The half-elf let her body rest against the wall. Her dark brown hair was wavy, shaved on the sides, but prominent on the top and back; she had tattoos over the body, but mostly couldn't be seen, well hidden by tight leather armor. What was fairly obvious was the silver signet on her left hand, with an emblem depicting a beholder. The House of Tarkanan.
By her side, sitting on a ludicrous small chair, was an immense figure. Pitch black, curved bull horns were clear to eyes, mixed on messy dark hair coming from every open space of the bull's head. Thick arms covered by crude armor ended in especially scarred hands, which were holding a book: "Kalashtar Comic Short Stories from Another Place". The minotaur had a small pair of glasses, probably unnecessary, that almost dropped when he chuckled from something he read on the book.
I don't know how you can do it every night, big guy. - said the half-elf, not looking at anything in particular.
It was a different book last week. - answered the minotaur in his deep voice, without taking the eyes from his reading - This one is funnier. The other one was written by an elf. They're strange.
She didn't reply; in all honesty, she quite remembered how strange her father was before he left her and her mother. Her thoughts were interrupted by some loud sound, coming from behind a door nearby that her companion was clearly guarding. He didn't move a muscle, so she calmed back down.
What I meant... - she continued - ... was, how do you manage to just stay here, outside, guarding the club. Isn't it boring?
Hmpf. - he grunted - Not every night is calm. And I'm not always here.
She stopped to think.
Yes... Come to think of it, we all know very little of your life before here. Or your life when you're not here guarding the doors. What with all the mystery? Are you secretly selling halfling scout cookies on the train during lunch time?
Heh! - he smiled, turning his body towards her - I guess your mother's side compensates for the elf strangeness in you.
