You are now Quill-Weave.
Katia looks like she’s about to have a nervous breakdown. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat and tries to avoid eye contact. You aren’t sure what her problem is, but you have a feeling this is going to end disastrously.
You suspect it’s going to be a long night. While her attention is diverted, you draw your hip flask and make your own glass of water more interesting. You are positive this action will have no negative ramifications whatsoever, and Katia will never know since clear rum is colorless.
You’re almost certain it’s colorless, anyway.
“Hello Miss Umbranox,” Katia nervously squeaks out, “my name is Katia Managan and you are quite pretty and how are you today?”
Millona disregards the question, addressing you instead. “This must be the friend you mentioned. Please tell me it isn’t the Khajiit from that little performance in the town square.”
“It couldn’t have been her,” Dairihill interrupts, “Miss Managan is deathly allergic to pineapple. Quill-Weave arrived early so the cooks could adjust tonight’s meal accordingly.” (You are truly a smooth criminal.)
“Ah, pardon my tone then, Miss Managan,” Millona apologizes nonchalantly, “the Khajiit in question must have merely been a look-alike. A very close look-alike. Where did you meet this one, Quill-Weave?”