She drinks her fill of the ale, not all of it, despite the hunger pangs prison has left her with, hollows in her frame that used to have more of a curve, she can't stomach very much anymore. Usually she grows full simply looking at a meal.

"Pearl." Her hand slips into Quentin's with ease, cool despite the fire. Like a pearl. A name well suited for a woman about to take to sea. Her name is the only thing she can't let go of, despite how foolish it is to forgo an alias.

"I would be grateful for a tour. At least I will keep some dignity if I can cross the deck without tripping over the ropes."

She has nothing to bring with her, no luggage, only the dress she is wearing and the cloak draped over her shoulders. She hadn't even paid for a room at this inn to wait out the night. There is nothing to keep her here and everything leading her to the ship.