Armen allows Mariette to lead the way to the room, ensuring that he were in between her and the view of the ruffians that watched them both. Armen hangs his head and watches each step he takes up, aiming to not gaze upon her posterior as she ascended the stairs just before him. They reach the room and enter, looking about to see what accommodations were available to them. There was a single bed, only large enough for one, while chair and small table were in the corner of the room opposite of it. A lone wardrobe stood along the wall, with a washbasin standing next to it.

  Mariette approaches the pitiful bed and sinks down onto the cushion. One could hear the crinkling of straw as she tested the softness. "It's quite... simple." She remarks, trying to temper her words to not sound judgmental or rude. Looking around the room while she hums to herself. Armen watches her eyes dance around, looking at every corner within sight, filled with a spark of excitement.

  Armen smiles softly under his helm, hoping that such new excitement might allow her to forget mother, if only for a while. Mariette, almost bouncing on her mattress, comes to rest her fascinated eyes on Armen while he stands statuesque near the door. Her ears flatten with sheepish embarrassment as she shrugs and a playful smirk pries at her lips, "I'm sure you are used to new places and things, I fear I look childish with such glee as this. Forgive me."

  Armen chuckles lightly to himself, mostly a burst of air through his nose as he denies her apology, "Fret not. Thine fascination and excitement are... a refreshing thing for me to witness. It has been a long time since I have seen such temperance."

  His acceptance of her manners only served to elate her further, with a now wholly joyful smile pulling her cheeks up and squinting her eyes. Her teeth and fangs bared into the air as she giggled; It seemed as though such glee has been long missing from herself, and the opportunity to feel it again is something that she intended to capitalize on.

  In her bouncy restlessness she asks, "How often do you patronize to a place such as this?"

  Armen, in the midst of trying to find the latch for the door, half-minded replies to her, "Only as often as I must. More than I subject myself to establishments like this: I instead opt to lie in the woods or fields." He grunts in surprise as he realizes that there is no working lock upon the door, instead only a deeply cracked and nearly splintered peg of wood to hold the door flush with the wall. One gentle shove and it would be wide open for anyone to enter.

  "I suppose that the inn aspect of this tavern is not exactly rife with patrons if this is the state of their locks." he voices to himself while he grabs the bowl and wick of oil from the small table in the corner. He retrieves his tinderbox from his satchel: a small wooden case harboring a bundle of pine shavings, a set of slow fuses, and a fire-rod and hard stone. Using the stone and fire-rod, he strikes a spark against a few shavings from their bundle. Again, and again. Strike, strike, strike. After several attempts and amidst the brilliant flashes of sparks, the wood clippings finally begin to burn. He quickly grabs a slow fuse and hovers the end of it into the lapping tongue of fire that reached into the air. After a moment of lingering, the wax-treated string gathers its own flame, slowly climbing up the fuse to his fingers. He takes the twig of string and brings it unto the wick of the oil candle, of which ignites easily, and bestows a soft glow of yellow across the entire room.

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  Mariette stands and paces about the small room, examining everything that she can, even the mess of cobwebs in the corner were enough to garner her curiosity, as if she had never seen cobwebs before. Armen, as he removes his satchel and places it upon the chair, studies her with a mirthful judgment, as one might watch a puppy play with a bone. He saw how enamored she was in simply being somewhere new, that even the mundane captured her fascination, as if it would be different in other places than it were back home at her convent.

  After a while, Armen notes the open window in the wall, overlooking the path they entered the township from; how the light of the sun had all but vanished, and was replaced by the cool glow of the moon. Only candle lights were visible through the various windows of other buildings and homes.

  Mariette, finally satisfied with her exploration, sits upon the bed once more, though she still glances about the room. Her ears flattened with realization and she looks to Armen. "Uhm... W-where do you plan to sleep?" she asks, glancing around for a second bed that wasn't there.

  "The floor." Armen announces, not impolite, but not joyous either.

  Mariette, looking at the floor and the splintery wood that it was, looks back to Armen with eyes of unease, "The floor? Art thou certain? It looks rather... harsh..."

  Armen nods, "Indeed, it is only a floor howe're, I've suffered worse slumbers than that. Gravel, I can assure you, is less comfortable." his reply light-hearted and nonchalant. "Worry not for mine comfort. I shall endure it with ease."

  Mariette murmurs in acknowledgment as she stands and steps to the washbasin next to the wardrobe. She splashes some water onto her face, soaking it, then runs her hands down the length of her snout to try and squeeze water from her sopping fur. Armen watches her as she cleans her face, voicing a question from his mind, "Is it a lengthy process, to wash thineself?"

  Mariette's ears point up as she listens to him speak, his question gives her a light burn in her cheeks. "It... it isn't too troublesome. At least, as far as I might know. I know not the bathing rituals of humans, so I cannot give you a rightful answer, I'm afraid."

  Armen nods, not sure what answer he expected, but curious nonetheless. He watches as she continues to rub her face and snout, studying her mannerisms. She removes her veil and, cupping water in her hand, splashes it onto her scalp, around the base of her ears. She grips them in either hand and rubs them in a twisting motion, as if she were wringing a cloth. She finalizes her facial cleanse with a slap of her fingers at the backs of either ear, flicking away any leftover droplets of water.

  Armen watches, surprised that she did not shake her head like a wet feral dog might. Though he dared not ask her why, so as not to seem he would compare her to an animal.

  She turns and faces him, unaware of his scrutiny. She voices surprise lightly as she glues her eyes to the floor, a warm burning in her cheeks as she sees him in her periphery watching her. "Oh, uhm...Armen... Why do you watch me so?"

  Armen, giving his head a light shake as she asks him, "Oh, I apologize, Sister. I only wished to sate my own curiosity at how your kind washes. I've never witnessed much from your people, at least, nothing so private as that."

  Mariette feels herself blush furiously under her own fur, she wrings her hands together nervously as she digs the pad of her foot into the floor. "Right. Yes. Is it... is it different than that of how your kind would clean?"

  Armen shakes his head as he answers, "Not by much. Only little bits, such as your ears: I've no need to wring water from them as you do."