Elly rolls her eyes. "Your weasel's a real charmer." she says in a sardonic monotone. Dressed all in black, with a long black coat and heavy black boots with lots of jangly silver buckles, Elly slumps down into one of the chairs. "I'll just have some bread. And a bottle of red wine."
With hair dyed jet black and dark eye makeup offsetting her ridiculously pale skin and her multiple ear, nose and cheek rings, one can be forgiven for not noticing how young Elly is, probably no more than 16. She slouches down in her chair, displaying little grace and less breeding. She pulls out a little silver poignard, hardly bigger than a letter opener.
"Leave the cork in. I like taking it out myself." she says blandly. "It's sorta like I'm scooping out its heart before I drink its blood." She rolls her head and looks up at the innkeeper to see if she's shocked him.