Cicero stared out the medium-sized window in the temporary lodgings. It was a small house, abandoned (Cicero had convinced the elves to abandon it). Cicero was only seen by a few neighbors and avoided leaving the house more than a few times a week. She wasn’t questioned, being a rather intimidating human that the elves seemed more than content to just not get involved. One thing she did not like about having such a living spot was the atmosphere. The dirty smell of Ferelden did nothing to help the even worse scent of knife ears.
She leaned against the edge of the windowpane, letting smoke curl away from her lips. The woman set the small smoking pipe down on the ledge. There was a nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach that she was determined to ignore. She looked over at Tam, momentarily catching him glancing over her body. A small smirk curled at the corner of her mouth.
“There are eggs.” She commented, pointing to the humble wooden table that was covered in dirty dishes and various bags of food, “If you’d like some.” The woman brought her arms up over her, stretching towards the ceiling. At her tall height of six foot, she almost touched the room’s ceiling. Elven architecture was always so short. A small groan left her as she continued to stretch.
Picking her pipe back up, she took another drag before leaving the window area. Cicero shuffled through the mess on the table before grabbing a thick leather eyepatch. The woman held her pipe between her teeth gently as she began to put the patch on. It covered the right eye, which had a white, diagonal, raised scar from the brow line to her ear. The eye itself looked fairly alright, just a bit glazed over, but enough that it was better to cover the old injury. Once the patch was belted tightly on, she turned back to Tam with a grin upon her face, “So, the plan for this morning?” She asked. As she did, she wandered over to a trunk where her armor was. At the moment, she only wore a tight pair of leggings and a white undershirt.