back was protected by two solid walls and he had clear sight of anything coming toward him from the front. If anyone thought to attack him, they would be in for a nasty shock. The gypsy ought to know. She had seen enough of them lately to recognize the type, no matter what guise they wore.

He was watching her, she thought, with pale eyes under a dark mane of hair. But there was little else to look at in here, and she was the entertainment.

She held his gaze a few moments after his nod before allowing her gaze to drift across the room once more, ever watchful of the ebb and flow of patrons. As she sang, the drunks got bawdier or fell asleep at their cups, the diners finished their meals and either sat back to listen or paid their tab and left, opening space for different patrons. The man in the corner, she noticed, remained.

Soon enough, her performance drew to a close and she left the stage to collect the remainder of her earnings. This tavern owner, at least, she could trust to be honest - not that it stopped her from counting the coins. She took a seat on the empty bar stool nearest her and ordered a drink, content to while away a little more time.

Rajani neatly stacked and counted the last of her coin before sweeping the lot into a purse which then disappeared into some hidden pocket or another on her person. Only then did she acknowledge the presence of the man beside her, looking up at him unconcernedly, but not particularly welcoming.

It was not the first time a man had decided to try his luck after a performance, though they usually plied her with drink rather than food. Still, at least this one seemed passably interesting, even if she was not yet certain what it was about him that drew her attention. Perhaps she would even accept his offering.

"I am," she acknowledged, though it had been some time since last she had traveled with her people. The man looked to be a hunter of some sort, or a warrior - nothing unusual for Oldcastle. His eyes, she noticed, were anything but ordinary. They were the color of fine whiskey.

Though she was accustomed to a little flattery after a performance, the compliment still pleased her. It was nice to have her skills appreciated. She glanced at the bowl, acknowledging it for the first time since he had set it there. After a brief debate, she pulled it closer and took a spoonful.

The gypsy was undeniably surprised that he had connected the rook to her. Most would not even have noticed him up there, though the fact that the man had managed that much was not so shocking. Still, connecting her to the bird was a bit of a feat unless one way paying very close attention - at least while he was playing the role of lookout as he was wont to do during her performances.

"What makes you think he's mine?" she wondered, not so much denying the connection as wondering how he had noticed.

Finding the soup to be rather too hot yet to safely eat, Rajani turned her attention to the bread...which seemed to be inching its way closer. Despite herself, she felt a little flutter of amusement at the man's method. He was like a shy little boy hoping to be noticed, though there was nothing about his personality thus far that suggested any faintness of heart. The bread was quite good, especially for an establishment such as this. They must have an arrangement with the bakery next door.

"No," she replied. His explanation had confirmed her earlier conclusion. "Not wrong. Just more observant than the average man." She glanced at the rook, who was keeping a keen eye on the man beside her. "His name is Hawthorn."

If Maedoc felt phantom eyes staring holes through his skull, it was not without foundation. Oberon had elected to remain outside, not enjoying the smoky room and loud crowds, but that was not to say he had been entirely idle. Even now, Rajani could feel the suspicion coming loud and clear through their bond as the stag stared through a window. The darkness hid him from the view of anyone inside, but he could see them clear enough; and if one thing remained constant and unified between the gypsy's self-appointed protectors, it was that no men were to be trusted near her.

A faint frown crossed her lips. There was something a little odd about the way he was speaking of the Wood and its creatures. True, it was fascinating in its way, but one could hardly escape it in Sunderland this past year or more. Rooks were abundant, especially in larger places like Palisade and Oldcastle, and other familiars and Guardians were growing more common. Sometimes it felt as though she could hardly toss a dagger without hitting something mystical - though in fairness that could just be the stress of it all getting to her. Yet he spoke as though it were all new to him.

She supposed it was possible - particularly if he hailed from a more rural, isolated village. Still, she had to wonder... "Is it so foreign to you?"

When he asked his question, however, the corners of her mouth curled up in a secretive smile. She did not deign to vocalize her answer. Instead, the gypsy enjoyed a little more of her bread.

She cocked a brow at his not-so-subtle, albeit roundabout compliment. As far as such things went, it was a little lacking. If the only thing he found "fascinating" was her association with Hawthorn and, though he did not quite know it yet, Oberon, then any number of Chosen might be equally fascinating. The gypsy supposed she could commend him on the effort regardless. The boys were a large part of her life, after all. No one who did not appreciate them stood a chance.

Though it was a sight she had seen a thousand times, Rajani found herself moderately more curious about this man's impression of Oberon than any number of other strangers. The stag was sure to be at his most grandiose and intimidating. After a brief debate, she set Hawthorn to guard her food - one couldn't be too careful in a place like this - and followed the man to the door.

There would be little immediately visible - faint light from the street in one direction and inky darkness in the other, with the light from the tavern spilling into the alley and illuminating the brick wall opposite. However, in the darkness a pair of glowing amethyst eyes would appear, rather higher than the man's own eyes. Around those eyes, the head and body of a great stag would seem to coalesce from the shadows.

The stag in question snorted at this unoriginal observation and gave the man a bland look. Then he invaded Maedoc's personal space, the tines of his antlers sweeping precariously close to the man's face as he lowered his head until their eyes were mere inches apart. Oberon seemed to be attempting to dissect him with his gaze alone - a look that might be more than a little uncannily intelligent coming from a beast, even a beast with glowing eyes.

Rajani leaned against the door frame and crossed her arms, watching with no small amusement as the man - Maedoc, was it - underwent her Guardian's scrutiny. Already, Oberon was regaling her with a litany of unflattering complaints. The best thing that the stag could say for the man was that he hadn't turned into a useless heap of blubbering idiocy at the mere sight of him. Of course, the pseudo-compliment was countermanded by much questioning of his intelligence - not only for his lack of eloquence and unoriginality, but because he didn't seem to be showing any healthy concern for his well-being where Oberon was concerned. It seemed nothing would please the stag.

"His name is Oberon," Rajani provided. "And he is...not like other Guardians." Not most of them, anyway.

Entertaining though it may be to watch, she had little patience for pissing contests between males. Particularly when she was the subject of the contest. Though to be fair, it seemed that the stag was the only one taking an aggressive stance; and he always felt that way about men.