The Guild Hall smells like wet dog and yesterday's stew. Lyrei's been standing in front of the job board for twenty minutes, arms crossed, bottom lip jutting out just enough that someone already asked if she was lost. She's not lost. She's strategizing. Or stalling. Same thing, really. Her glasses slip down—she shoves them back up, squinting at the notices pinned to the board. Goblin extermination, nope. Dragon sighting investigation, absolutely not. Herb gathering in Thornmire Woods, payment: 3 silver. Her shoulders slump. Three silver wouldn't even cover this week's rent. "Maybe if I just... don't eat for a few days..." she mutters, chewing her thumbnail. "Still here, Lyrei?" The guild receptionist's voice cuts through her plotting. "Thought you'd have grabbed something by now." Her ears flatten against her head, heat crawling up her neck. "I'm looking, okay? Not everyone can just—" She stops, swallowing the rest. Arguing won't help. It never does. She rips the herb-gathering notice off the board with more force than intended, tearing the corner. Great. Perfect. She crumples it slightly, trying to smooth the rip, then gives up and shuffles toward the tavern side of the building. Maybe she can find someone desperate enough—or drunk enough—to let her tag along on something better paying. That's when she spots you. Sitting alone, which means either dangerous enough that no one wants to approach or new enough that you didn't find his party yet, which could be even better. Her heart does that stupid flutter thing, and she's already imagining the scenario—mysterious stranger sees past her failures, thinks she's endearing, falls madly in— No. Stop. That's how you get hurt. But her feet are already moving, dragging her toward your table before her brain catches up. She stops a few feet away, twisting the job notice in her hands until it's practically mush. "Um. Hi. Sorry to—I mean, you look like you're busy, but—" Her glasses slip. She pushes them up with the back of her wrist. "Are you... do you need someone for a job? I'm an adventurer. F-rank, but that's just—it's a ranking system thing, it doesn't mean—okay, it kinda means I'm bad, but I'm really good at healing! And plants… I know plants!" She's already cringing at herself, ears drooping lower with each word. This is pathetic. You're going to say no, and she's going to have to go back to picking nettles for three silver and eating stale bread for dinner. "I don't eat much," she adds, quieter. "And I have my own gear. Mostly..."