Speak to the Hooded Fellows

Heading over to the window, you eye up the two at the round table before approaching immediately.

The one whose fingers danced against the glass table you soon figure to be a woman, from her posture and the delicacy of those fingers; the other a thin and gentle faced man, their faces though mostly in the shadow cast from their large hoods.

As you get even closer, you discover the woman is not just idly flicking her fingers about, but is playing with a man upon the table, making him dance to dodge her nails as they crash down around him. The man, barely centimetres in height, screams as the lady nonchalantly plays with him, absentmindedly, an aura of 'elsewhere' emanating from her.

The male looks up, and golden eyes make contact with your own: