The whole cafe went silent for a brief moment when Maedhros entered the establishment. His looming presence could do nothing more than draw eyes toward him, for two reasons in all likelihood. One was his flame red hair, burning with the brightness of the spirit of fire inside him--and running down his back in trickles of silken flame, and two.. his height put him more than two feet taller than every other man or woman inside the building.
The occupants looked away quickly, unable to meet his eyes while he was standing or otherwise uncertain how to treat him. He was very obviously not a local, given his pointed ears and his style of dress. He'd abandoned the elf sword in his apartments but had a conceleaed dagger at his side, hidden for now. He'd not go unarmed despite the attempts of the city to force him. He did not hold himself to their laws, but lived by his and Fingon's own.
Approaching the counter, Maedhros went through the unusual task of asking for fruit. The woman produced a container with cut bits of melon and berries, surrounded by the strange barrier called 'plastic.' She stared at him, then her eyes flicked down to his right arm where it ended at his wrist, Maedhros said nothing and the woman looked away after giving him back the card that contained currency. Maedhros tucked it inside his tunic and turned away, fruit in hand. His ancient grey eyes scanned the inhabitants again and settled on one minding his own business. Maedhros recognized the beginnings of a map with ease, his curiosity as a craftsman burning alight inside of him. He approached and reached out to touch the edges of the canvas, feeling the power radiating from it.