middaeg | well, I can make this work

Entry tags:

well, I can make this work

Who: Nel Zelpher, you! (And Solas.)
When: roughly mid- to late-May
Where: Haven, the Aristocratic District, various other districts...
What: Free-for-anyone neighborhood cookout, sketchy odd jobbing, Nel scaring a home intruder out of his wits, and a quest for a super wilde pumpkin. (Three open prompts! The wilder quest w/ Solas will go in a separate comment.)
Warnings: Violence, food with ulterior motives, nudity
*Prose or brackets a.o.k!! If none of these prompts work, you can also PM me to discuss a wildcard.

I. "free" food

There are no flyers or signs pointing to the event, but word of mouth might carry neighbors or passersby to the tables lined up before a pretty majestic garden. Three people hustle and bustle down the lot with wooden plates and utensils, bowls, pots; as the day is temperate with a forgiving sun, not much is being done to provide shade for the food on display.

Fruit tarts, fresh spring rolls, cold noodles some might recognize as soba, and rice that fills your mouth with sweetness are each set out in absurd portions. Two Monsters—a shaggy-haired Turnskin woman and a strapping male merrow—are in charge of ferrying back and forth between the castle-like mansion this production is situated in front of. Off to the side is a short, red-haired, knife-wielding witch in a sleeveless tunic and trousers, all dark and worn. The sun hardly has time to reflect off of her blade, a constant blur while Nel neatly and professionally brutalizes bite-sized slices of fish. These are combined with the sweet rice into layered ovals which fit comfortably into the palms of most, and should someone come near to take any for themselves, she gives a decisive nod without a single hiccup in the cutting of her knife.

“No charge, no surprise enchantments. Dig in.”

I.a. take a minute

It’s nearly dusk when the last of the debris is cleaned up. The pretty lane, restored to its untouched glory, now only hosts what stragglers stayed behind to lend a hand. One or two are collapsed onto a healthy lawn; others mutter and shake hands with Nel and the hired Monsters.

She cracks her neck audibly, with an awful snapsnapsnap that makes the Turnskin cringe as she trudges downstreet in the opposite direction. Then, seeming not to care who sees her so graceless, she throws herself onto a free patch of the garden’s long and feathery grass. “Parched.”

Nel twists a little to fix a tiredly assessing stare onto yourself. “You know, we do have some of the pear tarts left.”

II. pay me

Ingratiating herself with local residents across each district takes up as much time as her study of the Coven’s brand of magic. Nel never outright asks these new acquaintances to spy, just to share what comes their way in terms of news and gossip; in exchange, they receive a favor, or labor, or what monetary compensation she can spare. She’s careful not to offend or go after more than what they’re willing to give. So early in the formation of a network, she can’t afford to alienate people who have no reason to like a strange outsider.

That’s a lot of words to explain why Nel can be spotted (maybe even recognized) taking odd and odder jobs across the city. One morning she’s a runner, only trusted with business-oriented letters and packages of no real consequence to the senders or recipients—the next day sees her in long skirts and a maid’s stark uniform, toiling in the manor of some high-flying aristocrat. In areas where she would prefer not to be remembered, such as the manor, a plain black scarf pins back and hides the bright hair that would otherwise make her more memorable.

What’s it gonna be? Are you slow to move aside when a fast-moving woman bolts past? Did you bite it and hit the gutter, poor thing?

Take a fancy to the market and find a super sale on some item, only to have a sour-faced maid steal it out from under your nose? Even better, are you a manor guest—or snoop, without invitation? Funny how this meek servant pops up in the corner of your eye more than once. It’s not impossible that you’re being followed, even if you’re not inside its halls but prowling the hedge maze outdoors.

III. Aefenglom Woman Terrifies Home Invader, Naked and Unafraid

[ A certain young man, reasonably bitter over having his estate seized and redistributed, knows now his terrible mistake.

Nel Zelpher sleeps lightly in a tiny servant’s room on the mansion’s second floor, her window open a crack for sound to filter through. Even if that weren’t the case, a huffy aristocrat tripping over rearranged furniture in the dark is not a practiced sneak. She appears at the landing of the staircase as he curses and hops on one lordly foot, and a few things happen in quick succession.

One: he sees the dark silhouette of a lady, the gleam of her eyes, and the outline of a machete-sized blade in each fist. He realizes she’s in the buff.

Two: Nel sees him. He turns and bolts for the front door. ]

No, son of a— get back here, cretin!

[ She clears the stairs in two strategic leaps, tucking and rolling to soften the impact. The sound of metal hitting the floor behind him puts a new spring into the man’s step, and when the pursuit leads them to the estate’s sprawling garden he’s almost sobbing with fear. Nel bears down on him with silent and grim inevitability.

It’s pretty late. Maybe you're one of her housemates. Maybe someone’s out for a walk on the nicer part of town where naked folks aren’t supposed to charge out and chase shrill men with paint-stained hands. Maybe that someone is or isn’t you, but either way, this is heading in your direction… ]

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[ Little humor is to be found in a stranger breaking and entering into their home, Nel thinks, but the malicious twist of her lips disagrees.

Their quarry ruins it by sobbing, "It's my home, and I never invited you!" ]

Ah.

[ Conscience pricked, her swords lower from the ready position to hang loosely at her thighs. ]

We may have already taken enough from him.

You weren't here when we arrived. Are you sure its yours?

[ Iramaat arches a brow, bare foot still poised against his chest. She glances down at him, then back to Nel. That's a little disappointing. ]

I'd certainly remember taking something, anyway.

[ But she's not menacing him with her sword, so there's that. ]

I suppose we could just chuck him over the wall?

[ While Iramaat is being very kind, this isn't shocking; it fits in with Nel's suspicions about what lies behind her impish smiles.

There's time for thoroughly investigating the different facets to her personality later. The grip on her machete-lookalikes rotates, not helping the man's composure one bit as gas light dances on their curved edges. ]

No. He wants to come in, so let's take him in.

[ The night chill reminds Nel of her current state of dress; goosebumps rippling up each arm, she looks meaningfully between their prone lordling and Iramaat's free hand. ]

[ Iramaat sketches a little salute and grins, bending down to drag the man to his feet. She's going to frog-march (or drag him, if she has to) back to the house. ]

You heard the woman! You get to come inside! Aren't we polite hostesses, hmm? Maybe you really will have a chance to see this house you say is yours.

[ It's all humorous enough, but there's definitely something darker lingering underneath all of the cheeriness and friendliness. ]

Were it up to me, we'd be doing something very different, but that can't be helped, can it?

[ Behind his sputtered, panicking indignation (and eventual compliance), Nel's eyes are hard violet diamonds. ]

Please, you'll make him fret.

[ ... And even with her wriggling conscience, she isn't very nice after being importuned in this manner. ]

We don't want him to worry. Though he could have chosen an earlier hour, or to introduce himself, and I think I jumped over a can of paint he left in our foyer...

Oh, I'm not trying to make him fret. Just telling the truth...

[ She shoots Nel a grin, full of teeth and sharp edges as she hauls their "guest" toward the house and back through the garden, sword trailing from her other hand. ]

Oh? Paint?

[ She glances at the man, who sputters again, but she doesn't let him get a word in edgewise. ]

That's very rude. You're lucky she's feeling generous. I can't abide rudeness. [ Not from other people, anyway. ]

[ Iramaat and Nel have stumbled into one of the more effective interrogation routines without ever discussing it beforehand: kind and unkind, or what might be more commonly known as good cop, bad cop.

Their tagalong has no idea what to make of them. "Well, I, I." ]

Hush. Take your time.

[ Re-entering their estate in the darkness reduces the light level to a thin non-presence. Now awake for long enough to think about mundane things, such as covering up, she steps alongside Iramaat to whisper something for her ears alone. ]

Going upstairs for a minute, would you make him as comfortable as you see fit?

You'll probably need your breath later, anyway.

[ Iramaat sounds incredibly light and breezy for something that's probably a very vague threat. Not that she seems to care. She pauses once they're inside, head cocked as she listens to Nel. After a moment she nods and laughs. ]

Of course-!

[ She turns and hauls the poor man out into the sitting room, over his objections and pleas. She settles him into an arm-chair and then pulls her own chair up across from him, the blade of her sword casually leveled at his belly. She's incredibly languid and relaxed about this, apparently (and that's how Nel will find them when she comes back down). ]

So, tell me, what did you think you were going to do to us? To our home?

[ She's not really listening to him. Just prodding at him with questions. ]

[ Nel arrives in the sitting room with the old short tunic she was summoned in and a sash belted around her waist, preserving modesty where vital. The bare strips of flesh down each side that the tunic can't cover are non-issues. ]

Oh, lower that weapon. He'll be honest.

[ He can't argue the point without making himself look worse, and with pride darkening his ruddy cheeks, the disgraced lordling throws himself back into his chair as if he's done it a hundred times before.

"Yours? My family lived here! I was raised in this house, and you... you don't know what you're mucking about in!" ]

Your family home. [ Nel will try to smooth it over, truly, but she cannot resist the chance to goad him after he made such a mess. ]

[ Iramaat's gaze drags over to Nel in the dim half-light and lingers for a moment, admiring her, before her attention is back on the man in the chair in front of them. She very reluctantly grounds the point of her sword and then leans back in her own seat, settling her feet up with a little 'hmm' sound. ]

Well, there wasn't a family here when we arrived. Hardly our fault.

[ Iramaat shrugs casually. ]

What exactly would you have us do? Put ourselves out on the street? Wear sack-cloth?

[ She still sounds light and airy and unconcerned. ]

[ Upper class obsession with appearing to care for the downtrodden, the illusion of charity performed for ego, prevents him from responding to Iramaat in the affirmative. For her part, Nel doesn't see the admiring glance because her attention is fixed elsewhere. ]

You could join us. We wouldn't keep you from returning.

[ Lucky that she's lying through her teeth because he flies into another tantrum, gripping the armrests of his chair and going deathly pale.

"Not in another hundred years! Look at yourselves!" ]

[ Iramaat almost objects. Almost.

But she stays quiet instead and has a great deal of fun watching the lordling lose his temper. Her smile stays sharp and she leans forward just slightly in interest. ]

Look at us? Why? What's wrong with me? With her? Do you not like us...?

[ There's something edged to that question. Goading. ]

[ She does take a look, to humor him. Nel sees black leather, two muscular legs, and rune-branded feet. She pretends at regret, shrugging.

Iramaat is the entire reason that Sir Lordling realizes what he's stepped into for the third time tonight. ]

We're not the right kind of people, perhaps. At least we're hospitable. When did you last eat?

[ "Umm, I, I suppose I skipped dinner-- what, why?" ]

I'm going to make you a plate. Iramaat? Any for you?

Ah, we're feeding him. I suppose that means he has protection of bread and salt...

[ Iramaat clicks her tongue in disappointment, although it's hard to tell if it's mock disappointment or real. She leans back again and then even further back, head tilting up and then lolling to the side so she can fix Nel with a smile. ]

I'll take some, if you're offering! I'm a bit peckish, I think. Besides, eating with one's guest is an excellent way to get to know them.

[ 'Bread and salt'. Nel will remember to read up on that reference later.

She inclines her head in acknowledgement, vanishing into a shadowy doorway. Ominous clacking from the next room shows that she isn't trying for stealth as she rifles through the dry food storage and shelves kept cool by specialized frost enchantments. Thirty tense minutes pass before Nel rejoins them, balancing a platter of sweet, sticky rice and sliced vegetables. Close examination reveals steam rising from the lot, though the sound of a stove never carried to them. ]

This is short notice, or we'd have a bigger spread. You can make your own selection if you're concerned about poison.

[ Far from being comforted, the mention of poison only drains more color from his face. After marked hesitation he inches forward in the armchair to take up a pair of wooden tongs and nervously serve himself... then, shockingly, the same amount for Iramaat and Nel.

Bread and salt. ]

[ Iramaat entertains herself by making small-talk with the man. Although it's not really small-talk; it sounds like small-talk, but a lot of it also seems to be pointed, veiled, totally deniable reminders that Iramaat could have done very unpleasant things to him and it's really only Nel who's offering him hospitality and he ought to be grateful.

Hopefully it didn't fly over his head.

She claps her hands once as Nel returns and she shoots her a beaming smile. ]

You're too kind!

[ Their guest gets a surprised look, but a very courteous "thank you" and then she starts to dig in, looking very pleased with the taste. ]

You didn't tell me cooking was one of your talents, Nel.

[ Well-earned (in her opinion) compliments that don't overshoot the mark aren't terrible; Nel smirks over her plate at Iramaat, evidently pleased with herself. Their stunned companion cautiously tastes a bit of rice, freezes, and takes a larger bite. ]

Of course not. You need to ask the right questions if you want my secrets.

[ The movement of the lordling's fork slows as he accurately reads the tension in the room and does not know whether he should say anything. ]

I'll keep that in mind. [ Iramaat practically purrs her response, eyes lidded as she gives Nel a long, appraising look.

Now she really wants to get closer to her. to find out more. To sink her fingers (her teeth) in and burrow until she's hollowed out a spot for herself in Nel's life. ]

I wouldn't want to find out all of them, though. There needs to be a touch of mystery, doesn't there?

[ Right, now he is incredibly cognizant of this undercurrent, and their visitor shovels mouthfuls in at speeds that prevent speech. He fears being called upon again and getting between it.

And Nel is obviously not a fool. Flirtation isn't her weapon of choice; knowing what to say to garner and hold onto someone's interest, though... she chews meekly, swallows. It isn't flirting. She just has an investment in keeping Iramaat sweet and compliant. ]

Ah, you'll never have to worry about finding them all.

[ Her eyes lift again, and there's total certainty in her ghostly smirk. ]

You never know.

[ Iramaat responds casually, as she finishes chewing another mouthful of food. She swallows and gestures with her fork, leaning toward Nel very slightly. Her eyelids lower almost imperceptibly. ]

I'm good at digging up secrets. I'm sure with enough work I could uncover all of yours, if I really wanted to.

[ She has, apparently, completely forgotten about their guest. All of her focus is on Nel, bright, unrestrained interest gleaming in her eyes. ]

I'm sure they're all just as fascinating as their owner.

[ A prickling of something in her face alarms Nel for a moment. Startled, she uses the cover of their so-late-it's-early dinner to examine the feeling from every angle. By the time she enjoys two mouthfuls, the answer's presented itself.

Embarrassment? Because of a little sincerity behind the flattery Iramaat is so ready to throw at her? Unacceptable. They're talking about a game, and Iramaat's interest... that must be a game, too. An object is less 'fascinating' after thorough study.

Reminded of the rules and facts, Nel relaxes. It really doesn't matter whether someone means their courtship. ]

Mm. I'll bury you in boredom and the mundane. Don't doubt it.

[ It is a game, isn't it? But Iramaat has slightly different rules to her game. She enjoys new things, excitement, new people, interesting people. And eventually, yes, she grows bored of them. But while her attention is held, the interest is very real and consuming. Not all-consuming, of course, but there's a possessive edge to it. A wanting and a need to have the affection and interest reciprocated - or at least to be able to stick close to the object of her affection, even if they have no interest in her.

It's both conscious and unconscious and for now, at least, she doesn't think particularly hard about it. She follows her whim and her whim is to try and get as close to Nel as she can. ]

I don't think I'd ever find you simply mundane.

[ She gestures with her fork, grinning widely. ]

I've already seen little glimpses of you and I enjoy every bit that I see. Don't sell yourself short, Nel.

[ Now they're a bit more explicit. ]

Besides, nothing's boring when I'm around.

You're confident, or maybe just overconfident. Could be your ruin.

[ It's about here, with Iramaat two seconds from leering and Nel reconsidering her tactics, that their lordling chokes on rice.

She unfolds her legs and leans over the arm of her chair to slam a fist into his back, watching him spit chewed fragments across the table rather mildly. Tears stream down his face. ]

Shall we send him home with leftovers?

Are you saying you'll ruin me?

[ Iramaat can't pass that one up, although she would scoff at anyone who describes her as "leering". She's elegant. Not nearly so crude as all that. Of course, that's when their "guest" starts choking and she spends a few moments watching, looking very amused. ]

I suppose we should. He is a guest, isn't he? Wouldn't want to be rude-

[ She gets to her feet to start cleaning up. See, she can be helpful! ]

[ Nel could answer, but she'd rather let the prospect dangle there between them and chime.

The man has a much harder time disguising his flush than she ever did. Breaking bread and not letting him leave without swearing to return for a more elaborate meal—with any family members who were ousted—does wonders to quiet him long enough for at least a good think. Perhaps he'll come back with renewed anger. Then again, maybe not.

She waves goodbye one-handed from their estate's entrance, bare shoulder braced on the doorframe. ]

You did well to hold back, Iramaat.

well, I can make this work

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