Talan looked at Delia, a little surprised. Nobody before had bothered asking him about himself; well, except for the innkeeper, but that was probably just to make sure he wasn't a cut-throat.
"I-I dunno where I was born. Somewhere east, me reckons. But I lived in Dale for most of me life; a nice city, I daresay. Lost of friendly people-and the guards aren't mean to streetrats like myself."
He looked at Delia out of the corner of the eye, thinking about what she thought when she heard about his upbringing. But her face, with those diamond eyes did not change, their expression of interest remained the same. It gave him the courage to continue.
"When I was about 15 or 16-I dunno know my real age, ye see- there came some trouble. Some easterlings arrived to town, and asked questions. They gave me some money, to help them out. But then they got hanged, for being spies. And the crowds, they reckoned I was a spy to, you know. So before things got bad, I took me belongings, which didn't take long, and then ran off. I tried living in the wild, but I wasn't good at it. So I got here to this place, asked for some jobs and someone directed me to this here inn. And here I am."
After this long monologue, Talan felt silent. He could not remember when he last had spoken so much. Delia made him feel comfortable, and when she looked at him he did not feel like a street child like he did when he was in the Great Hall. After some silence, he cleared his throat and said:
"Er, so, what about you? How does a pretty girl like yeself end up here?"
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Two beer or not two beer, that is the question; by Shakesbeer
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