#oc ingrid ayton

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 41

CW: None AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 20. 30. 40. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannah-heartstrings, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster @mr-orion

The sky is overcast, threatening rain, as Elo sits with Farren's phone, legs bunched on the green twill armchair, ear glued to the handset as she waits for the call to connect. "Emerald Star, Christopher speaking. How may I assist you?" "This is Detective O'Toreguarde, TPD. Could you put me through to room 1803?" The concierge pauses. "And may I enquire about the nature of your correspondence?" His Nibs is a high-profile guest; of course, they're screening his calls. "It's Triumvirate business. I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to disclose anything further." Another pause. "And whom should I say is calling?" Didn't she just–? But maybe the concierge is on her side… Elo sighs. "Lady Elowyn." "Very good, your Ladyship. Connecting you now." Elo can hear Farren humming from the bathroom, mingling with the drone of his electric razor. "Good morning, Lady Elowyn," comes a lilting, feminine voice. "This is Unka, His Majesty's personal assistant. What can I help you with?" "May I speak to His Majesty directly?" "I'm afraid he's still asleep at the moment. Perhaps I can help?" "I understand that making travel arrangements to return to Iceland may take some time. I thought, while that was completed, His Majesty and I could take in some more of the city sights. I'm still relieved of my duties as a policeman, and I suspect that neither of us is particularly keen to visit City Hall today." There's splashing coming from the bathroom now. The phone line stays quiet. Elo forges on, "Despite any implications made during yesterday's negotiation meeting, I have enjoyed His Majesty's company this past week, as a friend, and I have enjoyed showing him the city I love. If he's of the same mind, I would like to continue until he leaves." The silence from the other end of the phone continues, and Elo wonders if she's on speakerphone. In for a dollar… "I may also have a selfish motivation. The head of his security detail is my best friend. If these talks fall through I don't know when I'll be able to see her next. I already missed her wedding. I don't want to miss anything else. And His Majesty is the last link I have to my dear Aunt. I don't want to lose that either. "Please, Your Majesty, if you're listening, would you at least consider one final trip out with me?" The line stays silent. "I'm staying with Detective Breakwood at the moment. Or you can always reach me at the station." Elo gives Farren's number and her desk number, waits a few moments more, and sets the handset back in its cradle.

"Guess it didn't go well, huh?" Farren asks from the doorway. Elo scrunches herself further into the chair. "No. He wouldn't even speak to me." Farren bustles around the kitchen, making a cup of freeze-dry coffee. "You know, you were right. You're not expected at work or at City Hall." He keeps his back to her. "You could stay here and take a day?" Elo lets her head fall onto the backrest. Outside, central Toreguard is hidden by the haze of low clouds. The filigreed dome of the Theater d'Olidammara is a flat yellow. On the twin bridges, Comedy's traffic is nose-to-tail but Tragedy flows freely. She could take the day. But then do what – sit around and mope? At the end of Farren's street is a deli/bodega. Elo watches the crowds on the sidewalk dipping in and out with take-out cups or bags of cheap convenience, watching as they hurry on their way to a job or school or to care for someone. She wonders how many of them are also having a crappy week. How many of them also ache and grieve and have to push on. She shouldn't be so selfish. Elo uncurls and stands. "Just because I'm not expected, doesn't mean there isn't work to be done." Farren's shoulders slump as he gives a heavy sigh. "Yeah. S'what I thought you'd say." He turns and holds out a mug of coffee. "Here. Get this down you and we'll head on."

–––

At the station, Elo busies herself with the ever-increasing stack of paperwork in her in-tray; there's not much more to be learnt from Evie's journals, Cobbleskater tells her, and he can handle it himself. Elo suspects he's in a snit because she wasn't prompt with finishing the translations.

It's just shy of mid-morning, she's in the breakroom getting coffee with Ayton, when there's a stir in the bullpen. They peek out to see King Storri leaning against Elo's desk. Merri is idly pawing through the in-tray. Ayton looks up at Elo with a delighted grin. "Oooh, girl! Is that who I think it is?" "Yeah." "And just what did you do to get him to show up here?" Elo looks at Storri, back at Ayton, and presses a hand to her forehead. "Technically, it wasn't me. But I can't talk about it right now. Ask me again when I've got something stronger than coffee in my hand." Ayton's face drops. "Oh, shit. That bad?" "Worse." Elo takes a gulp of coffee, hands it to Ayton, straightens her shirt and steps out, once again fully aware that she has the attention of the whole bullpen on her.

"Your Majesty," she says, giving him a bow from the waist. "What can I help you with?" Storri startles upright, covers his startling with a cough, and inclines his head. "Detective O'Toreguarde. Is there somewhere more private we may speak?" "Of course, Your Majesty." Elo glances at her old companion, and adds with a bite, "Agent Gruksdottir, do you mind?" Merri waves from where she's now poking around in Elo's top drawer. "Not at all. On you go." Elo purses her lips and huffs. Merri glances up, sees Elo's face, says, "Oh," and sheepishly closes the drawer. Elo inclines her head in sarcastic thanks, then gestures the king ahead of her. "This way," Elo says, leading the way from the bullpen.

They find a free interview room, and Elo flips the marker to 'in use' as she ushers the king in. Elo stops on the threshold, but Merri gives a quick shake of her head; she'll remain out here. Elo closes the door and steps away, crossing her arms. "So," she says. King Storri draws himself to full height. "I have acted, to you in specific, in a most unbecoming manner. Having heard your words this morning and knowing that you were the butt of yesterday's farce, I have considered my behaviour and found it lacking. If you are still willing, I would enjoy a final day in your company to further explore the city you and my beloved call home." His beloved… Elo doesn't think she's going to get used to hearing anyone refer to Aunt Alexis as 'their beloved'. She loosens her arms. "Your apology is accepted. And I would love to show you more of Toreguard. I'd still like to apologise for yesterday–" Storri holds up a hand. "I think, perhaps, it best to leave politics aside. I understand your desire to have our two nations on speaking terms again, but," he turns his head away with a shake, "I cannot countenance it. Not anymore. Not after Drakemar, and after what they did to your Aunt, and now what they've tried to do to you. This is the final coffin nail." Elo swallows, allowing her gaze to fall with her shoulders. "I understand. I'll be showing you the city today, not as Lady Elowyn, but as Elo who could have been your step-child." Storri crosses the space between them and clasps her shoulder. "It is for the best." "Right. Well then," Elo looks up and forces a smile. "I know the perfect place to start."

–––

"They did love her, you know," Elo says. "Despite the Triumvirate bowing to the Business Consortium's wishes and placing the Edict, they loved her and the others enough to make these statues." They are standing on the quayside of the Ring Canal, bundled up against the spring drizzle, and staring across the busy water at the statues which stand sentinel at the edge of the City Hall Plaza. The Ring of Heroes, which Elo has delivered a short lecture on, is too far to complete on foot, so instead Elo has chosen to show him Alexis' statue. The gracefully carved marble gazes watchfully out over the city, the long rifle Foreign Policy resting at ease in her hands. A phantom wind twitches her trench coat and cornrows. "They love her still, too. There're always parties on the anniversary of Greydown's defeat. Always toasts to her skill and bravery. Although," Elo's gaze falls away, "with each passing year they love the legend a little more and the person a little less." Storri is immersed in a thoughtful silence. "Why are we not up there?" Merri asks. "Enezeag, Felix and Darrius are," Elo says. "Technically, you're a traitor, and I keep – ahem – forgetting to attend the sculpture sittings." Merri laughs and loops an arm over Elo's shoulder. "Never change, cridhe. Never change."

They move on to the City Museum. It's a beautiful building, made of red brick and terracotta mouldings, and filled with the story of Toreguard's rise, fall, and phoenix-like regeneration. Elo focuses their attentions on the parts her aunts have played in the city's history, how they fought for it and saved it. She draws Storri's attention, too, to the descriptions of Greydown – the man who thought himself above others and brought ruin down on everyone, including himself. The King smiles tolerantly, and Elo has to remind herself of course he knows about it already; it's much more recent history for him than it is her. Storri strides past the section on Drakemar and his emissary with barely a glance. Elo doesn't understand what his issue with Drakemar is. She can't see what's wrong with taking money from a wealthy benefactor and turning it around to rebuild the city and rehome all the people displaced by the bombs and subsequent fighting. There've been some small concessions in governance which benefit Drakemar and his people, she knows that, but isn't that acceptable when, without him, Toreguard would not be standing? But he said no politics, so she doesn't bring it up, and they move on to the museum restaurant instead.

Elo finds herself wanting to apologise to the staff and other patrons as Storri's security sweeps in to clear a whole corner – one with the best view, no less. To their credit, the maître de doesn't bat an eye, and lunch, with a complimentary bottle of bubbly, goes down well; the cheque that Unka hands over, with such a great deal of zeros, probably helps a lot too. They linger up there, with Elo pointing out the dome of Theater d'Olidammara, now glittering in the sunlight pushing through fat clouds, and the university buildings behind it. City Hall takes up most of the view from the other direction, but in the distance, they can just make out the obelisk-shaped spire of the Temple of Heironeous.

Then it's time to move on, but not without one last little stop. The way up to the restaurant is lined with portraits, which had Storri pausing by each to examine and read over the placard. So Elo steers them out via the Ovoxi Hall, a large room of which one wall is taken up entirely by the faux-renaissance painting The Casting of Challenge Seeker. The mighty canvas depicts five heroes standing with their backs to the viewer at the top of a crenellated tower, while around them are littered the corpses of demons. In the tumultuous clouds above a titanic, Olympian-esque figure is visible from the waist up. This Titan has his arm outstretched in the starry heavens, as if he has just thrown the silver sword which glitters like the north star just beyond his grip. Storri reads the info plaque next to the recommended-viewing bench, making noise of exclamation as he learns the piece is younger than Elo, that it was gifted by an anonymous creator and donor almost as soon as the museum opened, and just what it represents. He then steps forward to take in the details of the smallest member of the party, and once he is done, turns back to Elo with a solemn nod.

Outside the museum, Elo hails a punt and asks the punter to take them a circuitous route to the covered markets at Olmsafon. As they travel – down the North Trunk then turning East into progressively smaller waterways – Elo finds herself giving a running commentary of each district and item of import they pass. Sometimes it's a grand event, sometimes it's a silly memory, but it builds up into a verbal cloth, woven of all the threads that tie her, and tied her Aunt, to the city they both love; a cloth which Elo, with all the skills she can, drapes around Storri to show him Toreguard and her people are worth his attention and alliance.

The markets are bustling as the punter pulls up to the docks. As they disembark, Merri shoots Elo a distinctly unimpressed look, which Elo accepts with a repentant tilted head. It's possible, having lost track of the days, she hadn't quite thought this one through – with so many locals doing their weekly shop and tourists enjoying the ambience, it makes the King much harder to protect. But equally, Elo reasons, if someone deliberately meant to do him harm they would need to know his movements in advance; and considering that none of them knew an hour ago where they were headed, Elo thinks it's probably safe. And anyway, she thinks – as she wanders around with him, their arms linked like a step-child and father aught, pointing out things that take his fancy and she explaining some particular oddity brought by the city being such a melting pot of culture, chatting with the vendors, sampling victuals, and buying an increasingly extravagant amount of goods – he's relaxed and having fun. She does not like the amount of grief that he had been subject to by Brauma; Merri said he was here in part to take a break from everyday stress, and Elo should be facilitating that, not causing more.

It's just past four when they exit the markets. A car is called to take all the parcels back to Storri's rooms, and then they move on for afternoon tea at a rather hidden, and thus exclusive, cafe that Aunt Selene liked to frequent. Elo hasn't been here in a while – it's one of those places that, on a copper's salary, is quite a lot out of her price range – but it's just as delightful as she recalls. They're tucked into a snug by themselves, bestowed with pots of tea, stands of petit four and finger sandwiches, and told to holler if anything more is needed. So they sit and chat, and Elo tries to absorb having Merri by her side, storing up the feeling like a squirrel stores food for the winter.

They've been having a ribald conversation on the knife-edge of decency – the sort they used to have, back when they travelled together – when they both become aware that King Storri has not said anything in some time. He's staring down at the tartlet on his plate with some intensity. "Kóngurinn minn?" Merri says gently. He sucks in a breath as if he was very far away. "While I am aware it was I who requested no political discussion, I have been thinking…" Both women set down their cups and pay attention. "Elowyn, it has been a joy getting to know you this past week. You are an expert conversationalist, knowledgeable in many areas and the love you feel for your city is tangible. That you have anticipated my want to learn more about the home of my beloved is a grace. As you wished not to lose connection with Agent Gruksdottir, I too, should not like to lose connection with you. "Thus, I would like to offer you citizenship of Iceland." Elo feels her mouth drop open as she stares. "That is… an incredible offer. Thank you." The cogs in her brain whirr at this opportunity, and she pounces on it. "I would be honoured to accept… "Except, and I am in no way trying to downplay or dismiss what you're offering, but I must ask. What of Toreguard's people – don't they deserve to see Iceland too? To see her sprawling mountains, volcanoes and geysers. To eat puffin in Fangthane and drink brennivín made from glacier waters. What of those who want to watch an aurora in the spray of a waterfall?" Storri's brow furrows. "You never give up, do you?" At this Merri laughs. "She'd fight to the bitter end if you let her." Storri takes a bite from his tartlet. "And what of your own people?" Elo asks. "I'm sure they'd relish the opportunity to eat as you've eaten. Cakes and curry and the Conquistador's Revenge. Puffin gets wearisome for every meal." An eyebrow raise. "It's not that bad," Storri mumbles. Elo looks at Merri. "With respect, Kóngurinn minn, it does get tiresome very quickly when it's your main source of protein." "And that is nothing to speak of when compared to a village's grain being turned to hardtack right after harvest." Something shifts on his face then, brows furrowed as he stares at his tartlet. He remains quiet and thoughtful, and Merri makes some comment, and she and Elo take up whatever thread they'd been talking about.

Storri sets his tartlet down, half-eaten, his expression so serious that it is just shy of a glower. Elo and Merri leave off their conversation again. "I will not truck with either the Master of the Exchequer nor the Acting Magister," Storri says. "Even if your tastes swayed towards men, even if I did not see you as the child of my beloved Alexis, even then your age would not allow me to accept you as a spouse. I remain infuriated with those prune-shriven runions for their blatant disregard, disrespect, and cavalier, vinegar stunt. "The actions of those black toads aside, you have shown me this day that Toreguard is as fair as one could hope, filled with as exotic sights and sensations as any traveller could dream of. The vibrancy of her people and the care and enthusiasm in which you have shown these things has convinced me that perhaps not all hope is lost for this city. "I will persevere with negotiations, but only with yourself or Strucker. I have no desire to engage with any other of your council." The elation rising in Elo's chest during Storri's little speech dies a cold, hard death. "You are aware that, despite my pretty title, I don't have any real power? You will have to deal with Clayrmantle eventually. After Greydown, it was decreed that no singular person would ever have that much executive power again. So while the Senate can vote in favour of a resolution, in order to pass, it requires the signatures of at least two Triumvirate members. Something as large as this may even require all three." The King regards her with a flat stare, eyes flashing like embers, and Elo thinks she's screwed the whole thing again. But these are the facts and there is no escaping them. He says, "I will not deal with Exchequer Brauma. I cannot guarantee my behaviour will befit my station while around him." "Alright. I can sit in and moderate any meetings with Clayrmantle. And, while I can't guarantee this will be accepted, I can request that the Secretary to the Treasury be the Exchequer's proxy in meetings that would require him. Is that acceptable?" Storri lifts his chin, considering the colourful bunting along the snug's picture rail. "This is acceptable. With this in place, I feel we could finalise an accord between our two states." Elo smiles, letting out a slow breath, feeling her spirit soar. He turns his gaze back to Elo. "I have one final condition." She feels her heart still in its victory dance. "I would expect that I will have to return several times to complete this deal. At each of these visits, you will take me to a different eatery or watering hole, and let me dine in anonymity with you." Elo grits her teeth, assuming a grim expression. "Agreed. Then I also have a further condition. I request a new artwork featuring your country that I can display in The Shield and proclaim you the donor." Storri nods in regal consideration. "It is done then," he says. His eyes never leave Elo's as he speaks, though his lips tremble in the suppression of a smile. "Unka will have the contract drawn up when we return to the Emerald. I will have this deal in writing." From the other table, Unka says, with laughter in her tone, "Já, Konungur minn." Merri stifles a chuckle. At that Storri breaks, his grin wide and mischievous, his laughter a roll of thunder, starting small as a chortle and rising to guffaw, and Elo finds herself following right along with him. "Oh, my child. Your face – it was a picture!" King Storri chuckles, as Elo finds she has to wipe her eyes at the mirth spilling from them – such is her nervous relief. "You rotten old troll!" she gasps out, grinning. "You had me really worried for a moment there." Storri finally finishes off his tartlet. "I look forward to being able to festoon your community hall with the finest art my countrymen have to offer." Elo smiles widely at that. "And it will be my pleasure to introduce you to all the flavours my city can offer your palette."

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 22

CW: None AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 20. 21. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannah-heartstrings, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster @mr-orion

Elo allows herself to be taken to hospital. She doesn't like it though. She knows no one is overly fond of hospitals, but for her, they remind her too much of the morgue, and of course that's where dead people stay while they wait for the living to help them get closure enough to pass on. She hopes never to die like that – an anonymous body in a low-trafficked area, gone in the dark of the night. She'd like her death to be something obvious and blatant. Not that she's suicidal, but if she had died this night, it would have been one she was satisfied with. Cloven in two by a giant sword is difficult to miss, even if its wielder is less than prosecutable. Fortunately her time there is short. Someone has called Farren, who shows up with her Police Academy sweats. He helps with a stand-up wash and deals with the ruined dress while she's being stitched up. The doctors want to keep her overnight for observations, but her health package will not cover the cost, so Farren drives her home and helps her to her room.

Elo has lost all sense of time, but by the lack of movement in Craig Spine's room as they make their way slowly up the stairs, it is not yet considered morning. Farren gently deposits her on her bed, then dithers. "Brek, go home," she says. "I'll be fine." He harrumphs, then kicks his shoes off and shucks his jacket. "'S too far and I'm knackered. Budge over." "Really, this isn't–" She's cut off by her partner sliding into bed, putting himself between her and the door. "Breakwood." "Get some shut-eye, Bug." Elo sighs and squiggles over so he has more room. "You're annoying," she mumbles. "So are you," he mumbles back. The lack of revolver under her pillow is discomforting, but the solid slab of muscle lying next to her more than makes up for it.

–––

By the time she stirs, it's midafternoon and Farren is unsurprisingly gone. At first, she only lies there. Bright sunlight slices through the blinds, and on the window, she hears the intermittent patter of angels' tears. The bed is soft and warm, the covers like a cocoon she doesn't want to escape from. She has a faint memory of Farren leaving, telling her to stay home, he'll deal with her absence. She has a mind to roll over and continue sleeping. Then her belly grumbles, loudly and with great insistence. So she hauls herself up and forces her way through a stand-up wash at the basin in her room and digs out a clean suit. The new dressing she applies isn't nearly as neat as it could be, but it's good enough and anyway it'll be hidden under her jacket. Her belly growls again. The landlady prepares a breakfast buffet as standard and dinner only by request. Elo's on her own for food, she thinks, as she drags herself out of her room and down the stairs.

Mrs Higgins greets her on the first-floor landing, inviting Elo into her own apartment. The landlady plies her with a cold lunch and insists on reapplying the shoddy dressing. Throughout her fussing, Mrs Higgins has this peculiar smile hovering on her lips, which Elo doesn't understand at all. Then Mrs Higgins says, "There's some folks hanging around downstairs. I think they've been waiting for you." Elo tenses. "Did they show you any badges?" "Yes. The wee girl is a copper. The burly lad's said he was a… CPPO?" Elo relaxes. "Close personal protection officer. It means he's a bodyguard. They say what they want?" Mrs Higgins shakes her head. "They complimented my scones though." Elo grins. "That's because you use butter, not margarine like most places." "Should I tell them you're still asleep?" And bless her, Mrs Higgins is giving her the option of leaving via the dumbwaiter or fire escape. But the CPPO is most likely one of King Storri's ubiquitous black suits, and the copper is probably someone from First Precinct who wants her statement from last night. So this time, there's no harm in greeting them. "No, thank you. I'll go down and say hi." "Alright then, pet."

Sprawled on the waiting sofa is a slim, short, blond woman. Stood so still by the door that she almost dismissed him as a piece of furniture, is a copper-haired ubiquitous black suit. "Ayton!" Elo cries, grinning at the woman on the sofa. "El!" The woman springs up, clasping Elo's shoulders and looking her over. "The hell did you do this time, girl?" "Ruined a very expensive dress by getting stabbed at a high-class shindig." "Godsdamn, you never do things by halves, do you?" "What are you doing here?" "Cap sent me–" "Gods," Elo whines. "How much trouble am I in?" "Nah, girl, it's fine. I'm here to keep an eye on you." Elo screws up her face. Ayton puts a hand on Elo's shoulder. "Relax, wouldya? He's just worried. Breakwood said it was bad. Terrell's got the day off, so it was either come babysit you or be stuck on desk duty. Handsome over there's got the same orders." She looks over. "Hey, Handsome. Tell her what you told me." The ubiquitous black suit moves away from the door and joins them at a respectful distance, and now Elo can see him, she thinks maybe he was one of the suits on the terrace last night. "My Lady, I'm glad to see you're faring well. Jakob Hembo, at your service." He bows. "His Majesty wishes to convey his regrets for what occurred last night, and has sent me to ensure your safety for today." Elo looks between the two and takes a step back, her hands raised in a halting gesture. "I don't need a minder." "His Majesty respectfully disagrees," Hembo says. "So does the Captain," Ayton says. "Listen, El, you don't get to scare the living shit outta the higher-ups and not expect some comeuppance." "Fine then. I guess you get to follow me back to the station, and–" "Nope. You're on sick leave, girl. All you're gonna do is sit your ass down and watch daytime TV." "Like hell I am. Ayton… Ingrid, I'm fine. It's just a little scratch. I've got work to do." "Not today you don't. Cap said you gotta relax and heal." "Kóngurinn minn ordered me to sit upon you if you tried to do anything I deemed stupid. Going back to work with a fresh injury qualifies." Elo is starting to wish she'd gone out the fire escape. "Can I take a walk, at least?" Ayton and Hembo give each other a considering look. "Ja," Hembo says. "You can do that."

Determined to do something useful in the few hours until evening, Elo takes them to the Shield. Ayton is good-naturedly annoyed at the loophole. Hembo looks tired but rolls his shoulders and gets on with his job. Elo is permitted to read to the kids, help with some accounting, and talk to people. Ayton sticks to her guns about the ban on police work – when she catches Elo trying to compose her formal report of the night before, her writing implements are confiscated and she's kicked out of the tiny office. Any time someone asks her to do something remotely physical, Hembo politely informs them Elo was injured protecting the Icelandic King and they must find someone else. It's cute the first few times; by the tenth, Elo wants the ground to swallow her because it's embarrassing the looks of awe she gets. By six o'clock, she's starting to flag so her minders decree she must go home. Elo makes a token protest, then does as she's told. Back at the tenement, she tells them she'll be fine and to go home. Ayton gives Elo a wink and says she'll see her in the office tomorrow. Hembo is a little harder to convince – but promising to give His Nibs a glowing report mollifies him enough to leave. Dinner and a dressing change are provided by Mrs Higgins, and then Elo is back in her room, awkwardly slipping into her nightshirt and lying down.

The lack of gun under her pillow is even more disquieting without Farren there. Doubly so when, just as she's drifting off to sleep, someone knocks at her door. No, not her door. Her closet. She pulls a knife from the bedside table.

[druidx]

Find the Word Tag Game

Tagged by @sleepyowlwrites, about this time last year

Thought I'd take these from Elowyn Investigations (another NaNoWriMo WIP) since I'm on a Fighting Fantasy World of Titan kick recently.

CW: a non-slur use of the word "fag" - it's a setting-appropriate term for a cigarette.

Cap

"Wait, why haven't we done that?" I asked. "The underground contacts thing." "Because you don't have any, and mine would see you coming a mile off and run the other direction," Farren said. I frowned. "I mean that as a compliment," he added hastily. "You're a good cop; proper straight and narrow type." I chewed my lip. "Maybe that's not what we need right now. " There was a wave from down the street as the blood wagon rolled into view. Farren took a last pull on his fag and stubbed it out on the wall. "Hey now," he said. "Don't go getting ideas. I heard what the Cap yelled at you: no heroics. Remember? What you're talking about sounds a lot like heroics to me." "All I'm saying is it's an option," I said, placatingly. "Maybe we can get a real name for our maid from her agency, maybe that'll make life easier. But if not, we've got a plan B. Where's the harm?" He pulled a face at me as the blood wagon rolled up. "No heroics."

Stem

I spent the morning helping out with the wreath making; twisting stems into a wire framework to make the garlands and so on. The feast was scheduled for the middle of the afternoon, so we had plenty of time. I chatted gaily with people I knew, swapped stories and caught up. Mid-morning we stopped for a small bite to eat, and I was passed fresh white bread with melting butter and a stick of cheese, sweet-sour lemonade to drink.

Root

"Listen, you," [the kitchen mistress] said to the Friar. "You need to take her back to the room you found her at so she can get changed properly. She can't dress here." "Why not?" the brother said, confused. "Little children dress often in front of your fire here." I flushed. "If it's all the same to you sir, as an adult I'd rather have the decorum afforded me, and find someplace more private to change." I looked to the kitchen mistress, wiping her hands on her pinafore, trying to stop the smirk from showing on her face. "However, living as I do in the barracks of a Watch-house, I don't need that much privacy. If I can commander a pantry for a moment or two?" "Of course dear," the kitchen mistress said. "Elsy!" A maid came scurrying at her mistress's call. "Elsy, kindly show Officer Elowyn to the root veg panty would you, and then keep an eye no one goes in for about ten minutes?" The maid bobbed a curtsy. "Yes miss," she said and looked at me. "This way Officer," she said and walked away. I followed her, not sure how to deal with the look of consternation and embarrassment on the Friar's face.

Spot

"I feel the need for a toast," Aveskamp said and raised his glass. I raised mine as well, putting off drinking the alleged booze in my cup. "To Elo's first proper night out. Here's hoping we get a little skull-bashing in tonight!" "To Elo! To skull bashing!" they cried, and I felt myself flush. I drank the drink to hide my colour, finding the concoction a pale imitation of the ale I was used to at home. "I think I'm gonna go bag myself a drunken fool," Ayton declared and vanished into the crush of people. Farren nodded. "I spot some folk I can hit up as well," he said. "Stay with Snips," he said to me and vanished. "Here, big fella," said a scrawny looking half-elf, climbing onto the table in front of Komens. "I bet you can't take my mate in the ring." "I bet you I can," Komens said, glancing over his shoulder at the half-elf's mate – a human who looked like maybe his mam had dalliances with an ogre. "How much do you wager?" "Forty silver," the half-elf said. "Easy money," Komens said, drowning his drink in two chugs. He picked me up suddenly and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "A kiss from a pretty girl for luck," he said grinning and set me down on the table. I flushed again, as he vanished towards a fighting ring, set into the floor at one side, surrounded by a chicken wire fence. I slid back onto my seat.

Wild

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Your words are: salad, sister, song and success