#februaryday32023

[gloamingdawn]

February 21 - Day 3 Velvet/Consequence

Going along with this storyline: Prologue -> Here Fio Day 1 -> Here Xylaes Day 1 -> Here Pyraelia Day 2 -> Here Taric Day 3 -> Here

A picture flashed across her comm of Ash chasing some pigeons near the Court of the Sun fountain. As soon as it became apparent that Lady Tel’vaiel’s illness was a bit more, Meryn had agreed to keep him for the week. It seemed prudent to keep her son as far away from any potential phantasmal mischief as possible, and her half-brother adored getting to flex his uncle muscles as much as possible. 

Her heart ached to be so far away from him, but it really was for the best. 

Calling in the Darkmorns seemed prudent, too. After all, most of her own work with souls was after their death and already free of their body. Still in a body? Absolutely not her own wheelhouse. 

She hadn’t really known what to say when Keranna cornered her and asked if she trusted them. 

Taric, yes. Red was more of a wildcard, but it also didn’t ultimately matter — they didn’t have much choice otherwise if they wanted to have a shot at getting the Lady back in proper sorts. 

There wasn’t much for Lyn to do but wait, really. It was unlikely they’d need her for the actual expulsion, but she’d heard there was always a risk of physical complications as a consequence of the foreign soul resisting. She hoped the sedatives would make that easier, at least. At least to start. 

Maybe. 

She could admit to having a morbid curiosity about the process as someone who had only been introduced to that world at large within the last decade. 

An even smaller part of her reveled in balancing out the scales of having a couple more people around who didn’t have much of a connection to the Lady. The last few days of being surrounded by people who loved her and were having to process the situation had been so intensely draining. 

Lyn sighed and ran her hands over the velvet cushion on her lap, the feeling of being so intensely out of place among all the fine things and fixtures. It had always been uncomfortable to be here, but the Lady’s connections and what she paid for not only her own care, but that of the staff that worked in the house and grounds, and those that lived down in the town itself meant that Ash was going to have a better education and life than she or her own parents could’ve ever dreamed of. 

Another picture popped up of her son with an ice cream from one of the little food stalls that set up around the city and she smiled. 

She’d be back to him soon.

@daily-writing-challenge / @fio-renze @xylaes @tristennedarkmorn @taricdarkmorn @pyraelia

[sailsonaseaoffate]

DWC February -  Day 3: Velvet

@daily-writing-challenge​

The sharp clack of heels struck the metal floor as the astral elf walked across the small room to stand before the holding block, her thing hands held pleasantly enough in front of her blue swirling dress as she eyed the mismatched eyed man before her.  Her smile was as cool as her words tried to hide in their warm greeting.  "We meet again, Mister Candell.  Or is it captain now?"

A weak grin would cross Zexx's face as he looked up to the woman, his once towering frame well below her as the metal gauntlets kept him tied to the floor by the limb separating power of the magnets set in them.  "Oh yer ladyship, you know you could always just call me Zexx."

Governor Ana'lyse Centaruiach did not so much as flinch as she reached forward to pat his head gently,  as she began to circle him like a cat with a caught mouse in a trap.  "No Mister Candell, we are not on friendly terms at all so I will refrain from your request.  Though I have to say I'm surprised to see you again so soon.  As I last remember when you graced our halls, you and yours were informed not to grace the steps of Antioch again."

"Well if you call being 'asked' by being fired upon by cannons and driven off by a cadre of your little stingers.  Yeah, I'd say you were very polite in your request," Zexx grunted as he tried to adjust his awkward stance against the floor, his knees and back aching from the odd crouch he had to keep.

"It was not a request," the governor responded in kind as she circled again, her dress shimmering and changing shades by every few steps she took.  Magic cloth was quite the fashion as deep blue shifted to black.  "For there is quite a penalty for stealing.  Especially such a priceless item as a spelljammer.  Did conscience led you to return what you taken?"

The hero for hire wince and shrugged softly.  "Well, that would mean lean into the idea of me just borrowing it.  But if you'd like to me to try and find a few floating chunks of debris from before I'd be happy to give them to you."

"I see, so you came with a new ship as repayment?  A crude trade for sure with your sloppy finding, but I'm sure we can use it for scrap none the less."

"Look she ain't much but I'm sure scrap is kind of insulting don't you think, my lady?"  Zexx grimaced as he finally gave up to rest on his knees before the woman, a brief flash triumph in her cold smile as Ana'lyse paced about her 'guest'.  "So what's the penalty your ladyship?  Do I owe a fine?  Time?  My life?  Because honestly, the way my wrists chafing in these things I'm starting to see the value of being chucked out into the sea."

Centauriach came to a halt in front of Zexx, her dress shimmering again as it began to lighten from the black into a crimson as the fabric began to match the color of her lips while she looked down at him.  "Your life.  Your life, Mister Candell, is not worth the air we currently think we're breathing."

"But your children."

A flash of rage came to the one blue eye as the mechanical green eye only did it's best to copy the movement of the true one.  "Leave them alone."

"Mmm, is that where your bravado ends?  And so quickly too.  I had hoped we'd have more banter or at least more witty words," Ana'lyse sighed as she tutted the trapped warrior, smoothing the front of her dress as the red began to fade out now from just the brush of her hands.  Stark white began to flow from her midsection from down to up as her own lips began to change color to keep up with the magic of the garment.  "I will return in a few hours, I have a previous engagement to attend.  Not nearly as interesting as this one, but perhaps I will bring you a souvenir.  I do have four to pick from."

The hero for hire sat helpless as the governor turned away from him and walked with that same click of her heels, the white already shimmering to silver.  It was as if the very stars of the astral sea were on draping her in triumph as she left him to fester with how she held the pieces so close.

[kharrisdawndancer]

DWC Feb 2023 - Day 3 - Velvet/Consequence

Braedyn pulled the ribbon through her fingers, neatly marking off the next cut with her chalk. This was not work she had done much of the last few years, but she had always been good with her hands. Knives or knots, it hardly mattered which, when she put her nimble fingers to work. The velvet felt cool under her fingertip and the sound of her good fabric scissors was very satisfying to her ears.

She had never made a gown for someone else before. She’d made plenty of clothes for her family, but a dress for a school dance felt different. The twins were growing up. Their mother’s red hair showed in the sunlit highlights or each young woman, a consequence of genetics Braedyn didn’t share. Cyrena’s hair had been bold. Everything about her had been bold. Brash as brass. The twins’ biological father was hardly any quieter. Saviero was loud and lusty for life, quick to distraction.

Perhaps Fortune and Braedyn, the adoptive parents of most of the girls’ years, could be considered quiet in contrast. But only the truly unaware would call either of the Velstands meek, or even mild.

An abundance of fabric shimmered in full skirts meant to swing with dancing. Each dress trimmed uniquely with velvet ribbons to colors of each of their tastes. A sweetheart neckline for one and a square cut for the other. Puffed sleeve caps contrasted with long silk gloves made for the other. And, best of all, a deeply hidden, but easily accessed, pocket in each young woman’s skirt hid their sleek knives.

~~~

@daily-writing-challenge​

[renardsnoir]

Velvet and Satin.

Day 3 Velvet / Consequences

@daily-writing-challenge

"What about this one?" She pulls out a pretty white cotton jacket with gold-like trim. "It's pretty nice, right? What do you think?"

Iseult watches carefully for any reaction her little brother may have. Of the two of them, he the one who has a greater sense of fashion and style, than she may have. Sometimes she would be a little lost without his sartorial advice and tips. Tristan thought for several seconds before shaking his head.

"White on white, very bad idea. Put it back where you found it." He gives her a small nod towards the bin on her left.

After a quick thought, she rather agrees with him. Iseult puts the jacket back on, before starting to look again. She would never have thought that it would be somewhat difficult to find a new coat.

In turn, she takes out of another bin a woolen jacket with very messy colors and a nice dark cashmere coat with an embroidered phoenix pattern on the back. The woolen jacket is quickly discarded because of its garish colors and the coat because of its high price.

After several other failures. Iseult starts to be disappointed, it is not today that she will replace her old damaged coat. But it is without counting on the sharp sense of Tristan. He finds the rare pearl, hardly exceeding a pile of clothes.

He rushes to grab it before someone else does before him. Tristan brings to light, a sublime coat of a pretty blue gradient, with faux fur around the collar and black satin lining. Only drawback, there is a large cut that tears almost all the back.

A detail for Iseult, they will be able anyway to repair it once back home. It is decided. This velvet coat will be the next one she will buy.

[blixvoronin]

dwc day 3: consequence

read more about the daily writing challenge for this week here  @daily-writing-challenge

summary: Blix reminisces on the hell of a night she’s had.

word count: 1101

content warnings: body horror, blood, death

Two in the fucking morning.

Blix rubbed at her eyes as she forced her gaze down from the clock against the wall in her study and leaned over the journal where she’d hastily scribbled the recollection of a nightmare that had already begun its threats to slip from her mind when she awoke and promptly leaned towards the stone floor to vomit. The burn of bile still stung the back of her throat.

Unfortunately for her, though, she’d had the habit for years of documenting particularly vivid or strange dreams. It’d helped in therapy, at least, recently. But, this?

She pointedly ignored the phantom who stood at her side, leaned in close enough that – if it still were to hold tangibility – she would feel warm breath on her cheek. It didn’t stop her from hearing its faint wheezes as what should have been air cycled in and out of nonexistent lungs.

It didn’t stop her from knowing that if she turned her face an inch to the right, she’d be met with a face whose eyes had long rotted away, leaving gaping chasms and shriveled skin that bared teeth in the same threat that came across any creature with a pulse: death was inevitable. This was to be her fate, too.

Blix focused on the journal, blinking hard before chewing at a jagged piece of skin on her thumb, and reread the entry.

A cult, somewhere – trapped? No, there willingly. Summoning circles, gold on black. A totem of bone – a coin. A knife, formed from the jawbone of an “innocent,” they’d called it. Blood, from the leader. A secret stolen – what did that say? Blix squinted at the page, muttering to herself.

“Stolen from the dead,” a ragged gasp at her left managed, and Blix cleared her throat. She couldn’t acknowledge them right now, but she was grateful for the intervention.

A kyrian’s feather – how did they get that? Kyrian couldn’t cross into Azeroth. Was this ritual performed in the Shadowlands?

The scrawled words that followed: “Here in the darkness,” which Blix did remember. It was vividly repeated – the choice incantation for this cult’s summons. That was the chorus that had rung out the entire time, the percussive beat that set this ritual to rhythm.

The Old Gods were intoned, then, all of them. Blood soaked the floor, coming from candles surrounding the summoning circle. An archway – a door, summoned from flesh and bone, before the cultists were all killed when the circle was broken. Betrayed by their leader, their sacrifices taking form in their own blood becoming part of this ritual. Their flesh, their bone, taken too.

Blix placed a fist to her mouth as the recollection swirled in her brain, hearing the sickening cracks of marrow and bone alongside the sounds of ripping sinew all over again. Flipping to a new page in the journal, she scribbled a few notes she’d forgotten on the first, shaky pass before turning back.

A shadowy figure, stepping through the door, flesh and blood warping around its form until it formed a body for the shadow to encompass. He stood, naked and covered in gore, peering with curiosity at the cult leader who had managed this feat.

“You’ve done well,” he’d said. “Your promised reward awaits.” And then the cultist had been thrown to the door, to the shadowy sight of some beast just out of perception, his own flesh and blood ripping away from his form in the instant it took for the life to fade from his now-mangled body.

The whistling. The man had whistled, a sweet-sounding tune that had turned bitter on his lips, and made his way out of the room right as Blix awoke. She recalled the tune well, humming it to herself. She couldn’t place it.

“Dream...” the rotted phantom at her side rasped. Blix closed her eyes, willing the ghost away to no avail. “Dream… of me,” it continued. “Little dream.”

She couldn’t take it. Standing, she finally turned and looked the phantom in its face, her own gaze wide and full of exasperation. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Leave! Leave me alone! You’re – you’re always here! No wonder I’m unable to ever get any decent fucking sleep.”

The phantom rasped a laugh, and was suddenly in Blix’s face. She could smell its rotted flesh, despite it having no physical form to touch, and it made her stomach churn as the frigid touch of a ghost’s fingers wrapped around her lower jaw, pinching her face tight. She realized, quickly, that she knew this face. She had been one of Blix’s soldiers. She knew the name of this one.

“Dream a little dream… of me,” the ghost rasped, and Blix grit her teeth, speaking without hesitation.

“Savren. I recognize your soul and your pain. I send you in peace. Look to the skies and find those who will guide you to your afterlife. I will wait with you. I bear your burdens. I see your grievances, and I declare your business finished. Go.”

The phantom opened its mouth, the beginnings of a scream beginning to form, before it was abruptly jerked back – flesh and substance seemed to flood into the phantom, and before long, the image Blix recalled of Savren in life was present just long enough to shoot Blix an enraged stare before vanishing to some point that the white-haired woman couldn’t see.

Blix recalled Savren’s death vividly, still – the stand at the wall in Arathi, Savren sacrificing herself to save the regiment from the undead that had swarmed them. She was one of the deaths that Blix most faulted herself for; she considered Savren’s loss a personal failure. No wonder the woman had wanted to cling to Blix after death – maybe she’d felt the same.

A pang of grief struck through Blix’s chest as she realized she’d gone almost five and a half years without recognizing the woman. Her death had so desecrated her spirit...

“I hope wherever you end up,” Blix whispered, sinking back into her chair, “it’s somewhere that makes you happy.” The last words Savren had spoken rung through Blix’s mind like a bell, and she turned to the next page in the journal, writing them down in a shaky hand.

This had been no ordinary nightmare. Maybe the spirits at her back had been right, when she awoke – maybe, this was an omen. Her mind flashed back to a rot-filled summer home in Elwynn Forest, a basement full of dessicated bodies, and one Bilemane that had been found, her essence trapped in a runeblade.

Maybe, this was a consequence.

[attzi-gearburst]

Day 3 - February 21: Consequence (Iranji)

Word count: 450 Summary: Iranji needs to not. Warnings: implied cheating @daily-writing-challenge

A loud slamming noise jolted Iranji out of his pleasant, alcohol-filled stupor. He reached for his bedmate without opening his eyes, assuming that another fight had broken out in the tavern below their room, but the other man immediately started shaking his shoulder. 

Another slam. Iranji opened his eyes and stared blearily at the door as his bedmate kept throttling his arm.

“Get the door,” he whispered. “I’m not here.”

Iranji groaned and rubbed at his face, tossing the covers back with one hand and clambering to his feet. He wasn’t sure where his clothes were, and for the door’s sake, he was pretty sure he shouldn’t take the time to look for them. He couldn’t afford to pay for damages again. There was another slam before he’d made it completely across the tiny space, and he sighed as the sound made his head ache.

“Hang on,” he said once he reached it.

“Open the fuck up!”

 Iranji unlocked the door, but put his foot and shoulder both against it as he opened it a crack. “What?”

“I know he’s here. Open the fucking door.”

“Nah. Just me tonight.”

“Well, he’s not at home, and I find out your ship is in port, so where else is he going to be?”

He opened the door a little wider so his smirk would be visible. “That’s the reasoning? Might wanna get a better boyfriend.”

“Hey!” came a shout from behind him, immediately followed by a soft, “fuck.” “I heard that!” said the man assaulting his door.

Iranji grunted as the man on the other side of the door slammed his full weight into it, nearly sending him backwards. He had enough time to feel irritation (he was bigger and stronger than he used to be, sure, but clearly still not enough of either) before he ended up staggering.

The door-slammer swept into the room, completely ignoring Iranji, and immediately started screaming at his partner where he was cowering in the bed. Iranji grimaced against the noise and took a moment to collect his pants before simply leaving, heading downstairs into the tavern proper.

The bartender beckoned him over, so he approached. “Yeah?”

“Can’t let you back after this. Three times? People have learned to start leaving when you show up. Pay for the room and go, please.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck. “...Fair,” he admitted. “Can sleep on the ship.” After rummaging in his pocket for a moment, he produced the required coin, and then headed for the door with a tired, slightly drunk sigh.

“Grow up a little and get better taste, kid,” the bartender called after him.

“Not a kid,” he muttered as he stepped out into the night. He was over seven feet tall. He hadn’t been a kid in a while.

[asharinhun]

DWC Day 3 - Consequence

//This is a continuation of two older dwc stories from last year.

Samantha grunted in pain as a fresh wave of ice and cold battered her form. She was on her knees, frost-rimmed gauntlets clutching onto her claymore, the sole reason she wasn't lying facefirst in the snow. She'd have laughed at the situation if she had the strength. As things stood, the worgen wasn't long for this world.

When the brawler first accepted Zhiadormi's offer, she didn't expect it would eventually lead her all the way to the fabled Dragon Isles... nor that it was there her own story would end. A bit ironic, but at least she'd go out in a fight, a pity it lacked the blaze of glory. At least the claymore served her well, another gift from the bronze after her old cleaver shattered on a stone elemental.

"Well, shit. Always knew there were others who could best me, and a big ass proto-dragon fits the bill..." Sam muttered with a huff, not even the fur of her worgen form could keep her warm now. She didn't come to this so called 'primalist future' alone - Zhia wasn't the only one to send associates through the portal at the Temporal Conflux - but if any of the others were still alive, she couldn't say.

"Come on, Sam... at least die standing...!" She hissed through gritted teeth, trying to use her weapon to pull herself up, but the frost was covering most of her body now. "Damn it..." She felt sleepy, the sting of cuts and the shard sof ice piercing her body barely more than a dull ache.

A sudden blast of heat shook her awake and the worgen's eye widened in disbelief. A heavily scarred black dragon landed before her, a mighty roar followed by a ball of molten lava erupting from her mouth. The proto-dragon was screeching in pain, its domain of ice unable to withstand the scorching heat for long.

With her foe retreating, the black turned to glance down at Samantha and huffed. "Stay awake." Before the brawler could say anything in reply, she was scooped out of the ice unceremoniously and was carried back all the way through the portal. The landing wasn't too gentle, but the worgen wasn't in a state to complain.

"Sam! Thank the Titans that Neria got there in time!" The brawler shocked by the sudden embrace and couldn't bite back a small hiss as the pain of her injuries flared anew without the numbing cold.

Zhiadormi frowned, concern marring her elven features as she placed a hand on Samantha's cheek, her gaze roaming over the worgen's body. Taking a deep breath, the bronze dragon used her powers to undo most of the damage to the worgen's body while Neria was shielding them from view.

"Sheesh, don't look at her like that. She'll be fine." The black dragon growled, taking on her own preferred visage after Zhia was finished. "Just get her cleaned up and keep her warm." She added haughtily, ignoring the uneasy, even hostile looks she was receiving from the other bronze dragons in the area. "Tch, timelizards..." "Now that your bedwarmer is safe, don't call me over again for such trivial matters." Neria's tone was annoyed, but a hint of pride glittered in her eye as she glanced at the weapon. "And don't forget, you owe me this time." The black dragon resumed her true form and flew away without wasting more words.

The brawler wasn't aware of the whole conversation, only catching the last part as the haze of pain and cold was pushed back from her mind, and could only watch Neria's departure. "What the..." She was quickly silenced by a finger over her mouth.

"Sush, sweet thing. The short version is, I've made a deal with that grumpy black dragon, and this is one of the results of that. I'll sate your curiosity about the details once you're fully recovered." Zhia hummed, lifting the worgen with ease and carried her bridal-style to one of the nearby tents. "Just rest for now."

Sam wanted to argue at first, but she was too exhausted. In the end she just nodded, eye slipping closed now that she was safe.

@daily-writing-challenge

[jasonhelsong]

February Daily Writing Challenge: Day 3 Consequence

Sometime after joining Everwind-

Helsong sat quietly at the kitchen table of his home, the day already long started from the sounds filtering in from outside, The Port of Everwind moving at it's usual pace, ships coming in, people yelling various orders, other yelling to sell their wares. Helsong sat staring at a note left on the kitchen table, one he had read already but reached out to pick up again in hopes that the words changed.

Hel-

I'm sorry, I'm so very sorry. I have to leave, we've moved too fast. I wasn't ready for all this! I thought I was, I know I asked you, but I was wrong. I'm going to be working for the Exchange remotely. Gwen will be safe, loved and taken care of.

-Juvia

Helsong set down the letter, slumping back in the chair, the months Juvia and him were together flew by, just as quickly they found out she was pregnant. They hadn't even settled on a place to live together, the pace they were moving never discussed. Now Helsong sniffled, rubbing at his eyes a bit, drying his tears. Pushing himself up from the table finally, cleaning up the kitchen and getting ready to go to work.

@daily-writing-challenge

[ziorea]

DWC Day 3 Consequence

Ziorea blew air through her nearly closed lips making a rather unladylike sound.  Her travel gear was well covered in dirt and dust, hair was piled into a messy bun.  Not an ounce of her looked like the noble lady she was born.   The biggest consequence of being a runaway?  She did not have a place that was home.

She had planned well ahead and had her own bank account full of gold coins, yet no land was hers and the idea of renting an apartment felt too permanent.    

Instead she traveled from place to place with an enchanted tent as her bedroom.  Instead all her belongs from dresses for fancy parties to boots to wade in mud.    When she had to be in public eye, a room was rented for the night.  The day would be wasted away as she dolled up to look as pristine as a lady should.

It truth?  Her daily clothing was riding leathers and tangled hair.  A drake her preferred mount but she left him on the dragon isles.  It was unfair to drag him back to the mainland, he liked it even less than she did.   The isles where her favorite place, they could travel to the city where he would rest and she could portal hop from city to city.  When she was done feeling social back to him she ported.

Her current spot for the night?   A stunning sight of Thaldraszus below her.  As a solo traveler who was adept in the shadows, for the most part, she could move around unseen.  Wild animals seem to understand she was no threat and left her alone.   Her brother often called her a druid even if she knew nothing about nature or the spells that came with it.  

It was peaceful up here as Ziorea began to let down her hair and work through the knots created by her last ride.  It would be a few days before she got a chance to shower and feel elegant again but for now, she basked in her traveling dust.   A glance was given in the direction her drake has flown off to find food.  Truly alone, Zio started to wonder if she was really making the right choices.

"Fuck.." She cursed then blushed out of habit. Even alone she made sure no one heard her say such a dirty word.

Into the communication she typed. "When do you want to meet?" Then left it unsent, for now.

@daily-writing-challenge

[advancedscoutkappi]

DWC Feb, Day3: Consequences

Summary: Kappi's newest "gift" has him thinking about past choices and has lunch with @attzi-gearburst

Warnings: None

@daily-writing-challenge 

“Ya knew then consequences of returnin’ to him, Kappi. Ya knew it yet here you are.”

Those words echoed in Kappi’s mind almost daily. A constant reminder of his moment of weakness after witnessing his boss make the sacrifice play. 

Another constant reminder with the frequent packages that arrived at the FBC offices in Booty Bay. Addressed to him, each one a matte black box with a red ‘T.F’ logo on the side. Something he knew all too well and something he regretted each and every time that box arrived. These were his consequences. The constant barrage of new jobs that he could not turn down or risk putting the one person he loved in danger. 

Each box had the details in it for the next job. Though Kappi had learned early on that Draven was not sharing the whole truth each time. As if some kind of sadistic test to make sure that Kappi truly was back and that his skills were still as sharp as ever. The first, telling him the target had gone to Vol’dun when they had, in fact, fled to Kul Tiras. Another gave him the wrong target, informing him it was an entirely different race. Another, incorrect description. Each and every one, more frustrating than the last. Though, once he knew that there was misinformation somewhere, he started picking up on the tricks and he was able to discern which piece of info was false. He just wished the packages would stop arriving, but that was in the works. 

Kappi stared at the most recent arrival that sat on his desk. A package about the size and shape of a hat box, wrapped in the same black paper as always and a bright red bow tied around it. The moment Kappi had seen it he had pushed it across his desk but it was not something he could push away for long. He would have to look at it’s contents, look at what the Farmer had in store for him next. At least Attzi had convinced him to bring her with him on all of these jobs. It had helped far more than Kappi ever knew it would and was amazing to have someone with him that he trusted with his life. He sighed heavily and sat up in his chair, finally reaching for the cursed package. The time had come that he finally had to look at it, he could not put it off any longer. He slips a dagger from his belt and flips it over, slicing along the seam of the box before putting it away. He had gotten over the caution long ago that any of these would be booby-traped. Even if all this was Draven simply screwing with him, these jobs still needed done and they always got them done quickly.

Inside was the normal contents. A small cake with the same color scheme of the box, a dossier with information about the job and a smaller box that usually had another small part that would help him make the picture whole. He flipped the folder open and started scanning the papers. The target was a mage this time. He sighed heavily and rubbed at his temples, mages were not an easy catch. Though this one seemed like he could be. His name was Bozabeck and it seemed he was very proud of his skills. Could get him to start showing off, could doubt his abilities to get him riled up and willing to be by himself. There was also that off chance Attzi knew him. He flipped another page and continued reading looking for where this ‘Beck’ had last been seen and where they could start sending people to search. As he was reading down another page of the information, looking for that tiny clue to tell him just what part of the information was false, there was a knock on his office door. He stopped reading and glanced up to find Attzi standing in the doorway with lunch in her hands. He smiled and flipped the dossier closed, pushing it to the side, but as she saw it a heavy frown set in.

“Monthly package arrived.” She said flatly as she approached the desk, setting several containers on it.

He nods and sighs. “That it has. Could use your help, love. Looks like a mage this time, maybe you know them.” He motioned towards the dossier for her to see, but she did not grab it right away. Instead she pushed it aside and offered him one of the containers with a smile. “Could be! Right now though, ya gonna sit right there and enjoy ya lunch with me.” She says very matter-of-factly, pulling up a chair, sitting next to him and smiling.

Kappi chuckles and nods, knowing this was not an argument he was going to win. He pops the top on his lunch and is handed a fork by Attzi. They dig in and for those few minutes Kappi almost forgets about the dossier sitting on his desk. But the problem with consequences is they can not be avoided for long…