A slow evening just got more exciting

Giovanna finds herself walking through the quiet streets of this farming village. Simple wooden houses with tiled rooves. Banners and tapestries hang from the porches to make shade during the day, now softly illuminate the silhouette of their owners enjoying a quiet evening in the glow of their lanterns, each of them watching the stranger walk down the streets. Simple houses where simple folks lived simple lives. Giovanna was so used by the hustle of the large cities that it was a little discomforting to be somewhere so... quiet.

Still, she takes in the sights aside from the residences. An odd looking tent resides on the edge of town, dark inside no one was inside. What looked like a barracks was along side the main road. It had a fenced in yard, she could hear grunts and thuds, the sound of training. At the center of the town, a hill with a small shrine atop it, the paths upwards marked with Torii Gates. Perhaps the most familiar and liveliest building by far was the inn, the target of her destination she approaches it and steps in. Her body surprisingly tired from the fight earlier and now more so from the apparent journey to this timeline, whatever that meant. She knew she needed answers, but she needs rest more.

The tavern is fill of noise and commotion, something she found oddly comforting as she quietly approaches the bar and takes a seat. Observing the scene she feels for her pocket and realizes, she has no cash whatsoever. Great, just what she needed. She left her wallet back in the airship before the battle. But still, there was use to being a pretty woman in a bar, even without any money. She takes a look around trying to assess the character's of interest.

First up was the redheaded woman behind the bar. Giovanna hears some of the locals call her Sam or Samantha. She seems nice enough and keeps accidentally making eye contact with her. Maybe talking to her and being honest about her situation to some degree could land her a bed for the night.

Next was a man sitting no more than 5 or 6 feet to her right, his eyes wide and staring at her chest. She knew the type perfectly from back home. Sleezy, over confident. Certainly all bark and no bite. On any other night she would have introduced him to the bottom of her boot and left it at that, but perhaps he could be useful, maybe even con him into paying for her room.

The last character she picks out is an old man hunched over in the corner. She notices him not as a possible means of getting a room paid for the night, but because he stuck out. The tavern is full of friends, farmers, men who all know and enjoy each other. In contrast, the old man sits alone with his bottle, wearing tattered clothes. Drinking silently. She can smell him from here, her nose wrinkles. Drunks are smokes always smell the worst she thinks to herself.