It took a little while before Zephyr realized that her childhood may have been more than just the tiniest bit on the sheltered side. And by a little while, she means the first time someone shoved her out on her ass for not having enough money to pay for lodging. Growing up in a monastery meant that she didn't exactly have a ton of exposure to commerce, and had no idea how much worth was associated with the shiny round things in the bag Father Barret gave her.
She also had no idea that Anemoi were rare. True, she was the only one she ever saw as a child with wings, but the list of people she did see all lived together. It was beyond strange and a bit disconcerting when strange children would rudely pluck a feather a run off, waving their pretty brown prize as they went. The one time she chased one of the little buggers down, the beast's mother showed up and ran her off with a bellow and a swipe of a broomstick. Since then Zeph made a point of avoiding children at all cost.
But back to her money problems. That is why she was here, in this gross, cramped tavern, serving drinks in a gods-forsaken dress like she was some sort of harlot. Hell, she didn't even have the right shape! Most of the customers thought she was a cross-dressing boy, and with good reason. The only reason why the owner kept her around was because she only worked for her room and board, and because she would occasionally whistle up a breeze that lifted the skirts of the bar matrons and female customers. The fact that he asked her to do that sometimes was just weird. Why would anyone want to look at butts?
But at least today she was actually working the bar instead of toddling about in between the tables, knocking things and people over with her large wings. However, working the bar lead to idleness on her part, and she absently traced an elaborate compass rose on the surface of the countertop. A fight broke out between two men at a table and she just looked on apathetically and sighed.
"Ugh. So. Bored."
She needed a way to get out of here.