As Samaritha studies her book, Braddon quietly studies Samaritha. He drinks in the sight of her, noting the small band on her delicate long ear, the tiny stud piercing through the side of her streamlined nose, the fine traces that follow the high curve of her cheek and the rune that rests placidly on her brow. He wonders if it has any magic in it and what it would be like to kiss it gently. He watches a tangled lock of honey hair drift to the corner of her red lips and resists the urge to reach out.
He glances back to Samaritha's packed bag and a heaviness settles across his chest. He breathes in the scent of the room and notes the distinct lack of damp musty fish. The silence around him seems to grow and he returns his attention to the beauty before him. He loses himself in her emerald green eyes and the way her lips move. It takes him a moment to realise he is being addressed.
"Sorry. What was that?"
"Well, I think I can trust you," he winks.
Braddon reads the note over carefully before passing it over to Samaritha.
Hammered velvet in a rudimentary pile, Phil exchanges it for his more well worn travelling clothes and re-girds himself in armor. Forcing his mind to focus on what occurred the morning yesterday gives him the certainty of thought that he was seeking and once garbed as though for the streets (bearing all bar his crossbow) he gives Ethel a last glance and smirk before emerging.
Roger - so 18 gold down for the evening
Fully garbed and girded Phillip slips silent from his room, cautious to close the door behind him. From there his path is direct and short, towards the stairs and above... to where likely Saul, Larur and whatever others await...