Midnight creativity, part 1

The sweet faced boy that brought the drink seems unfazed by her blood drenched tank top and pinpoint eyes. Good, good. Her hand is shaking when she gulps down the entire tumbler of what tastes like fermented cat piss. No one followed her? She pulls the shadows tighter around herself and glares at the boy hovering uncertainly at her side. Get me another, will ya?
She looks around. The Face Thief has bled out on her, was floating in the fountain on Yellow market, the water completely clear. It will take him some time to put himself back together for sure.
She catalogues her surroundings - a window, no bars, potential escape route. Smoke in the air, not enough to impair vision. Light purple, sufficient. A couple at 10 o'clock, teeth rottingly oblivious to the world around them. A passed out...something, on the table next to hers. A loud group around one of the cages, cheering and shouting obscene comments. No immediate threats. The bartender, black haired, one of her tendrils curling around the sweet faced boy, steadying him as he climbs up the liquor rack, her kohl rimmed eyes looking at Lena, a question. She feels her shadows still shivering and nods, grateful when as the bartender goes back to mixing a complicated coctail for a large scaly man (whose top seems to be made of thin chains, not really covering much of his bulk), another one of her tendrils caresses a young elf's cheek to catch his attention, points to Lena and then somewhere up. Lena wonders whether they have enough to recharge her fully and whether she can afford it.
She sees the sweet faced boy approaching with a glass of presumably the same cat piss, smiling.
"What the hell took you so long?" She grumbles and reaches for the tumbler.
"I honestly don't know," replies the Face Thief.
...
Chlapec se sladkou tváří, který jí přinesl drink, zjevně neshledává nic zvláštního na jejím tričku prosáklém krví a zorničkách jako špendlíkové hlavičky. Dobrý, v klidu. Třese se jí ruka, když do sebe háže cosi, co chutná jako fermentované chcanky. Nikdo ji nesledoval? Přitáhne si stíny těsněji k tělu a loupne okem po chlapci, který tu stále ještě přešlapuje. Dones mi další, buď tak hodný.
Rozhlédne se. Zloděj tváří jí vykrvácel na tričko a plave xichtem dolů v čiré vodě té fontány na Žlutém trhu - dát se dohromady mu určitě zabere nějaký čas.
Okno, bez mříží, potenciální úniková cesta. Zakouřený vzduch, ale ne natolik, aby to omezovalo viditelnost. Světlo fialové, dostatečné. Pár na deseti hodinách, slepý ke všemu krom toho druhého Ožralé... něco, na stole vedle jejího. Ukřičená skupinka kolem jedné z klecí.6ádné bezprostřední hrozby.
The bartender, black haired, one of her tendrils curling around the sweet faced boy, steadying him as he climbs up the liquor rack, her kohl rimmed eyes looking at Lena, a question. She feels her shadows still shivering and nods, grateful when as the bartender goes back to mixing a complicated coctail for a large scaly man (whose top seems to be made of thin chains, not really covering much of his bulk), another one of her tendrils caresses a young elf's cheek to catch his attention, points to Lena and then somewhere up. Lena wonders whether they have enough to recharge her fully and whether she can afford it.
She sees the sweet faced boy approaching with a glass of presumably the same cat piss, smiling.
"What the hell took you so long?" She grumbles and reaches for the tumbler.
"I honestly don't know," replies the Face Thief.