Davide had finished breakfast and made his way to leave the Great Hall and paused for a moment, trying to decide if he wanted to see Seth or Judith first. His hand crept up and he scratched his head, thinking. He even looked around to see if either of them were in the Hall, before deciding and starting off to the left.

The air held a distinct dirty tang of tobacco mixed with a heady, fruity smell like strawberries. A blue veil of smoke drifted through the air. "Seriously," a woman said, "don't bother. Judes is pissed off and I think Seth is hung over. Boy's the world's biggest lightweight."

Davide coughed at the smoke and turned, confused at what the woman had said and then took her in. All of her. "Hello to you too." He said warmly, then realized what had happened the last time he'd spoken to a redheaded woman who seemed to know him. "I don't need your advice, Neely." He hissed.

The woman snorted through her nose, then clapped both hands to her mouth and cackled, utterly delighted. "Okay, that's new." She beamed brightly at him, her hands on her hips. "I know this isn't going to mean much to you, but this is going to make someone's day later on."

Davide simply tilted his head at her. "Being as I don't know you, I'm not sure what effects my witticisms are going to have." He took a step back. "But you know me." He pointed out. "Dee?" He tried.

"Ah . . . you don't know me." She flashed him a grin, dimples showing, then drifted toward him with her hand extended to shake. "I'm the countess's godmother. More or less."

Davide nodded at her hand and bowed slightly, and produced an iron nail. He smiled pleasantly. "I'm sure you wouldn't mind?" He fumbled for his other pocket. "I carry a little burn salve if you're part Tuatha." He explained.

"Ah, sure." She took the nail from him, gave it a squeeze in her hand, then gave it back, pausing only long enough to see if any rust had streaked her palm. "At least someone's caught on. Although, aren't there going to be an awful lot of people with burns around here? I know some of them are more allergic than others."

"I usually only do it to people who are suspicious." He said, politely. "Like guessing where I'm going and saying I'm funny, and" He inhaled, "Smelling like a Melusine drawing room." He favored her with another smile. "I'm just happy you're not the Puck. Judith's never mentioned you. Are you Lady Meg's friend?"

She held up her skinny brown cigarette, still smoldering. "I can't smoke anywhere else. They put straw on the floor. Or . . . or reeds, or rushes. Whatever they're called. And God knows Niabheara would never forgive me if I burned the house down." She rolled her eyes. "Nah, I'm just a godmother. No connection to anyone else."