Quinn felt marginally better once she was back in downtown Marn and done up as Zanni Artix for a night on the town. Of course the job was there, the threat over her head was still a pain and the shock of revealing so much to a casual acquaintance/sucker like Uluki was only just sinking in, but all in all, compared to the earlier evening, Quinn – well, Zanni – felt pretty good.
She adjusted her blonde wig and sashayed expertly on ridiculous shoes into the Drunken Rat.
“Hello stranger!” said a voice. She smiled and spun around, managing not to spill her drink, and caught sight of the usual suspects at a table near the stage. Just three of them in tonight.
“Zaryel!” she called back. A young blonde man with one gold earring air-kissed her noisily. Zaryel wasn’t actually an actor, but he’d taken to their mannerisms – or rather those of the noisy, overdramatic few – like a fish to water, an interesting simile given that he was actually a sailor.
He hooked onto her arm and steered her towards their table as if she might escape, speaking fast as they went. “So what have you been getting up to behind our backs? Not another of your side projects?”
“In a way.”
“In a way! So mysterious! Guys, it’s Zanni.”
A voluptuous redhead and a rather pretty young man, both dressed all in black, glanced up briefly as she sat down and continued their rather involved conversation. Zaryel grinned, wide, toothy and slightly unfocused, at Zanni.
"Excuse them. They've got some new idea - all singing and death. Very comtemporary," he said, as if it was a damning criticism.
"That's a point," said the man. He locked eyes with Quinn, his expression all intensity, and his face one that had melted many a female heart over the years, to no avail. He and the redhead were as devoted to each other as they were to their art. "Ina and I was wondering if you might play the soubrette? It's quite a good part - she's a fairy sorceress who disguises the lovers to hide them from the domineering father."
Quinn kept herself from sighing at what would otherwise have been an inviting prospect. Soubrettes - essentially the female comedy roles - were the ones she was born to play, and this one sounded especially fun. But talk of fairies reminded her of her actual purpose here tonight. "I'll get back to you, Morti. Look," she included all of them in the conversation, but really this was directed at Zaryel, "Have you heard anything about that singer a few weeks back? He showed up in some bar, starting singing, leaves started growing out his feet or something. The guy is good in the visual effects department, is what I am driving at."
Zaryel knew exactly what she meant. It was rare because of the ban, not to mention the purists who thought it was cheating, but illusionists were not unheard of in theatre. "It's that kind of side project, then? The... differently legal kind?"
Quinn let the comment slide, if only because she knew Zaryel was the differently legal kind of sailor. "Maybe it is, maybe it isn't, you freshwater pirate, but what I asked was do you know anything?"
"Ears says he sounded like he was from Shim. Says he hasn't made any appearances since that night. Then he did that smile of his that means he knows more but it's going to cost you."
Quinn nodded, staring straight ahead and swishing the drink around in her glass. That sounded promising. If the illusionist was anywhere in Marn then Ears was sure to know. The old crook hadn't gained that nickname for nothing.
"I'll finish this then go find him," she said.
Smoke and Mirrors
Re: Smoke and Mirrors
Zaryel protested when she stood up to leave, but she brushed off his slightly drunken attempts to lure her back to the bar. Finally, having promised to read some music Ina had written for the soubrette part, Zanni escaped from the Drunken Rat and sought out more unsavoury company.
The Hat Cellar - so named, rather unimaginatively, because it was in the cellar of a hat shop that never seemed to open - was the grimy kind of place that appealed to a certain kind of equally unimaginative lowlife: mainly it was thugs, both of the muscle-for-hire and undirected destructive lunatic varieties. Ears was something different. For a start he was over fifty and not noticably muscular, but the more striking difference was the posession of not just street-smarts, but genuine intelligence. And well-connected with it - the man had ears to the ground all over the country. Quinn wasn't sure how he'd got his nickname, but her favourite story was the one he told - when people say 'Walls have ears', they're talking about him.
"Zanni Artix, always a pleasure," he said as she sat down. That was another thing - astonishing memory for people. People, that was, rather than faces. Quinn had checked.
"I'm looking for information." She said, awkwardly. It was hard to approach things with Ears.
"Of course you are. And normally as you know I demand a price, but when it's you, Zanni, we can usually come to some other agreement, yes?"
Quinn balked at the proposition. Her usual deal with Ears was quite a cosy one - straightforward knowledge bartering - but the only new information Quinn had was, if dished out for a price, potentially ruinous to her current scheme. "No deal today, Ears. You can name your price, but I'm not telling you a thing."
He raised an eyebrow, evidently intruiged. Quinn, however, confident as she was of Ears' expertise when it came to the average person, felt fairly certain she could run rings around Ears - and had done, for years. Either that, or the man knew, but wasn't letting on. Strange as it seemed, even if he did know she was most likely safe - after all, the only person who could buy that information was the person who knew what to ask for - and as long as nobody else knew, there was noone to ask.
"What is it, then?"
"The illusionist from Shim who was playing at that tavern two weeks ago. He made leaves grow out of his feet or something. I want to find him."
Ears' craggy face grew still for a moment, as he concentrated, seeming to draw the information piece by piece out of the huge repository there must be in his mind. He knew better than to ask why she wanted the information; a selective lack of curiousity was included in his price. "He was staying at a bakery nearby, but you won't find him there."
"Do you know his name?"
"Patience." Ears didn't like to be interrupted. "He was arrested by a half-elf woman, but instead of taking him to the Judges, she took him home. He was followed there by this warrior - the kind with breeding. The next day, they set out and the bard's carrying the warrior's shield."
"Why? Is he... a footman or something?" Quinn's limited knowledge of nobles and warriors was showing. She was fairly sure Brighella - who registered in her mind at least as 'posh' - had never had someone to carry a coat of arms around for him, so it must be a warrior thing. The warrior would probably do better to employ someone to carry a loaded crossbow around for him, like Brighella did.
"I don't read minds, Zanni. My eyes and ears up there can only observe."
She sighed. This didn't seem too good. If he'd gone off with some noble, he could be anywhere...
"What they did observe was that he returned to the bakery with his new boss, but only briefly. And the two of them were seen when that blimp appeared over the town."
There was a long pause. "That's it?" Quinn asked. "That's all you can tell me?"
"It's all I know. My source wouldn't give me the noble's name, but she says even if she did, that name's dropped off the radar now. Nobody's heard it for some time. He's most likely dead."
"Or he's changed it."
Ears shrugged.
She sighed. "At least give me directions to this bakery. How much?"
"Call it 30?" Ears seemed aware that he hadn't exactly outdone himself.
He watched her leave, and made a mental note to ask a few of his eyes and ears to check up on one Zanni Artix, a task he would eventually abandon. She showed up seemingly at random, and never did anything but drink and do the occaisional play. In-between times, she dropped out of sight completely. The girl was impossible.
The Hat Cellar - so named, rather unimaginatively, because it was in the cellar of a hat shop that never seemed to open - was the grimy kind of place that appealed to a certain kind of equally unimaginative lowlife: mainly it was thugs, both of the muscle-for-hire and undirected destructive lunatic varieties. Ears was something different. For a start he was over fifty and not noticably muscular, but the more striking difference was the posession of not just street-smarts, but genuine intelligence. And well-connected with it - the man had ears to the ground all over the country. Quinn wasn't sure how he'd got his nickname, but her favourite story was the one he told - when people say 'Walls have ears', they're talking about him.
"Zanni Artix, always a pleasure," he said as she sat down. That was another thing - astonishing memory for people. People, that was, rather than faces. Quinn had checked.
"I'm looking for information." She said, awkwardly. It was hard to approach things with Ears.
"Of course you are. And normally as you know I demand a price, but when it's you, Zanni, we can usually come to some other agreement, yes?"
Quinn balked at the proposition. Her usual deal with Ears was quite a cosy one - straightforward knowledge bartering - but the only new information Quinn had was, if dished out for a price, potentially ruinous to her current scheme. "No deal today, Ears. You can name your price, but I'm not telling you a thing."
He raised an eyebrow, evidently intruiged. Quinn, however, confident as she was of Ears' expertise when it came to the average person, felt fairly certain she could run rings around Ears - and had done, for years. Either that, or the man knew, but wasn't letting on. Strange as it seemed, even if he did know she was most likely safe - after all, the only person who could buy that information was the person who knew what to ask for - and as long as nobody else knew, there was noone to ask.
"What is it, then?"
"The illusionist from Shim who was playing at that tavern two weeks ago. He made leaves grow out of his feet or something. I want to find him."
Ears' craggy face grew still for a moment, as he concentrated, seeming to draw the information piece by piece out of the huge repository there must be in his mind. He knew better than to ask why she wanted the information; a selective lack of curiousity was included in his price. "He was staying at a bakery nearby, but you won't find him there."
"Do you know his name?"
"Patience." Ears didn't like to be interrupted. "He was arrested by a half-elf woman, but instead of taking him to the Judges, she took him home. He was followed there by this warrior - the kind with breeding. The next day, they set out and the bard's carrying the warrior's shield."
"Why? Is he... a footman or something?" Quinn's limited knowledge of nobles and warriors was showing. She was fairly sure Brighella - who registered in her mind at least as 'posh' - had never had someone to carry a coat of arms around for him, so it must be a warrior thing. The warrior would probably do better to employ someone to carry a loaded crossbow around for him, like Brighella did.
"I don't read minds, Zanni. My eyes and ears up there can only observe."
She sighed. This didn't seem too good. If he'd gone off with some noble, he could be anywhere...
"What they did observe was that he returned to the bakery with his new boss, but only briefly. And the two of them were seen when that blimp appeared over the town."
There was a long pause. "That's it?" Quinn asked. "That's all you can tell me?"
"It's all I know. My source wouldn't give me the noble's name, but she says even if she did, that name's dropped off the radar now. Nobody's heard it for some time. He's most likely dead."
"Or he's changed it."
Ears shrugged.
She sighed. "At least give me directions to this bakery. How much?"
"Call it 30?" Ears seemed aware that he hadn't exactly outdone himself.
He watched her leave, and made a mental note to ask a few of his eyes and ears to check up on one Zanni Artix, a task he would eventually abandon. She showed up seemingly at random, and never did anything but drink and do the occaisional play. In-between times, she dropped out of sight completely. The girl was impossible.
Re: Smoke and Mirrors
Quinn found the bakery without a lot of fuss, Ears generally being quite good in the area of directions. The walk gave her a little - frankly unwanted - time to sort her thoughts out as to the task at hand. It had to be said that she felt a teensy bit better back in her own territory, but the words of Panterras' threat still created a not entirely unfounded state of mild chronic panic. I mean, okay - crazy old guy. But - magic guy. The man could teleport himself around. Who knew what else he could do? And when he had made that death threat, he sounded deadly - pardon the pun - serious. Quinn had heard bullshitters and amateurs in her time, and she knew a non-empty threat when she heard one. She also knew when to quit, but the situation didn't exactly lend itself to quitting. It was the usual state of affairs for her, really - her mouth, or her persona's mouth, made the promises and the real her would spend the next frantic week picking errant 1/4 Bishan out of the sofa cushions - metaphorically - in order to keep them.
She read through a little of Morti and Ina's play to take her mind off things. She'd heard somewhere that you couldn't think about more than seven things at once. Fairy's Waltz, she thought determinedly. 'In the dark of the street/Dancing through the old city asleep..' only Ina could get away with rhymes like that.
Never seen that Uluki dance, she thought, and banished it. Racial tolerance was all well and good, but if you let go of stereotypes what was Morti supposed to do, come up with deep characters that had actual personalities instead of one-dimensional archetypes with quirks? What would become of theatre? Naturalism was bad enough...
That got her as far as the bakery door. It was far too late to reasonably expect the place to be open, so Quinn just messed with her wig using her reflection in a window until she had convinced herself she looked suitably exotic/devastating/engaging to appeal to a variety of audiences and age ranges, and knocked on the door.
If she was doing this properly, of course, she'd observe the place for days first, make sure she knew what she was dealing with before she dived in, but there was no time. It was more fun this way anyway.
She read through a little of Morti and Ina's play to take her mind off things. She'd heard somewhere that you couldn't think about more than seven things at once. Fairy's Waltz, she thought determinedly. 'In the dark of the street/Dancing through the old city asleep..' only Ina could get away with rhymes like that.
Never seen that Uluki dance, she thought, and banished it. Racial tolerance was all well and good, but if you let go of stereotypes what was Morti supposed to do, come up with deep characters that had actual personalities instead of one-dimensional archetypes with quirks? What would become of theatre? Naturalism was bad enough...
That got her as far as the bakery door. It was far too late to reasonably expect the place to be open, so Quinn just messed with her wig using her reflection in a window until she had convinced herself she looked suitably exotic/devastating/engaging to appeal to a variety of audiences and age ranges, and knocked on the door.
If she was doing this properly, of course, she'd observe the place for days first, make sure she knew what she was dealing with before she dived in, but there was no time. It was more fun this way anyway.
-
Falcon Bertille
- Citizen
- Posts: 196
- Joined: Tue Feb 13, 2007 4:15 pm
Re: Smoke and Mirrors
Railtus’s large bread order was appreciated by the bakery’s owner, but it did require extra work. So, still too stubborn to admit that she needed any additional employees, Effie remained in the kitchen long after her two young apprentices had retired to their beds. While she muttered under her breath, her small, wrinkled hands kneaded and rolled out dough with a strength that many younger bakers would have envied. And a constant cloud of flour swirled around the kitchen like an albino dust storm.
Effie didn’t know why Railtus needed seventy loaves of bread a week and she didn’t particularly care. After all, she hadn’t kept her business alive all these years by concerning herself with other people’s follies. If Railtus needed the bread to feed a giant flock of ducks, that was fine with her. Just so long as his money was good.
At first, Effie ignored the knocking. It was late, well past the bakery’s normal hours, and she’d be damned if she let her work be interrupted by some customer too drunk to tell time. But then a thought occurred to her. Maybe it was Julen. Maybe he’d forgotten something. Or, more likely, maybe he had some new favor that he needed from her. Well, she’d give him a good tongue-lashing. After wiping her hands on her apron, Effie brushed aside a few strands of grey hair, and hastened toward the front of the bakery. She’d tell him that she was far too busy to get involved in any of his foolishness. And besides that, he was crazy if he thought that she’d forgiven him for that slimy beastie he brought into her kitchen...
Yanking open the door, Effie didn’t know whether she felt disappointed or relieved to see a stranger standing there. “What do you want?” she demanded. “Don’t you have anything better to do than knock on an old lady’s door in the middle of the night?”
Effie didn’t know why Railtus needed seventy loaves of bread a week and she didn’t particularly care. After all, she hadn’t kept her business alive all these years by concerning herself with other people’s follies. If Railtus needed the bread to feed a giant flock of ducks, that was fine with her. Just so long as his money was good.
At first, Effie ignored the knocking. It was late, well past the bakery’s normal hours, and she’d be damned if she let her work be interrupted by some customer too drunk to tell time. But then a thought occurred to her. Maybe it was Julen. Maybe he’d forgotten something. Or, more likely, maybe he had some new favor that he needed from her. Well, she’d give him a good tongue-lashing. After wiping her hands on her apron, Effie brushed aside a few strands of grey hair, and hastened toward the front of the bakery. She’d tell him that she was far too busy to get involved in any of his foolishness. And besides that, he was crazy if he thought that she’d forgiven him for that slimy beastie he brought into her kitchen...
Yanking open the door, Effie didn’t know whether she felt disappointed or relieved to see a stranger standing there. “What do you want?” she demanded. “Don’t you have anything better to do than knock on an old lady’s door in the middle of the night?”
Re: Smoke and Mirrors
Quinn blinked as the door opened, performing a quick assessment of exactly how to ingratiate herself here. This was almost second nature. Above that, she was running through the possibilities; she doesn't remember him, she doesn't know where he's gone, it's some kind of a secret, the judges have him already...
She made a good show of being slightly flustered, as she felt that on some level the old lady wanted to shout at someone, and remaining stoic would only incense her more. "Er, good evening, Madam," polite words opened more doors than axes, after all, "I'm terribly sorry to disturb your work at this time of night." Quinn felt it best to imply that she'd known she was working; it wouldn't do anything for that mood for her to know that as far as Quinn knew she could have been asleep.
"I was inquiring after a young bard who I'm told lodges here. I don't know his name, but I have seen him perform and would like to offer him a role in..." she cast her mind back to the score in her bag, "A Summer's Evening, a new piece by Ina and Morti Dellarte." Throughout this she clutched her coat shut with one hand, which had the effect both of toning down the femme fatale look and making the night appear colder than it was. That and the way she ineffectually grasped the bag with her other hand, and made sure to look up at the baker made her a hard person to suspect of anything beyond single-mindedness and losing track of the time normal people kept.
She tried an old tack which worked a decent amount of the time. "You don't perform at all yourself, do you, Madame? You have such a strong, clear voice... it'd be a shame to think you never at least dabbled in theatre." Quinn gave a cautious little smile, eyes wide and her tone not one of flattery, but of genuine admiration.
She made a good show of being slightly flustered, as she felt that on some level the old lady wanted to shout at someone, and remaining stoic would only incense her more. "Er, good evening, Madam," polite words opened more doors than axes, after all, "I'm terribly sorry to disturb your work at this time of night." Quinn felt it best to imply that she'd known she was working; it wouldn't do anything for that mood for her to know that as far as Quinn knew she could have been asleep.
"I was inquiring after a young bard who I'm told lodges here. I don't know his name, but I have seen him perform and would like to offer him a role in..." she cast her mind back to the score in her bag, "A Summer's Evening, a new piece by Ina and Morti Dellarte." Throughout this she clutched her coat shut with one hand, which had the effect both of toning down the femme fatale look and making the night appear colder than it was. That and the way she ineffectually grasped the bag with her other hand, and made sure to look up at the baker made her a hard person to suspect of anything beyond single-mindedness and losing track of the time normal people kept.
She tried an old tack which worked a decent amount of the time. "You don't perform at all yourself, do you, Madame? You have such a strong, clear voice... it'd be a shame to think you never at least dabbled in theatre." Quinn gave a cautious little smile, eyes wide and her tone not one of flattery, but of genuine admiration.
-
Falcon Bertille
- Citizen
- Posts: 196
- Joined: Tue Feb 13, 2007 4:15 pm
Re: Smoke and Mirrors
Effie felt a certain satisfaction when she heard Quinn’s question. She’d been right! This disturbance was Julen’s fault. Even when he wasn’t actually present, he still managed to interrupt the normal flow of her life. Nobles, frogs, orcs, and now this young lady -- there was just no telling what might show up next.
“Your information is a bit stale.” Effie spoke the words with obvious pleasure. She hated to admit that she could help people, but she always enjoyed telling them when she couldn’t. “He’s long gone. And even if he wasn’t, I doubt that he’d have much time to audition. Got the job of hauling a shield around for some aspiring knight, and the last time he stopped by, he was dressed in so much armor that you could break a bottle on him.”
“Fancies himself a warrior now. A waste, really. He had such a lovely voice. Sometimes, when I was working in the kitchen, I could hear him singing.” For the briefest of moments, a wistful note entered Effie’s voice. But she quickly shook it off. “Well, what’s done is done. There’s no telling people how to live their lives.”
Quinn’s comment about performing earned a snort from Effie, although she was secretly flattered by it. “This voice is best saved for shouting at apprentices. I have better things to do than prance around on a stage to entertain lazy fools. And I’m sure you have better things to do than keep an old lady from her baking.”
Effie started to shut the door. But before she’d completely closed it, a fragment of memory poked through the recipes and finances that filled most of her conscious thoughts. Something Julen had told her...something he’d asked her to do, while he went off to House Anstrun that first time. What was it? Give a message to someone? Yes, that was it! A young woman might come looking for him, and if she did, Effie was supposed to tell her where he was. What did he say her name was? Amber? Ariel?
Pushing the door back open, Effie turned a more careful eye on the stranger who had interrupted her work. One of the young woman’s hands held her jacket closed, while the other clutched at her bag, giving the impression that she expected to fall to pieces if she let go of either. She looked harmless enough. Surely there was no harm in asking. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Aranel, would it?”
“Your information is a bit stale.” Effie spoke the words with obvious pleasure. She hated to admit that she could help people, but she always enjoyed telling them when she couldn’t. “He’s long gone. And even if he wasn’t, I doubt that he’d have much time to audition. Got the job of hauling a shield around for some aspiring knight, and the last time he stopped by, he was dressed in so much armor that you could break a bottle on him.”
“Fancies himself a warrior now. A waste, really. He had such a lovely voice. Sometimes, when I was working in the kitchen, I could hear him singing.” For the briefest of moments, a wistful note entered Effie’s voice. But she quickly shook it off. “Well, what’s done is done. There’s no telling people how to live their lives.”
Quinn’s comment about performing earned a snort from Effie, although she was secretly flattered by it. “This voice is best saved for shouting at apprentices. I have better things to do than prance around on a stage to entertain lazy fools. And I’m sure you have better things to do than keep an old lady from her baking.”
Effie started to shut the door. But before she’d completely closed it, a fragment of memory poked through the recipes and finances that filled most of her conscious thoughts. Something Julen had told her...something he’d asked her to do, while he went off to House Anstrun that first time. What was it? Give a message to someone? Yes, that was it! A young woman might come looking for him, and if she did, Effie was supposed to tell her where he was. What did he say her name was? Amber? Ariel?
Pushing the door back open, Effie turned a more careful eye on the stranger who had interrupted her work. One of the young woman’s hands held her jacket closed, while the other clutched at her bag, giving the impression that she expected to fall to pieces if she let go of either. She looked harmless enough. Surely there was no harm in asking. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Aranel, would it?”
Re: Smoke and Mirrors
Quinn let her face fall - somewhat genuinely - when the old woman said she could not help. She detected the note of mild, directionless vindictiveness and kept it in mind for future reference. There was a lot you could do with a desire like that.
All she did was confirm what Ears had told her, and that was strange enough. A bard turned fighter? Outside of one of Morti and Ina's plays, Quinn would never have thought it. Unless he's running scared from the judges already, of course. She couldn't decide whether that scenario would work in her favour or not. He'd be easier to intimidate with velied threats, but he might just bolt, and then he'd be no use to anyone.
Quinn was ready to make some kind of flamboyant farewell and stomp off to come up with some other plan, when the door stopped closing. She turned round cautiously, scanning the woman's face for clues as to what this was about.
Aranel... it didn't ring a bell. Nice name, though. She took a chance on tone of voice, and her face lit up with recognition. "Yes, that's me!" she said, hoping Effie had forgotten that Quinn didn't even know the bard's name.
All she did was confirm what Ears had told her, and that was strange enough. A bard turned fighter? Outside of one of Morti and Ina's plays, Quinn would never have thought it. Unless he's running scared from the judges already, of course. She couldn't decide whether that scenario would work in her favour or not. He'd be easier to intimidate with velied threats, but he might just bolt, and then he'd be no use to anyone.
Quinn was ready to make some kind of flamboyant farewell and stomp off to come up with some other plan, when the door stopped closing. She turned round cautiously, scanning the woman's face for clues as to what this was about.
Aranel... it didn't ring a bell. Nice name, though. She took a chance on tone of voice, and her face lit up with recognition. "Yes, that's me!" she said, hoping Effie had forgotten that Quinn didn't even know the bard's name.
-
Falcon Bertille
- Citizen
- Posts: 196
- Joined: Tue Feb 13, 2007 4:15 pm
Re: Smoke and Mirrors
Effie beamed, pleased that she’d remembered the name correctly. “He told me you might show up here. And if you did, he wanted to make sure you knew where to find him. Of course, that was a couple of weeks ago, so he probably thinks I’ve forgotten all about it. But I haven’t. This old mind isn’t senile yet.”
“He and that pretty wife of his moved into an abandoned warehouse in the Industrial District. I understand that it’s being transformed into some sort of military base. My delivery man takes an order of fresh bread there every morning -- if you come back then, he can show you where it is.”
As the last word left her lips, Effie realized that she’d just been rather helpful. That would never do. If it got around that she was a source of aid, she’d have an unending stream of people arriving at her bakery, all wanting something or the other. Then she’d never have time to get all her work done. Better to finish things on a sour note, rather than risk landing in the poor house. “It never ends with that young man. I rented him a room and he did nothing but bring chaos into my life. If you decide to seek him out, I wish you luck. You’re going to need it.”
With that, Effie shut the door.
“He and that pretty wife of his moved into an abandoned warehouse in the Industrial District. I understand that it’s being transformed into some sort of military base. My delivery man takes an order of fresh bread there every morning -- if you come back then, he can show you where it is.”
As the last word left her lips, Effie realized that she’d just been rather helpful. That would never do. If it got around that she was a source of aid, she’d have an unending stream of people arriving at her bakery, all wanting something or the other. Then she’d never have time to get all her work done. Better to finish things on a sour note, rather than risk landing in the poor house. “It never ends with that young man. I rented him a room and he did nothing but bring chaos into my life. If you decide to seek him out, I wish you luck. You’re going to need it.”
With that, Effie shut the door.
Re: Smoke and Mirrors
Quinn stood on the doorstep for some time.
This is ridiculous, her mind screamed. Utterly ridiculous, narratively satisfying and probably true. Which doesn't mean I have to like it. This illusionist bard had been at the compound the whole time. I mean, okay, don't jump to conclusions, but how many military complexes were there in the industrial district of Marn?
Finally she turned, theatrically, on the ball of one foot and set off aimlessly back in the direction of the Drunken Rat, remembering all that stuff she'd learned about walking with purpose and body awareness just to take her mind off how stupid this all was. Fine, she consoled herself, so Uluki doesn't know. Or she didn't tell me for some other reason, another part of her mind supplied, a part she quickly quietened. Well, temporarily. Suspicion was always on. But Uluki had no motive to deceive her now - not if she wanted Kira saved, which she obviously did.
Still, there was no way she was trekking over there again tonight. And, being now she supposed some kind of warrior, the bard would require more sensitive handling, something which 'waking up and threatening in the middle of the night' didn't exactly fall under. Tomorrow, then. She'd stay here tonight and make the journey tomorrow. The girl should be fairly safe in the hands of Uluki and surrounded by warriors, and there was no reason for Panterras to send someone else in at this point.
On reflection the Drunken Rat wasn't really the best choice for a Zanni Artix who had to wake up and be a spy/assassin-thing fairly early the following morning, but she missed the actors, and, dodgy rhymes or not, was eager to hear more about Ina and Morti's latest project.
In the end she got to bed several hours and several drunken renditions of the opera's theme later, and it had been light some time when she got up. Still, it had been a very long day.
tbc here: [edit]
This is ridiculous, her mind screamed. Utterly ridiculous, narratively satisfying and probably true. Which doesn't mean I have to like it. This illusionist bard had been at the compound the whole time. I mean, okay, don't jump to conclusions, but how many military complexes were there in the industrial district of Marn?
Finally she turned, theatrically, on the ball of one foot and set off aimlessly back in the direction of the Drunken Rat, remembering all that stuff she'd learned about walking with purpose and body awareness just to take her mind off how stupid this all was. Fine, she consoled herself, so Uluki doesn't know. Or she didn't tell me for some other reason, another part of her mind supplied, a part she quickly quietened. Well, temporarily. Suspicion was always on. But Uluki had no motive to deceive her now - not if she wanted Kira saved, which she obviously did.
Still, there was no way she was trekking over there again tonight. And, being now she supposed some kind of warrior, the bard would require more sensitive handling, something which 'waking up and threatening in the middle of the night' didn't exactly fall under. Tomorrow, then. She'd stay here tonight and make the journey tomorrow. The girl should be fairly safe in the hands of Uluki and surrounded by warriors, and there was no reason for Panterras to send someone else in at this point.
On reflection the Drunken Rat wasn't really the best choice for a Zanni Artix who had to wake up and be a spy/assassin-thing fairly early the following morning, but she missed the actors, and, dodgy rhymes or not, was eager to hear more about Ina and Morti's latest project.
In the end she got to bed several hours and several drunken renditions of the opera's theme later, and it had been light some time when she got up. Still, it had been a very long day.
tbc here: [edit]