Tamia pushed open the door, stepping inside. The Raven's Wing was an inn where Elyn had recommended she wait for him. She sighed, hoping he would get here soon.
There was reeds underfoot, dirty with things Tamia didn't want to think about. The tables were in slightly better condition, but scarred with years of knife-games and brawls taking place.
The few people scattered around the room didn't look up at her, busy getting drunk on watery ale. One was spread out on the floor, unnoticed and undisturbed in his drunken slumber. Tamia studied the man's face in distaste. Heavy scarring distorted his features, and his nose had been spread across his face many times.
She made her way to the bar. The barman wiped the bartop and didn't look up. She watched him for a while, as he carefully spread the grime more evenly across his bar. She curled her lip in distaste. "Don't you think it would be better to use a clean rag?"
The barman glared at her. "No, I don't think." He rung out his cloth and disappeared it behind the counter. "Are you going to buy something, or are you going to insult me all day?"
Tamia was taken aback. "Oh... well, do you serve anything to eat?" She was acutely aware of her stomach, and would gladly eat off the floor if it meant food.
The barman looked slightly more agreeable, now that Tamia was a prospective customer. Even if she kept her hood up.
"We have stew."
Tamia bought a bowl, and moved over to the cleanest table she could find. The stew, if it could be called stew, was tastless, but it was hot and filling and she wolfed it down.
She scraped the bottom of the bowl, and wondered where Elyn could be. She shrugged and called for a mug of ale.
The barman brought it over, and on collecting her coins, went back to absent-mindedly wiping his bench.
Tamia took a sip and grimaced. Extremely watery. But after that stew, it was necessary. Tamia doubted they served juice here.
She was half way through her mug when she felt cold steel prick her neck.
"Move, and you're dead." A voice by her ear whispered.
Tamia felt her pulse racing. Her eyes were wide, seeking a way out. The barman continued wiping his bar, unwilling to acknowledge an armed threat. Her mind span. Who was this? Why were they threatening her?
Swallowing, she fought down the urge to panic. Her fists clenched and unclenched under the table. Sweat rolled down her brow, and she closed her eyes, willing to be somewhere else, anywhere else. Yet the cold dagger was ever present at her throat.
"Now, we wait."
***
Elyn wondered down the street, wondering where he could find a decent pair of boots. He glanced at his feet. They hurt, and he wished for nothing else then to take off his tight boots and throw them at someone.
He was wondering which of the shoppers was the best mark, planning on gaining extra funds, when someone tapped him on the shoulder.
"Hello Elyn. Doing your job?" The man looked down his nose at him. It wasn't a question, it was a demand.
"O' course! I'm workin' on her." Elyn glared up at the man, tempted to show him just how sharp his teeth were.
"Good. If you fail, Master will be very displeased." The figure turned, leaving Elyn grinding his teeth. Did he ever sleep? He was everywhere.
Turning back down the street, he started whistling a jaunty tune.
Personal nitpick, but you might want to change it to something like, "... the cleanest table she could find. 
