Nora flopped back against the brightly colored bolster pillow and let out a dramatic sigh. “Floating lanterns. That sounds amazing. Cat better come back and tell me about it.”
Owembe stood by the nearby window. “No sign of the lanterns yet.” He glanced back at Nora as he said, “I promised I would carry you, if you wished it.”
“Owembe.” She said his name with embarrassed emphasis. “I’m as tall as you are. Even as strong as you are, I think you’d walk ten steps and flop over. And I’d sprain more things.”
“I carried you further than that when I found you in the sands,” he reminded her. He swept his patterned robes out of the way as he settled in the chair by her bedside. “It would be no hardship to hold you.” His gaze met hers. She looked away first, after saying his name again.
He set his left hand near her right hand on top of the blankets. A scar circled his wrist, and an old burn scar swept along his forearm from wrist to elbow. Nora sucked in a breath. He wasn't much older than her, and he’d lived through so much more. "I’ve suffered so little,” she said aloud. “You’ve suffered so much.”
Owembe chuckled. “Not so much. This -- I was held prisoner for a few days. We freed ourselves and avenged our dead. The burn -- ah, that was a young man’s foolishness. My friends and I, trying to see who could best jump over a campfire.”
Her gaze snapped up to his face. “I would do that,” she breathed. He had such big, dark eyes and such a strong jawline. And he’d be shorter than her if she wore heels, but who cared? He was a warrior, a true warrior, and -- she leaned forward, lips parted, eyes shining.
“Ah, Nora, look. The lanterns.” He pointed toward the window and stood just as she reached for his hand. She twisted to see little points of light drifting up into the night sky, first a few, and then what seemed like dozens, stars floating up from the ground like dandelion fluff.
“It’s gorgeous,” she said, soft and awed. “I want to cry.” And she did, oddly, stupidly. Cat was so sad and Owembe was so devoted and Shiloh had come to see her and the lanterns were floating into the sky. Life was so awful and so surprising.
“I am sorry you weren’t able to attend the festival,” Owembe said with his usual careful politeness.
She held out her hand, the one without the sprained wrist. “I didn’t miss a thing,” she said, and tried to tug him back to his seat.
Their current impression: “Fort Salma received its weapons, so he must have gone to the Seraph like I asked. He is the most helpful man!”
What they like the most about your muse: “He tried to get the Seraph to not fire me, which was very nice, considering. And he follows through on his promises!”
What they dislike the most about your muse: “I think he thinks I’m sort of an idiot? And I think he was worried that I was looking at him that way, when …he’s sort of old? But I know ladies his own age like him very much!”
What your muse is for them ( Friend, lover, rival ecc.): “Oh, friend, certainly. I think he’d say the same! I’d certainly like to say hello to him again when I’m back from Amnoon. I owe him so much!”
“Hold still,” said a stranger’s voice. “The pain won’t arrive right away, but steel yourself for it -- it will arrive soon enough.” A hand braced the back of her head and neck as Nora rolled slowly up into a sitting position. She kept her eyes squeezed tightly together in case this was a dream and all she had to do was open her eyes to be home.
And then the rest rushed in: Cat’s letter, Shiloh’s help, the airship, the pirates, the fall. The endless sand sweeping up to meet her, as pale and soft-looking as vanilla frosting. She felt no pain, just like the stranger said, but all her muscles seemed tense, locked, just ready for the barrage to begin.
“You took a mighty fall,” the stranger said. He smelled of sweat and cinnamon, and his voice was deep enough to somehow tickle at her skin. “The glider saved you. The airships -- they have fallen, both of them. There are survivors, who squabble. A gunner spoke of you, gave me a heading to follow, and here I am.”
Oh. There the pain was, seeping in along her back, her hips, her legs. “Nothing is broken, but I am not a healer. You are burned from the sun, and you are likely very sore.”
She tried to wet her cracked lips with the tip of her tongue, to no avail. Her voice was a dry croak. “My cousin is a doctor. In Amnoon.” A headache slammed down as soon as the words left her, and she let out a whimper of pain.
“It is well,” the stranger said. A heavy hand, a warm hand, gave her arm a gentle touch. “I will take you there. But first, more rest, more water.” A tap to her hand followed, less gentle, and she finally opened her eyes.
The man was older than her, but not by much, a warrior with twin curved swords at his back and armor fashioned from a hide she’d never seen. His skin -- cool-toned, dark brown -- bore markings she couldn’t read, but his expression of concern, threaded through with amusement, was as familiar as the faces of her own family. Everyone looked at her like that.
She sat on a bedroll beneath a tiny lean-to fashioned from woven cloth. Beyond the lean-to stretched a sun-drenched expanse of sand, too bright to behold. She recoiled, squinting, and let the man tug down more fabric to shield her from the sight. “Drink now -- what is your name?”
“Nora.”
“Nora. I am Owembe. Drink and rest, and then we will go to your cousin, to see what aid she can give.”
The crewman shoved what looked like a bundle of sticks and cloth into her hands. “You know how to use a glider, right?” Nora yelped, “No!” while trying to keep her footing, and to keep from accidentally dropping Cat’s medical bag onto the wildly tilting deck.
The crewman gave her a baffled look and started snapping sticks together, muttering all the while. “Fucking passengers,” she heard, among other, more asura-like words she didn’t understand. How to steer, how to catch currents, how to not die. Eventually he took her hand and dragged her to one of the gun ports, with just enough room around the cannon for her and her burden to fit. “Get out there!” he barked, after quickly tying Cat’s bag to her back and the glider harness to her chest.
She stuck her head and shoulders out into the buffeting wind. Above, the two ships were locked together with grappling hooks and harpoons, and men and women swung back and forth in combat too quick for her to understand. “Do they need my help?” she called back to the asura crewman. Shiloh helped her. A Shiloh would have helped.
“Gods, no,” yelled the asura before smacking both clawed hands on her ass and shoving, hard. She tumbled, top-heavy and shrieking, out into thin air. Glider. Glider! She twisted, snapped it open, then let out another hard cry when the wind caught it and the harness already strapped around her chest seemed to nearly snap her in half.
They were over Elona already, she knew that. Below, pyramids and sand swirled in a dizzying display. A little town of dun-colored brick and red banners punctuated what seemed like endless desert, though in the distance she thought she spotted something bigger, a city, more pyramids, the glitter of water.
No time, she had no time to aim, and no idea how to do it. Gods! Shiloh would have known what to do, her new friend would have shown courage and not kept screaming even after the wind had claimed all her breath and voice for its own. The glider spun, and her with it, as the ground rose up with terrifying speed.
At the last, she slammed one hand along an upright, then her other hand into place. Ride the currents, the asura said. She twisted slightly, and the glider’s motion slowed. Another twist sent her forward instead of down, though a miscalculation sent her into a new tailspin she barely escaped. A pair of strange, huge cats with fluffy manes looked up at her in what she imagined was shock as she fell.
Shiloh would make the landing and walk away with some quip. Shiloh wouldn’t die in a mangled heap and be buried by sand and fail to save the world. Nora pulled the glider up at the last, just enough so when her feet met the burning sand, she was lurching like a wayward toddler instead of crashing straight down. The glider crumpled below her. She collapsed atop it just as a massive explosion sounded above.
“Oh,” she said after spitting sand from her mouth. “This is good.” She dove into unconsciousness with relief.
She had world-saving to do -- well, Cat did, but Nora was helping. In the meantime, airships. were. amazing. She was so high! The wind snarled her bright hair into wild tangles, and once the sword and the medical bag were secured, she spent every second at the rail while Tyria and then Elona slid away so far below.
She could imagine with ease the battle against Zhaitan, the dragon blotting out the sky with its massive bulk. The brave airships pushing forward despite near-certain doom, the stokers at the engines, the gunners at their posts. The best of the Pact, who didn’t even know Maguuma was coming. The poor, doomed Pact, kings and queens of the sky.
The crew of the Merry Queen was kind to her, too -- they endured her endless questions and showed her the engine room and the helm and the lookouts, though more than one crew member pointed out how much Nora had to duck to fit into some of the smaller compartments.
Maybe she could be an airship gunner. She’d wear a leather cap and goggles. Goggles were fantastic. She’d stand up in the crow’s nest and scour the clouds for a sign of wyvern or dragon or pirate. Pirates. Some red banner fluttering in the breeze, snapping proudly as the airship swooped out of thick cloud cover.
Like...oh. She waved to get the attention of the nearest crew member. “Is that a Pact ship?” she asked, pointing to the silhouette just faintly emerging from a sun-drenched cloudbank.
“Shit,” the asura blurted before turning to call to the captain.
“Oh,” Nora said, and sprinted for her cabin as the shouts and commands began.
The room was decent enough with its bed and washstand and little desk. Clean enough, though her mother would have sent for a maid immediately. Nora could see dust in the corners, and the mattress made her happy she’d brought an old bedroll along.
As for Catriona’s bag...Nora tried to think of it this way: what would Shiloh do? Say something funny, for one. Funny and wise, and Nora wasn’t great at either, so instead she concentrated on finding a decent place in the room to stash the bag. It ended up under a loose floorboard under the bed. Pretty good! Not that she meant to leave the room for more than a minute, but a woman had to eat. Eat and pee. Two days! She only had to wait two endless days.
She shot a wary look at the floorboard hiding space. The end of the board stuck up some, thanks to the rigid bag. Maybe she’d just stay put. She could pee in the -- was that a bedpan? Oh. And she could order food to the room, maybe. Two days.
And the bay was a beautiful glittering blue in the distance. Her little window showed a slice of tawny sand and then gentle, foaming waves...glorious. She hadn’t been to a beach except the little sandy bits at the edge of Lake Doric as a girl, and this -- oh, she bet this was so much better. But. World to be saved.
She could do this. After she’d helped Cat, after she’d seen Shiloh and her beau in Amnoon, after the world was saved, she’d head back to Lion’s Arch and see everything! She’d fry on the beach until she was one big freckle, she’d drink grog, and she’d never get pickpocketed again.
She sighed. How long now?
( @shilohdevereux for mentions. lol, ‘what would shiloh do?’ )
“Here’s your mail,” read the scrawled note from Nora’s father. “You’re expected home for Jacob’s birthday tomorrow. You’re an unpaid volunteer. You can get away.”
Nora let out a tired, “Ugh,“ at her father’s insistence, but still. Jacob wouldn't have another twelfth birthday, and all his little letters had ended with, “I miss you.” All her heart-strings seemed pulled at once.
Fort Salma was all right. A place to make amends, at least, and she’d been working day and night to try to make up for her selfishness. She’d spent more than a month laying out traps, repairing walls and roads, and yes, finally learning how to use the stupid arrow carts. And today, along with the mail pouch, a wagon full of brand-new weapons arrived from Divinity’s Reach. The Seraph were beside themselves. If she wanted to, she could go home.
But the Fort sure needed her more than Rurikton did, and maybe she’d go home for the party and then--
Her thoughts - and her breath - stopped abruptly when she saw familiar handwriting on one of the envelopes bearing her name. She let her other letters fall onto muddy cobblestones as she ripped this one open:
Nora,
You always said you wanted to help. There’s a kit in your aunt’s house - look behind the third panel to the left of the big bookcase in your uncle’s old treatment room. Get it, buy round-trip passage on an airship to Amnoon, and meet me there in a week’s time. I’ll find you.
Round-trip, Nora.
Cat
Cat. Cat was alive, Cat needed her help. In Amnoon. Nora could get home, go to Jacob’s party, then sneak into her aunt’s house, get whatever kit Cat wanted, hurry to the airship depot in Lion’s Arch, and be in Amnoon in two days. A week? Forget that, Nora wanted to be there now.
Round trip, though. That would be expensive, and Nora could only sneak so much money from her mother’s supposedly hidden rainy-day fund. One-way would be better, and then she’d just see what happened.
After Lord Lepre walked off, Nora hopped back on her stool and gave herself a huge grin in the broad bar mirror. Of course. As soon as she heard back from him, she’d just pack a bag and go to Fort Salma and help. They’d need volunteers of all sorts, and Seraph weren’t the only useful people in the word. Lord Lepre would keep his end of the bargain - Gods bless him! - and when he had it all figured out, she’d go. But…just in case the Seraph proved stubborn…
She swiveled to look at the man on her other side. The same man as before? He looked …different somehow. Grown, though. Far older than her, so probably another man of the world. And with that dubious logic and a third glass of wine warming her stomach she asked him, “So…how much are bribes nowadays? For old people. Alcoholic old people.”
Lofting a thick brow at the young Nora when she interrupted his brooding, the chronomancer simply shrugged. While he wasn’t quite intoxicated yet, his words did slur just a smidge
“The fuck should I know.”
Aiden eyeballed her one more time, appraising Nora in a curious way and not leering.
“Aren’t you a little too young to be out at a bar getting drunk? Not that I’m judging, you do you. I guess it depends on the bribe, and how desperate you are. Who was that guy with you earlier? Your dad? And he left you here unchaperoned?”
“My dad?” She whirled around to make sure her actual father wasn’t lurking behind a post or a patron, and in the process whipped her long, plaited hair against Aiden’s drink like a cat’s tail. “Oh! Lord Theron, no. Nooooo. He’s just helping me with a thing.”
With a full rotation of her stool, she faced Aiden again. “I’m eighteen, it’s to bribe an old man to change some Seraph paperwork, and -- chaperone!” She finally arrived at that question with a squawk. “I don’t need a chaperone.”
She picked up her wine glass with a dramatic sort of gesture, a wave of her hand that she might have mistakenly considered sophisticated. “And I’m not drunk. Wine doesn’t get you drunk.” Following that proclamation, she looked at him with big blue eyes and an expectant lean forward, as if waiting for his bribe-related wisdom to arrive.
With the seventh volume in this tantalizing series, join The Faceless in another arousing adventure!
Never was there a more clever thief than the silver-haired siren that defied impossible odds and impenetrable security. But if Sirenia put her mind towards stealing something less tangible, could she do it? And when her prized target is one of the most highly decorated Lionsguards in history, will her nimble fingers be able to prise the armor from his heart?
“I’ve caught you now!”
The skin of her arm was velvety under his hand–startlingly so–and Jack Wingate nearly released her out of sheer shock. He’d not expected her to be so soft to the touch.
…nor for her to turn with such a smouldering look in her marvelously incandescent eyes…
“Did you?” Sirenia’s voice was a sweet caress to the senses, compounded by the sinuous movements that made the tight ice blue leather glimmer over her curves. Without a moment’s hesitation, she turned towards him and Jack stood in abject horror as her cool fingers traced his jawline.
Sirenia tilted her head, shimmering hair flowing over her alabaster shoulders, and smiled slowly. Her hand slid away from his jaw, and in that moment, Jack realized that his hands had been shackled together.
With his own shackles.
“Did you really?”
Pick up “Cleverly Stolen Hearts” and discover Jack’s eventual fate!
After Lord Lepre walked off, Nora hopped back on her stool and gave herself a huge grin in the broad bar mirror. Of course. As soon as she heard back from him, she’d just pack a bag and go to Fort Salma and help. They’d need volunteers of all sorts, and Seraph weren’t the only useful people in the word. Lord Lepre would keep his end of the bargain - Gods bless him! - and when he had it all figured out, she’d go. But...just in case the Seraph proved stubborn...
She swiveled to look at the man on her other side. The same man as before? He looked ...different somehow. Grown, though. Far older than her, so probably another man of the world. And with that dubious logic and a third glass of wine warming her stomach she asked him, “So...how much are bribes nowadays? For old people. Alcoholic old people.”
(( Continued from here! We switched from Tumblr to Discord, so log ahead! Also, I’m the one who chose the above picture of Theron’s FC, not his player -- but the ‘wtf?’ expression seems entirely appropriate. Entirely. ))
Theron: “I am not entirely positive how you expect me to help.” He waved away the bartender without ordering, more keen on conversation currently than a drink. “I may be a lord, it doesn’t mean anyone is going to listen to me though. Especially the Seraph.”
Nora shook her head in an earnest 'no,' and offered him a doe-eyed expression that might have been calculated, had it come from someone else. "The Sergeant, the one who fired me, he -owes- you a favor. You didn't make a stink about me and you could have. You could still."
At the realization of what she implied, those doe-eyes opened even more widely. "Yes! That's exactly what you could do! Call in that favor and just ask him to ...to meet with me. Just once. So I can explain to him. He won't talk to me otherwise. I've tried to meet with him and he just won't."
Theron: The doe eyed expression put a chink in his armour, yet he didn't show it. "I am a lord he has no doubt forgotten about by now." He commented in return, casting a glance in her direction.
Nora: The doe-eyes remained aimed in his direction, now amplified by the hands she clasped entreatingly together. "Please. I don't care about me. What happens to me. I only care about Fort Salma getting what it needs. How -- how could I accomplish that?" From a hitch in her voice, it would seem fairly obvious that she almost said "we," rather than "I".
Theron: "Look I will speak to him, I cannot promise anything will come of it however. He may not remember me, I could just be a lord going to him to huff and complain like the ten or so lords he'd already spoken to that day." Theron sighed.
Nora: "But you aren't complaining! You're saying, that silly girl you fired? She messed up. Look at her Fort Salma requisition, she made a mistake, and it shouldn't have been held up." Suddenly, her eyes light, as if some other thought has come to mind. "Oh! So...um. As a man of the world..."
She reaches for her second glass of wine and gulps about half of it, for courage. "...what's the going rate for bribes? Not for the sergeant, but for one of the other clerks." She asks it as if he'd totally know the going rate for low-level clerk bribes.
Theron: He gave her an odd expression, unsure where she was going with this. "A man such as myself, you do not wish to know what I accept for bribes." He hoped maybe the awkward topic would veer her off her path of wherever she was going.
Nora: She blinks once in uncertainty, then leans forward and says, "No, that sounds amazing. Do people try to bribe you all the time?" Distraction accomplished, given the scandal-sheet obsessed girl.
Theron: "I don't believe you know what I mean by bribe." He let his gaze purposefully drag over her form, hoping she would get the hint before he had to explain it.
Nora: There's another blank look, and then her mouth forms a perfect 'O' of shock. "I-" It's a squeak. "I wouldn't do that. I mean, for -- no! Do people actually offer you that?" There's no corresponding look-over of him, given that he's something ancient like thirty.
Theron: Now that he knew what would get her away from the bribe suggestion, he shrugged innocently. "It is what I will only take." He stated. If she bolted away than even better.
Nora: "But..." Synapses and neurons may not always meet quickly in Nora's brain, but she eventually gets there. "I don't want to bribe you ..." She says it carefully, as if he might be insulted. " ...but the clerk who used to work next to me, he's old and he likes drinking a lot. Think he'd be happy with a bottle? Or some coin for a bottle?"
Theron: "I am only speaking to the sergeant that is it, anything else you figure out on your own." He told her.
Nora: "Yes, my lord," she says hurriedly. "That's so kind of you I can hardly stand it." She pauses. "Should I...wait for you to send me word before I start bribing? Or...blackmailing? It's not good for a Seraph to drink every time he goes to visit a toilet." Her eyes go wide. "If he's even visiting a toilet at all."
Theron: "I am going to pretend I don't hear any of this. I will speak to the sergeant, that is it. If you get caught or arrested for your crazy stunts that is your own problem."
Nora: She bit her lip. "I...you're right, I'll wait. I can wait a little longer. I wish I had all the coin in the world, so I could just buy weapons for them myself. Maybe they need -- " And with that, some great, huge idea strikes her, but she doesn't speak it. Instead she says, "I'll never forget this, my lord, ever." She offers her hand for a shake.
The great, huge idea is of course written all over her face, as obvious as a lightbulb over her head.
Theron: He instantly eyed her warily, seeing the change in her expression. He rose from his chair. "I don't want to know." He stated with a shake of his head.
Nora: She hopped up as well. "You," she said, "are wonderful, my lord. Thank you. Thank you. I'll wait to hear from you."
Theron: "Safe travels." He murmured, walking away without another word.
🐜 - How does your muse feel about animal lives? Do they treat them the same way they’d treat a person, or do they feel they’re inferior?
“Inferior!” Nora’s eyes open more widely. “I would never think Socks and Slippers were inferior. Those are our cats, and they’re so smart. And adorable! Slippers sleeps with me sometimes, right at my feet, and it’s sweet and warm and the most furry, nice thing on a cold night in the world!”
She lowers her voice. “I once saw a Charr in the Salma market with the exact same fur pattern as Socks. Exact. And I almost told her so, but my father was there, and he’s from Ebonhawke, and so…well, no talking to Charr at market, Nora.” She lets out an exaggerated sigh and eye-roll at the lost opportunity.
Oh gods, he was never going to write back, why would he, she was just the nutter who tried to run him down in an alley. And Fort Salma wouldn’t get its weapons and it’d turn into rubble and it’d be her fault because she was selfish, and…
“Nora? Can you take Jonah to the gardens?” Her mother’s voice drifted up from the kitchens, followed immediately by Jonah’s offended, “I don’t need her to watch me.” The argument continued at high volume, and just when Nora thought she’d start shrieking at the both of them, she flung her fourth-floor window open and slid out onto the tiny sill.
Long practice made escape easy: first out onto the sill, then a few heart-stopping steps along the steeply pitched roof until she could grasp the gutter. From there she could half slide, half drop down to the shed roof two floors down before hopping down into the back of her father’s wagon. Easy.
It was risky to visit the Maiden’s Whisper when her father might drop in for a pint at any time, but she slipped through the mid-day crowds and into one of the back rooms. One seat opened up as soon as she arrived, and she hoisted herself onto it just ahead of a huffy noble with a fur stole around her shoulders.
“Wine, please,” she said when the server came around. Given Nora’s doleful expression, the server clucked her tongue against her teeth and said, “I’ll bring you a full glass, dear.”
“Thank you,” said Nora in a wan voice. When the wine arrived she tossed back about half of it in an unsophisticated gulp before setting the glass down. Her shoulders drooped. Around her, the business of the city went on, while at Fort Salma, men tried to do their work without all the support the city could provide.
She turned to look at the person on the stool beside her. Unhappiness dripped from every word as she said, “I’m a monster.”
(( I have no idea who’s sitting next to her. Could be anyone; feel free to reply! ))
The chair beside her was pulled back with a drag of wood across the surface of the floor. An open letter dropping to the bar top in front of her as he settled in the chair, draping an arm across the back of it as he got comfortable. “You are not that tall.” He informed her, lifting his free hand to catch the attention of the bartender. “I also cannot seem to shake you.”
Nora immediately stopped raging about herself to the man on her other side and whirled to look at Theron. “You’re here! You actually came here!” As quickly as that, a smile bloomed to life despite her tear-filled eyes. “I knew you’d help. I mean, I thought you’d help. I hoped you’d help.” She leaned back to avoid the server setting down her second glass of wine and declared grandly, “Whatever the gentleman would like to drink, it’s on me.”
With that order given, she tapped her forefinger insistently on the letter left open on the bar. “It’s all true. How horrible I am. What I did. Can you help Fort Salma? You’re a lord, you’re influential, I know you can help.” She bit her lip. “And then I swear I’ll be shaken. Shook. Gone. I’ll leave you alone.”
“You don’t unnerstand.” This is deep into a maudlin, drunken conversation between Nora Duvall and a stranger at the Maiden’s Whisper. “I don’t wanna be a Rose. My ma wants me to be a Rose and smart and married and with a job and and and.” She lets out a huffing breath that blows some of her fine red hair out of her face. “We’re not Roses. We’re common as turnips, we’re turnips.” She bursts out laughing at her own jest despite how woeful the conversation has been so far. “Rurikton Turnips unite!”
“But she’s just – y’know she talked to me. And she’s so pretty and she wears shoes like up to the sky.” She tilts her head. “Odd jawline? But she doesn’t have a nose like a stub like I do. And she’s nice and she gives to charity and she’s –” And just like that it’s back to doleful again. “When she makes mistakes I bet she just makes it right. Tosses money at it, kisses it, fixes it, whatever. Whatever.”
She slumps and sets her head on her folded arms, which rest in turn among several empty wine glasses on the broad bar. “Wish I was like that. She gets shit done.”
a spark of light @nora-duvall - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
