In the Dining Hall...
Say the devil's name often enough, and she appears? Maybe it's something like that? Regardless, here's Ballad! The very picture of radiant health and bright-eyed readiness for the day.
Fashion notes for the curious: Today Ballad’s hair is a silvery gold cloud; gathered into a messy mohawk braid, with twists and tucks here and there, into which black jewelled combs gleam, quite fairy tale punk or otherworld haute couture. Her tunic is v-necked and the pale green of winter ice, belted (the belt’s black) tight at the waist, with great swoopy sleeves and a kiss of silvery embroidery at the wrists and elbows, also little, tiny black freshwater pearls. Dashing boots, black, well-fitted trousers, and she’s ready for adventure or stay-at-home languor.
First things first: “Coffee, my wondrous, fair-handed purveyor of the first delight of my morning!" she hails a, possibly by now wide-eyed, servant. She draws said servant in Conspiracy, miming a flask-pour, "And I wouldn't be at all put out should you put in a drop or two of something yet stronger." Aka, Amber-equivalent-Irish Coffee, please. "To break my fast, I shall be carnivorous; bring me something with meat."
Then a beeline to her cousins. Now, bees don't actually fly in a direct line. They explore, they meander, so what this really means is she takes the long way to her cousins' table so she can look out the window at the view and perhaps collect coffee ere she even sits down, but sit down she does with a, "Hallo, friends! Good morning that has you in it."