Tara shrugged and shot him a grin. "Hey, I'll never say no to a free drink. You're on." She steered him into the taproom of the inn and nudged him toward the bar. "I'll grab us a table- order me a firewhiskey, and have whatever you like, it's all pretty good- ah, strong though, if you're used to Connlaothian booze." Most of it was aged magically after all, if not overtly created by magical means.
She turned to find them an out-of-the-way place to sit, and managed to grab a skinny child by the shoulder as she tried to slip between them. Lowering her voice so Joshua didn't hear, she told the girl, "Fork it over," and twitched her fingers.
With a pout, the tiny pickpocket returned the coin purse she'd attempted to filch from Tara's belt. In theives' cant, the bard warned her not to mark herself or her companion again, and suggested she spread the word to the town's other urchins. "You treat us right and I'll see there's a hot meal in it for you, alright lass?" she added softly.
The girl darted away without a word. No telling if she'd take her up on the offer. Tara watched her go a little sadly before weaving her way through the room. She remembered that age, that job. Traveling minstrels couldn't always make ends meet, and picking pockets wasn't so different from plucking lute strings.