Ioleta touches her brow in a similar manner to Daggreth with a checked glance to Voran, Valin, Vursur... or sons... or associates or whoever he is. Her voice rasps,
"eeee... eeee, 'scuse... frog..." her hand flaps at her throat. She clears it regaining some of her voice's tone,
"Ioleta." She coughs,
"Awfully... dry in here. Is there a tavern nearby where we might get something to drink?" She peers around the dim and something of the dryness catches in her throat again, she coughs, turning quite red,
"and sssi... and sit." She drops her head,
"My pardon, I," She rubs her eyes where they've teared,
"...I need some air. And something to drink."
Ioleta falls against the door and fumbles for the catch. She winces as the bright streams in and slips outside into the street.
*******
Ioleta takes a deep breath once outside... and turns back toward the door.
"Rule, the Thirteenth, of thievery," his voice was smoked honey, "'Do not trust folk who work for free.'" The silk whispered through his hands and he arched an eyebrow, "'And to that add, 'Do not trust folk who work for coin.' Especially when the work is trust." Crower. The document's he'd prepared for Ioleta's defense were laugable. The rope played out and drew taut and the man turned, face blacked with grease-paint. "Do you trust me, girl?" Ioleta's stomach churned as she took the rope in shaking hands.
She scans the street for a likely tavern candidate, waiting for the others.
"Stuffy in there, eh?" she says weakly if they follow.
And...
"Now where were we? Background of the attacks. And cargoes?" She looks to Daggreth hand rising to her throat,
"And that tavern?"
OOC: Bluff +8. She hasn't really got a frog in her throat.