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But setting aside how you would carry the fraying thing, there is the equally pressing question of how you are going to get your hands on it, as right now, it is buried somewhere, deep in the cart. No doubt, it would be much easier to just forget it ... but can you? For all you know, the two men that made those prints could be sitting in that room right now, and it is possible that they could have some means to 'see' Strangeness, either a Glyph like yours, or something like the hermaphrodites like the Inquisition uses.
And right now, you are still Strange.
If the roles were reversed, and you were in their shoes - or rather, their boots - and someone covered with Strangeness just strolled into the room you were in, you would be wondering if they were a Witch, or at least were in service of one. And you would be seriously considering making the first move. Now, there is a lot of conjecture here. First off, you don't know if they are even in the room. More than that, you don't know if they have anyway of detecting Strangeness. But are you willing to take those bets?
The floor creaks, and you damn near jump straight of your skin. Even once you realize that it was the floor above you, your heart doesn't stop hammering away. Fraying Hell, you need to calm down.
Deciding that you need to move now before you start making a scene here, you leave your knives and your wand where they lie. You are going to find the proprietor, or whoever is running the place, and you are going to have to weave some tall-tale, just like you did with the Cobbler. If it worked for you with him, then you have to believe that you can make it work for you here too. Of course, you were able to speak to the old man alone - which you cannot count on here. Would the Cobbler have still sold you those men's boots and stockings if there had been witnesses? Probably not ... but all you are doing here is just renting a room for the night - nothing scandalous or untoward, right? You take a series of deep breaths in an attempt to steady yourself, but to be quite honest, you don't find them particularly fortifying. The prospect of walking through the common room, potentially revealing yourself to the men who made those prints is simply too harrowing.
You take one last, longing look at the bundle on your hand-cart, right where you figure your knives are stowed, and for a second, you start to reconsider the whole thing … but before you can get yourself too far down that path, you shake yourself out of it. Straightening your back, and pushing your push-cart into motion, you head out of the vestibule and into the common dining room. As you had feared, you might as well have had a herald announce your presence with all of the ruckus your boots and the carts are making – squeaking and creaking respectively. And while you were spot on in your first impression of the room being mostly empty, right now, everyone in here is staring right at you.
