"Hello Vince," Nicolette greeted, inclining her head slightly. She shrugged out of her long coat, layers of thick fabric constructed especially for the cold, wet Salvarian winters. While Ray's jacket had seemed to absorb the moisture, Letty's long tunic was entirely dry beneath the outer layer. It was not something the girl planned to draw attention to, especially considering the terrible mood that already plagued Rayleigh. Hoping Vincent understood, she hung her dripping coat over the back of a spare chair, and retreated gracefully toward the bar.

Her hands moved to her blonde hair, fluffing it out a bit to let the few damp ends air-dry. Her hood had protected her, avoiding the fate that befell Rayleigh; the mousy brunette looked a bit like a drowned rat. Not that Letty would ever share such a thought, of course. She rubbed her damp hands over her arms, bare from the elbow down, to work some heat into the pebbled skin. She was further away from the fire while she sat at the bar, but she was also further away from Rayleigh's wrath. And maybe that was a fair compromise.

The Salvarian climbed atop a barstool, wedged between two men who appeared to be there alone. The first was a man not much older than herself, and ordinary-looking enough. He had black hair, blue eyes, and she could tell he had a few inches on her even while seated. The other was ordinary enough too, though an unusual warmth lingered about him. Neither looked at her, and only the barkeep gave any indication of her presence.

"Just a water, if you would be so kind." She tilted her face toward the younger man, as if to include him in the conversation. "Though one would assume we've had enough of that tonight, what with the storm."