well, I can make this work

[guillotine]

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… ]

Comments

[guillotine]

[ 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. ]

[wylderrant]

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?

[guillotine]

[ 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. ]

[wylderrant]

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.

[guillotine]

[ 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.

[wylderrant]

[ 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.

[guillotine]

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?

[wylderrant]

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! ]

[guillotine]

[ 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.

[wylderrant]

[ Iramaat watches the man go, arms folded, one bare foot tapping against the floorboards in the entryway. She does lift her hand to wave an idle little "good-bye", but her thoughts are elsewhere. She hasn't bothered to put on anything besides the tunic she was wearing previously and it hangs down to her knees. ]

I suppose I did, although it would've been just as appropriate to feed his life-blood back to the Earth.

[ She shrugs and laughs. ]

But he's a guest now - was a guest - and promised safe passage so I shouldn't talk like that. Thank you for the compliment on my self-control, however. It is deeply appreciated.

[ She glances at Nel, making a low 'hmm' noise. ]

I thought you were going to spit him first, anyway, the way you came down the stairs. [ There's admiration in her eyes and in her voice. ]

[guillotine]

[ She slants her another patently calculating look, pushing off of the frame to turn and cross her arms. ]

We avoided a tragedy because he was foolhardy and crept here without a viable weapon. I'm glad for it.

[ Nel gentles her voice, but somehow, something in the words unsaid suggests more than relief about an intruder's safety. ]

[wylderrant]

[ Iramaat returns the look with something approaching innocence. Maybe even enthusiasm. ]

I wouldn't have told anyone. I'm quite good at keeping secrets.

[ Whether that's what Nel meant or not. ]

We also got to learn a bit more about one another. I think I liked that the best - I'll have to thank him if I see him again.

[guillotine]

[ Left alone, no man to interfere or choke on his rice, an electric undercurrent flickers from the line leading directly from Nel to Iramaat.

Its unfamiliarity does not mean she is blind to it or ignorant of its implications. Her stare morphs into steely analysis. ]

What do you think you learned, exactly? Aside from my sleeping habits and that I know how to cook the basics.

[wylderrant]

You either sleep very lightly or you don't sleep much at all.

[ Iramaat hums and rocks up on the balls of her feet, hands clasping at the small of her back. ]

That you're very quick on your feet. That you're prepared to hurt or maim or kill if you think you're threatened, but that you're also surprisingly merciful and that you have a touch of a soft spot for hopeless cases or at least for people who you think have lost things already.

[ She continues, without a hint of embarrassment or even sheepishness at being so blatant. ]

You can play when you're in the mood for it. Or at least when it amuses you to do so. I'm not sure if you were trying to deflect at the end there or not, though. I couldn't tell... [ She frowns, although it's more thoughtful than anything else - then the smile is back. ]

Of course, I suppose I'm making some assumptions, but it's all about perspective, isn't it?

[guillotine]

[ She isn't alarmed until Iramaat readily makes her observations on mercy, and the existence of an alleged soft spot; soft spots are there to exploit. If she has one, it can be targeted and played upon, and while she's starting to appreciate this woman's company, nothing in her whimsy disabuses Nel of the impression that Iramaat's long fingers are capable of great harm.

All traces of amusement and play leak out of her frozen, tight-lipped expression, and then she could cut herself open because that's as good as confirming truth in some of what's been said. ]

Well, my friend. Be prepared to test your assumptions... some other night, given the hour. Will you wait?

[wylderrant]

[ Nothing in Iramaat's expression or pose indicates that she's all that alarmed or put-off by Nel's icy expression. Instead, she gestures assent, falls back onto her heels. ]

Oh, of course. I wouldn't want to keep you. There has been quite a lot of excitement already, after all.

[ She lifts her hand in a little wave. ]

Sleep well!

[guillotine]

[ Already prowling toward the staircase, Nel slows down. It isn't Iramaat she's vexed with. ]

I'll try.

[ And she definitely does try, but paranoia and habit prevent it. She whiles away the hours until dawn with a stolen Coven text on conjuration, a sword at both feet. ]