[The following roleplay is rated mature for reasons that may include but are not limited to: strong language, suggestive themes, violence, and mild romance. Reader discretion is advised.]
Whatever had happened earlier that day, it had to have been terrible enough to forget. Weary brown eyes swept the room, stopping at the clothes scattered on the floor, the husky man sleeping soundly in the bed. This was whom she had bargained with? She had never prided herself upon her taste in men, but she usually had better judgment than at least this. The man's rotund belly rose and fell with his breaths. He had just a blanket covering his waist, and what it hid was nothing to write home about. His long, orange beard was unkempt, and his shining head showed off a baldness his prematurely receding hairline had chosen. Or maybe the guy was just old. He was sleeping like a baby, so peaceful and beautifully oblivious. Everyone looked younger when they slept.
Mae gathered her clothes from the floor and hastily put them on. She looked for her two bags, the ones she took with her everywhere. One held the things any wanderer would need: blankets, a pillow, a few coins, some tools. The other was far more important to her. She slipped her satchel over her head and patted its contents gently. Inside her second bag was an ancient book, its spine and pages frayed, its words faded. This book looked much like garbage, written in some foreign language, some centuries--even millennia--ago. It was her most prized possession, and as soon as it was by her side she was again ready to hit the road.
The girl decided, however, to stop in the man's washroom. They were in some inn, of course, in some city whose name she could not pronounce. This girl had traveled the world, but never had she met more naive people than those she'd met here. The man in the next room was a prime example. He had only needed a few drinks, drinks she hadn't even paid for, to be so easily manipulated. It hadn't been bad, exactly, just not memorable, and she'd gotten a free meal out of it. She had even managed to sneak in a nap in a real bed, all at this man's expense. When he noticed just how much of his coin was missing he'd be angered alright, but he'd never be able to catch up with her. She always made sure of that.
After tiding in the washroom, Mae looked somewhat presentable. She had smoothed her long, straight hair, and it hung about her face like a black curtain, shielding the entire left side of her face from view. Her skin was a perfect cinnamon color, except for her nose. An ashen mark stretched from the left side of her face to her nose, crossing the bridge and tainting her right cheek. This mark resembled a sort of port wine stain, covering her whole nose and cheek, and was hidden by her hair from her eyebrow to her chin on the left side. When her brown eyes fell over it in the dirtied pane of glass over a tub of water, Mae immediately averted her gaze and started away.
She was silent as she left the inn, having had too much practice at being a ghost. She snuck around to the back of the inn and approached a familiar stone, one she had visited earlier. After ensuring no one was watching--and why would they be, at such a late hour?--she moved the stone aside and retrieved her sword. After attaching her sword to her waist and covering it with her dark overcoat, Mae headed out, prepared to never return to this city again. On a full stomach, a light rest, and the shining moon, she was ready to leave. She had no reason to even consider staying. After all, she was a wanderer, and one with a mission.