'Speak of the devil' wasn't a phrase that anyone of Terociel used, but such a summoning seemingly occurred in the quiet beat between Roslyse informing Ulric of their son's name, and the reappearance of Mellie. She had three hefty looking wooden mugs in her grip, about as wide as one of her legs. It didn't help that she was seemingly invisible to the crowd at a moment where she would've preferred to be seen, only narrowly dodging a leg here, a bulging shopping bag of gifts there.
Oblivious to the tone of the preceding conversation, Mellie finally reached the table, setting the vessels down none too gently on the wooden surface. Some of the foamy liquid sloshed over the sides, splashing onto cobblestones underfoot. Wouldn't make very many tips if she were a server at any tavern, that was for sure. "Sorry," she huffed, wiping her damp and sticky hands on her breeches. The halfling cast an irritated glance behind her, in the direction of the stall. "You wouldn't believe the nerve of that guy! He almost didn't sell to me, even though I had proof of age. Hells, I think I was older than him and his pathetic excuse for a beard--" Her ranting was cut short when she looked back at the pair of them.
First at her sister, who looked...well, not like she was going to burst into tears, but certainly fragile. Mellie had only seen that expression once before, at their first reunion after all those years. But Ulric? His brilliant blue eyes were watery, bordering on red at the edges. Like someone had stuffed an entire onion up his perfectly shaped nose. This was weird. She hadn't been gone very long, so what the hells was going on? Without thinking, she looked at both of them and blurted out, "Okay. Who died here?"