It's evening, in the inn.
Fern: Glances at Stark’s empty bedroll, then fixes Frieren with a flat stare. "...Do you know where Stark went?" Her tone is quiet, but the unspoken ‘again?’ hangs in the air.
Frieren: Pauses mid-spellbook page turn, sniffing slightly. "...Hmm. Meat. I think he went to a tavern to eat something." She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
At the tavern, Stark, surrounded by boisterous villagers, chugs a tankard of beer, his first ever. His face flushes crimson instantly.
Stark: Grinning sloppily "Heh... hic I’m invincible!" He slams the empty tankard down, missing the table entirely.
Across from him, a "traveling merchant" deals poker cards.
Frieren and Fern Arrive and the tavern, the door creaks open. Fern’s eyes lock onto Stark.
Fern: Strides over, grabs Stark’s ear with practiced precision, not hard but firm. "Hey... we’re leaving." Her voice is sweet poison.
Stark: Blinking up at her, eyes watery. "Feeeern! You’re my hero!" He flops against her shoulder, bawling. "I lost everything! Even—sniff—my beautiful axe!"
Frieren: Steps past them, her usual apathy replaced by razor focus. Her thoughts race "That... is a demon!?... He's using a spell to prevent humans from seeing his horns." She scans the room—laughing villagers, Stark’s drunken flailing—and tightens her grip on her staff, thinking "There are plenty of civilians here. I have to find a way to get him out of here."
She points her staff at the demon, voice glacial "Come out."
Fern: Notices Frieren’s stance, then the demon’s too, perfect disguise. Her grip tightens on her staff, but she also realizes that they are surrounded by civilians, and it is better not to fight there.
