Traveling to far off exotic places, meeting interesting people-

Far from wanting to spend the rest of the night in the tavern, Zevran has retreated to the small corner of the stables he reserves for working his traps and brewing his poisons. He's bent over a particularly tricky segment of wire and spring when Cyril calls, one hand holding a poultice against his cheek where he'd been bitten.

"Si, tesoro?" He turns, peering over his shoulder.