She watched him carefully, studying his reaction with her mismatched eyes. She knew before he moved that he was readying himself to leave. She could see it in the way he finished his drink, the way his eyes darted.
The unfamiliar location sparked a mental searching within the wiry young woman. Saint Patricks... unbidden, images of shamrocks and tiny bearded men sprang to mind, memories that she'd never bothered to encounter before. Saint Patricks... a cathedral. Water from a church. Shadows drawing round...
Holy water?
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Again, a dozen half familiar connotations flooded to mind.
Surely he was joking.
Her legs unbent, and she found herself standing to follow, eying the barkeep warily and offering a curt nod. She didn't buy it. What she knew of this world, what context spoke- demons were a thing of her former life. This place was supposed to be different. Colder, more brutal. God was a desperate hope, prayer was delusion. She was done with the ethereal and the otherworldly; this place promised hope of a different definition of normal. John had just taken that from her.
Rhainn's jaw clenched as she moved for the door, no longer looking directly after John. Her steps were blind, mind churning. A vague sick feeling wrestled with the whiskey in her stomach- the physical sensation of hopes being quashed. Well fine. If this world wasn't what had been promised by her contextual memory- then she would simply have to adapt. She was tired of running, anyway. Time to move on to find something to stand against, and fight. Da would be so proud of her, battling demons and evil whole world away from the reality she knew; what a good little paladin's daughter she was.
A bitter growl parted her lips through clenched teeth as she pushed open the door and moved back out into the rain, oblivious to where John was or was not.
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