The woman next to him looks relatively prosaic by comparison. Pale skin, dark brown curls, big blue eyes. She shows no particular reaction to his scars, though, only a brief glance over him that's the visual equivalent of "huh, okay". The only odd thing is that the dress she's wearing (an elaborate brocade thing, complete with a laced-up corset), has fake cobwebs tacked onto the skirt.

"Just tea," she answers with a smile, and flicks the edge of her cup with a painted nail. Ting! "I have some dietary restrictions; I really can't do alcohol, outside of...really watered-down wine."

'Watered-down' with blood, specifically, but that's not something she brings up in casual conversation. "How's the mead? It smells good."