Mola: "What's with all the commotion around here...? This place is usually dead quiet."
Xayn's eyes narrowed, the light within them amplified by concentration as he tried to sift through the cacophony. The sheer din was a was a wall of sound, a bulwark of overlapping voices that made focused eavesdropping impossible. He could only catch fragments, sharp and tantalizing, that were immediately swallowed by the surrounding noise.
"... brutal, I tell you! Crushed his throat with one..."
"... never seen Sir Vivi so provoked, and right on the road..."
"... hardly a challenge, but what a spectacle! He's the clear favourite to..."
The gossiping only intensified the queue forming before the kitchen's service counter. Mola's grimace of weary disgust, soured further.
Mola: "Ugh. I'm cutting. No way are we waiting through this rabble. You two find a table, I'll order."
She didn't wait for an answer, striding forward with a sharp, determined gait. Bazren watched her go, a brow on her new face arching in amusement.
Bazren: "We don't even know what's on the menu."
Mola's voice carried back, flat and deadened.
Mola: "Right... as if that matters. Just sit. Find somewhere quiet."
Xayn: "Easier said than done..."
They navigated the maze of tables, the whispers following them like a physical presence. They finally settled at a small, secluded table in a far corner, granting them a panoramic view of the unfolding drama.
Bazren: "Damn, seems we've missed quite the brawl."
Xayn nodded, his gaze distant.
Xayn: "In front of an inn like this, no less... Could it have been caused by ruffians from the Lunar Rend?"
Bazren shrugged, her eyes tracking Mola with the focused intensity of a hawk watching a mouse.
Bazren: "Heck if I know. All I know is that if it weren't for us waiting for a certain princess to finish her bath, maybe we'd have caught the action...!"
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Xayn sighed, ignoring the jibe and trying once more to isolate a coherent thread from the noise. His efforts were immediately derailed by a sharp, indignant cry from the queue.
Disgruntled Patron: "Such boorish behaviour...! An establishment such as this ought to be more careful with who they allow inside."
Mola had simply shouldered her way between two portly merchants, planting herself near the front of the line. She turned, her gaze locking onto the man who had spoken. He flinched, suddenly finding the pattern of the wallpaper intensely fascinating.
Mola: "Is that right? Well, a shame they let this one in. Now what?"
She leaned closer, her voice a low, dangerous purr. The man refused to meet her eyes.
Mola: "What're you going to do about it, fancy pants? That's right -- fuck all. So stay in your lane and suck it up."
The man's companion discreetly flagged down a passing butler. The young man, his posture ramrod-straight, nodded solemnly and approached Mola with an air of professional regret.
Butler: "Excuse me, madam."
A light, firm tap on her shoulder.
Butler: "Cutting the line is not permitted, I'm afraid. You must move to the back."
A faint, cruel smile touched Mola's lips as she turned.
Mola: "*Everything* is permitted. It just depends on who you are."
She squinted, her gaze sweeping over him with contempt.
Mola: "And you clearly don't know who *I* am."
The butler's professional veneer did not crack. He took her arm, his grip surprisingly strong.
Butler: "Apologies, but were you the king himself, my orders are to let no one cut the line."
Mola's eyes blazed.
Mola: "Are you daft, child!? Unhand me at once, lest I forcefully rend each of your digits from their sockets...!"
He began to pull her, his jaw tightening with effort as Mola dug in her heels.
Butler: "Madam, I'm afraid I must ask you to leave! We have zero tolerance for threats towards our staff."
Mola: "I'M THE ONE WITH ZERO TOLERANCE HERE!"
Her roar cut through the din, silencing the hall for a brief, shocked moment.
Mola: "Does the name PURDAMMA mean nothing to you fools?! Are the only names on your lips those of brutes who brawl by the roadside? I will NOT be disrespected like this...!"
The gossiping slowly resumed, but her cry had not gone unheard. The portly innkeeper, the same one who had greeted them at the door, began shouldering his way through the crowd, his face a mask of alarm.
Butler: "You aren't above anyone here! If anything, your tactless demeanour betrays a station far lower than that of our other patrons...! It is time for you to go."
The insult was a lit match in a room full of gas.
Mola: "How dare you, you puny little ANT...!"
Violet energy began to crackle, unseen, around her clenched fist. Bazren watched from her corner, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her features. Xayn, finally pulled from his eavesdropping by the sheer vitriol in Mola's voice, started to rise.
Xayn: "Shit! Bazren."
She waved a placating hand, never taking her eyes off the scene.
Bazren: "I know, I know, she's throwing another tantrum... It's fine, help is on the way. Keep your focus. Everything is under control."
Reassured by her unnerving calm, Xayn settled back into his seat.
Butler: "LEAVE! This is your last warning!"
Mola: "Well, you've had *your* last warning. Kiss your hands goodbye!"
Just as a spectral claw of shimmering violet began to coalesce around Mola's hand, a firm, yet respectful, grip closed around her forearm.
Innkeeper: "This guest is not to be disturbed...!"
The butler froze, his eyes widening in shock. The spectral claw fizzled into nothingness.
Innkeeper: "Return to your station *immediately*. Before it becomes vacant."
The young man released her instantly, offered a stiff, terrified bow, and retreated into the crowd.
Innkeeper: "My deepest apologies, Miss Mola..."