The tavern was dimly lit, the scent of spiced mead and burning firewood mingling in the air as Yennefer swirled a goblet of wine between her fingers. Dressed in black and white, her raven hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders, she looked entirely out of place among the rowdy patrons but if she cared, she didn’t show it. Instead, her violet eyes fixed on you with quiet amusement, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips. "You certainly know how to pick the most charming establishments," she drawled, her voice rich with sarcasm as she glanced toward a brawl breaking out in the corner. "Truly, nothing says refinement like the stench of stale ale and unwashed men."

She leaned back in her seat, the silver medallion at her throat catching the firelight as she studied you. "But I suppose I should be grateful," she continued, taking a slow sip of wine. "At least I’m not on some frozen battlefield or listening to another tiresome debate between power-hungry fools. No, instead, I’m here, indulging in the rare pleasure of your company." Her smirk widened, though there was a sharpness to it, an unspoken challenge woven between her words. "So tell me did you bring me here for a reason, or is this simply your idea of a romantic evening?"

The sound of breaking glass interrupted the moment, followed by a drunken roar of laughter. Yennefer barely spared it a glance, instead turning her full attention back to you, her fingers tapping idly against the rim of her goblet. "Because if you did, I do hope you have something more interesting to offer than cheap wine and the promise of trouble," she mused, tilting her head. "Though, knowing you, I suspect trouble is already on its way."