[ ooc:

her cover: a hand-maiden to a respected, but now widowed domina that has become reclusive in her old age, and has her run errands outside of the house which allows her to move around servants' quarters unnoticed or be out of the house going from place to place with provable purpose, being modest and a little dull at all times with truly inane talk of nothing she does a good job at becoming boring set dressing.

feel free to wildcard me, mix stuff up - if you're unsure feel free to pm here or at aeneia ]

the prescriptions;

cw: potential violence and threats of assault, etc

[ She should not be here. She knows she should not be here. She hardly knows what to do with herself standing around so many men and women so comfortable with their violence, brutality and crudeness.

But this was apparently where some of the letters might be found they were supposed to be seeking. If nothing else — she has a skill at sitting quietly and blending into nothing but a wallflower, after all these years. She has a cup of wine, she eats a little, and when she is approached, she says that her mistress sent her to wait for a friend. A soldierly sort of friend. Otherwise, she just listens, quietly and with her eyes down as to be unobtrusive in her observance or interest. That with enough time, she thinks she has figured out the patron that has the list in her slower way of finding it out, changing hands to be tucked into a satchel on another patron's side.

Which is about when she spots another of the group here, by the pin on their clothes that marks them out as an ally. Whoever it is, is far bold in trying to get information than she currently is (not exactly hard, given she was as brave as a mouse...). They were going so far as to steal it outright, from what she could tell from here, rather than Gilia's just trying to locate it.

Or they would be, she realises from her watching, they would — if not for the fact there was someone else had spotted them in their attempts too. A big brute of a legionnaire, it looks like, hulking with scars. A guard for whoever runs this place, maybe? She could hardly say for sure.

Oh dear - oh, oh bother. Oh - snakes and spiders and everything unpleasant. She had to do something! Had to help!

But what?

A distraction, something to stop him. Anything at all. Spirits, where were her sisters? They always did this sort of thing. What would they do when her brothers -

Oh, yes. Yes, of course.

Half a plan in mind with only blind panic to sell her lie, she jumps up. Suddenly as she could, knocking her chair over with a bang on the stone floor, she opened her mouth and let out deafening, ear-piercing, shrill as a seagull, shriek. As loud as she possibly could with a half-made-up idea and pointed one threatening finger at a patron completely at random that was closest to her to make the biggest, loudest distraction she possibly could. ]

You! You put a rat in my cup! You - you awful - awful nasty man! [ Truly, an incredible insult for a tavern of black-hearted creatures. It even makes some of the other patrons laugh. This was working, oh Spirits, it was working, no one was looking now at the person who was stealing the list. Not even the guard. Hurry up. Please hurry up.

Though naturally, the person she was shrieking had objections. ] "The fuck are you shrieking about? Did the fuck not."

[ She puffs out as best she could. Had to keep this up, keep the distraction going for as long as possible. Summons up that shrill voice again. ] Yes, you did! Look!

[ She picks up the cup of wine - and with the absolute confidence of whatever she has to do to get the list stolen, she throws the liquid directly into the other man's face. There is a roar of laughter in amusement as the man stiffens in shock. Now it's his turn to puff up in rage, standing up to stand a good foot over her with a hot spike of fury in his expression as he bears down on her with a fit of anger that makes it clear: he was going to get even.

Oh. Oh dear. That worked too well. Oh. Her eyes wide as saucers she stared and looked around for a way out. She hadn't got this far in her little plan (this was not a good plan, is probably more exactly the problem), now what?

Help? Help! ]

at sea;

cw: eldritch sea monster / ocean creature horror vibes

[ That there is a danger to a crew at sea? For once, she is not so unsure what she could do to help. In fact, she barely hesitates at all, when the panicked call starts up.

She is on the rowboat with those brave enough before the question is asked, far from home or not, she is patron of all those that took to the waves, no matter the land. By holy duty first.

The ship is sinking, she realises, and every moment takes too long to get there. Who knows what could have happened to those on board?

So on the rowboat, regardless of the alarmed question when she does it — she stands, her hands pulled into her, up to her throat. Inhaling deeply, she opens her mouth to hold one, pure, long note in her voice on the exhale - as she focuses her mind on the water below. She does not lose her footing as she does it. Not that she is still, but that like a dancer she falls into the step of each wave that rocks them with the grace of someone who has done it all their life. Holding that one, long note until she has it full in her throat, vibrating in the air. Pure and sweet and high with its power.

Looking down, the note dying, she gives the one nod to whoever is with her. ]

Hold on, please.

[ And flicks her fingers like she throws the sound from her and suddenly the rowboat she is on lurches forward at a greater speed than anyone could row at. Pushed by the water itself to cut ahead. ]

the quiet house: the hallways;

cw: horror themes, discussions of public executions, abusive family relationships & gaslighting

[ Like so many others, she flees from the violent games when the ground shakes. Like so many others she was lost and confused, that she does not know exactly where she runs, only that she does to somewhere that is quiet and more secure away from the horrors going on outside.

Or so she thinks.

But it is only a little later she realises her mistake, and by then, she is well on her way to being lost. The corridors blend into one another, a winding stone maze when she sees that awful shape emerge out of the darkness, first of a strange, that is no less than imposing - but then it becomes worse, so much worse, as the ghastly figure takes up a familiar shape. The colour drains from her face, her eyes filling with wet hot tears of dread. ]

No — no, no, no, you are dead — you are dead!

[ Terrified, she grabs her skirts, and turns regardless of the warning lights, to flee as fast as she could away. ]