[Suzerain of Sheol]

On any other day, she'd be weighed down with irritating memories of her childhood in the Salma District, visiting this place again for the first time since leaving almost ten years ago. Not today, though. She knows he shacks up here with that small-minded, petulant little harridan Petra at the inn by Rook's Row, and somehow, some way, this just has to be his fault. How else did she get the gods-damned white mantle after her, of all people? Either way, she doesn't exactly have anything in the way of friends, and taking on a cult of blood-worshiping assassins with delusions of political grandeur isn't something she's about to do alone.

Hopefully Syrgei's sense of overbearing justice and his need to help poor, distressed damsels would take priority over any memories he might have of her engaging in crimes that would make a syndicate of anti-monarchist terrorists balk in disbelief.

I mean, he hasn't turned me over to the Seraph yet, so that's a good sign I guess...

Blessedly back in her more customary attire and having had a relaxing shower (with the tied-up body of her prisoner stuffed into an out-of-the-way corner), Tsaerri is feeling much more herself as she stomps into the crowded tavern on the ground floor of the inn.

She pushes her way through jocular patrons and up to the counter, pounding her fist on it to get the stupid girl's attention.

"Hey, Petra, long time. Looking as rough-and-tumble as ever, I see. You've got a stain there, by the way." Tsae snaps for her pistol to point it out for the dunce of a woman. "Be a dear and get me something strong." She takes a seat at the counter, idly twirling her gun around her finger.

"Anyway, I know your boy-toy is around here somewhere. You should go get him before I get bored."