Quinn Varden

The in character blog of Quinn Varden. Bartender, Informant, Place to keep your secrets safe. WrA Alliance. Facial Likeness: Lily Collins

[samantha-bradford]

It's your favorite bartender! Ready to mix, flirt, and serve all at once.

Done by @hettikovacs on Twitter

[samantha-bradford]

A Very Merry Lakeshire

The fire popped and crackled as a fresh log was fed to the massive hearth in the tavern’s heart. The townsfolk of Lakeshire all gathered within to escape the bitter cold and inches of snow that covered the ground. Sharing drinks, food, and stories as some played sang carols for the Winters Veil season, keeping the children entertained. This year, the town’s celebration seemed more prominent than ever before, despite the population being fewer. Sam considered that everyone wanted to escape for a moment of joy. Without a celebration after the turmoil last year, the exhausting labor force hours to rebuild, and the lingering threat of undead in the distant mountain foothills.

The bustle of the small tavern was akin to an average day back at the Pig & Whistle, minus the familiar faces of old friends and patrons, missing having Quinn at her side to tease and sling drinks. Sam’s bun loosened in the rush, and she hadn’t noticed the few drops of ale that had splashed onto her gown. She found herself far too busy tending the bar and doubling as the kitchen runner to care, especially if the more reclusive farmers were willing to leave generous tips. Over time the crowd began to thin, leaving a small handful to keep her occupied without feeling overwhelmed. Other than the persistently flirty footman who she charismatically evaded.

With the tavern growing quieter, one of the town elders took up his fiddle and stood on a chair near the hearth. As his bow drawn across the strings and notes echoed within the tavern, the remaining patrons turned their attention with grins. Some began to clap while others slapped their hands upon the bar and tables to accompany the tune. A group of craftsmen at the end lifted their mugs with a cheer before chugging their drinks and hopping to their feet, maneuvering to the center floor to start their jig. A few others quickly joined in, including some children who did their best to mirror the movements and keep pace.

The sight of it all brought a smile to Sam’s lips as she laughed, wiping clean the few dirty tankards she collected to return to the rack, tapping her foot with the music. A dancing couple motioned for Sam to join them with a pleading expression as they moved, to which she politely declined with a shake of the head and mouthing a ‘no thank you.’ That did little to stop one of the local mill workers from dashing across the room to take Sam by the arm and spin her out into the crowd.

She immediately began to sway with the rhythm despite previously declining to join. Familiar with the song and dance, her legs lifted and kicked with everyone else, either fist collecting her skirt at the sides to raise the layered fabric just enough from obstructing her feet. Her hips shifted side to side with each note in the quick-paced tempo, arms swishing the skirt when appropriate.

Naturally, everyone began to pair off on the floor, mirroring their partners with every movement, spin, and kick. In the natural cadence, everyone moved in circles, trading partners with smiles and laughs, which filled the tavern hall with a warmth of their own. At one point, Sam found herself paired with one of the children, a boy maybe twelve years of age and full of life. She let him lead through the clumsy mistakes expected of an adolescent, reassuring the child he was doing fine and encouraging him to continue as they traded off once again.

Coupled next with a local farmhand, one with whom she was familiar and had agreed to a single date several months prior, but found no flame for the tiny spark to grow. The young man flashed a cheeky grin as they spun with the song to face each other, motioning upward toward the sprig of mistletoe hanging from the rafter. With a roll of her eyes, Sam giggled, planting a quick peck to the man’s cheek as she smirked, having to bend slightly to accommodate the height difference. Her open palm planted on his chest, surprised for a second at the noticeable muscle gain, before pushing him away. She was taking steps back herself with a playful smile, spinning several times without a hold on the skirt, allowing it to flare out just as the song came to an end.

With the final note strung from the fiddle, everyone applauded and cheered, the local foreman shouting out to by a round of drinks for everyone.

Sam took a moment to catch her breath. She let her hair down and fluffed the underside of the brunette tresses before tying it all up in a loose bun again. Hands swept over the blouse and skirt to flatten any errant wrinkles as she moved back to the bar and began filling several mugs with local ale, slinging the drinks down the bar as the elder began another song on his fiddle.

[Mentioned: @quinn-varden​ | Implied Mention: The old P&W gang, you know who you are.]

[Music reference]

[samantha-bradford]

Souvenir

A deep, exasperated sigh pushed from Sam’s core as the door shut behind her, palms flattening against the wooden surface as the lock clicked, head tilted back to look up at the ceiling. Boxes from her move still littered the disordered home, only half-unpacked as if she expected her stay to be only temporary. A high hope at the time, before realizing how stuck she’d become in her childhood home. Mementos of her mother and father were pushed to one corner with a sheet draped over the collection. Out of sight and out of mind, where no tears could be shed. She lingered here against the door for a moment before the cat started circling her feet and crying out for food.

“You’ve been fed,” Sam chastised the feline companion as she stepped over the arched tail and moved for the kitchen.

The strip of leather which held her hair back in the messy bun was pulled free by a pinch. Brunette tresses cascaded over the shoulders as fingers raked through the dense hair and fluffed it from the roots to a more natural state. Fingers pulled the knot from her shirt next. The button-up having been tied into a rather open makeshift halter top, which left her midriff exposed— a decent way to rake in a few extra coins in tips. The wrinkled ends of the blue plaid shirt felt slack at the waist as breasts were left to breathe without constraint.

A cold bottle of lager was retrieved from the icebox as Sam’s eyes shifted to the unfished painting set in the easel at the corner of the living room. Popping the cap from the bottle, she took a slow drink, savoring the alcohol after a long day of the same farmhands and locals playing grab-ass and undressing her with their tired eyes— something that seemed to have bothered her less in Stormwind. As a painted nail tapped against the glass, Sam set her mind on painting until her body called for sleep.

Her path across the house was interrupted as a shirt out of place caught her eye. Dark green with stains and a small tear at the collar. Sam sucked her teeth with a grimace, picking the shirt up with a pinch of two fingers, recognizing it had belonged to a man from the other side of town, tossed on the pile of boxes in the throes of passion— a one-night stand, and a forgettable one at that. Pursing her lips, the shirt was flung into the garbage. Obviously, he wasn’t missing it or coming looking for it.

The box beneath had been opened previously, and Sam dared to take a peek within the opening, finding a familiar face staring back at her. Chewing on her lower lip as the photograph was pulled from the collection of nicknacks, she let out a content breath as her thumb ran over the image—Zeehva and herself. It was taken at the Pig & Whistle during the last call before close. A bittersweet feeling tumbled across her heart, rolling down the spine and back again as the bottle of lager was held close to the bare skin of her chest. It had been months since they last saw one another, no letters or contact of any sort. A once fleeting crush long thought buried, but still, a faint smile tugged at the corner of Sam’s lips despite the fact.

“Wherever you are, I miss you.” She whispered as her gaze dropped to the various photos within the box, all of the Stormwind regulars she had befriended. “I miss all of you. Really.”

With a short breath and several blinks, Sam continued to the easel and paints, tucking the picture of her and Zeehva into the wooden frame where she could see. The work-in-progress landscape was set aside for now, and a clean canvas took its place with clean brushes plucked from the neighboring jar.

For the first time in a long time, Sam had a burning desire to paint again.

[ @zeehva​ ]

[samantha-bradford]

Homeward

In the time since the scourge assault upon the Kingdom, Sam remained elusive to those who once occupied her daily life. Raked with pain and sorrow, she waded through the mourning of her mother as a recluse in her apartment, quitting her job at the Pig & Whistle and scraping by on savings until her lease came due for renewal. Quinn checked in regularly over the weeks, sometimes too frequent and sparking a heated exchange during Sam’s period of anger in the stages of grief.

Zeehva had also stopped by, and while the visit was a sort of bitter-sweet, Sam could feel the overshadowing presence of her sorrow downplaying their conversation. Rather than that spark of happiness and overwhelming urge to smile, she felt numb and an echoing hollow in her heart.

Silence filled the apartment as final conversations replayed in memory, and the hands folded the last remaining pieces from her wardrobe to pack into the large suitcase set upon the bare mattress. The rooms were empty, widows stripped of their curtains, allowing the midday sun to paint the floor and cast her shadow upon the wall. The final piece of Sam which remained was a single portrait of her mother, taken years ago when they all lived together. Fingers traced over the glass within the picture frame before tucking the photo into the luggage and fastening the buckles shut.

Furniture and the pets had already been moved, a process which had taken up the majority of her time the last three days as most haulers wanted payment in advance due to the new dangers on the roads. But now she stood at the final moment within the City of Stormwind, looking in at the vacant apartment from the doorway the same as she had a few years prior. Taking a deep breath as she reminisced over the good and bad times within the space, Sam let the door close softly as she turned away.

Her footfalls sounded with each step of her descent to the street level where a small wagon awaited. With the suitcase tossed into the back with the rest of her wardrobe and boxes, she climbed into the passenger seat, giving the driver the desired coin and settling in for the long ride to Lakeshire.

[Mentioned: @quinn-varden​, @zeehva​ ]

[trickstertris]

Most happily to receive this amazing prize from the amazingly talented @darkelfslair  Please make sure to check them out. All credit is theirs. Thank you so much for the lovely piece, it’s so much better then i had expected or hoped and you are a blessed wonder to work with!!!

[maxparkhurst]

Another sealed envelop arrives the same as before, carrying this time a document outlining the agreed upon terms of contract employ and a full non-disclosure agreement. Along with the several pages of official documents, a single note from Kat: "Sign these and return them. I will ensure Miss Varden is not late for any lesson."

The Alchemist settled back into the velveteen cushion, basking in the hearth’s warm glow, as she leafed through each document. A pen of Gnomish make bounced off her temple while she muttered through a sea of legal jargon. Too many words rattling around her head, not enough time to sort them all.  She breathed a sigh of content upon reaching the closing statements, pen poised to sign when a slip of paper fell from the stack. Her myopic gaze followed its languid flight through the air, coming to settle at her feet. She collected the note from the floorboards. Canted her head at the familiar scrawl.

Varden.

Max’s gaze rolled skyward, brows drawing in a furrow

Where had she heard that name before?

Varden...

 Miss Blank Varden...

 Something Varden...

Max extended a hand out to the woman, lips curling in a cordial smile. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss Varden…”

Max turned the note over, casting a dubious glance over the Director’s written hand. Her lips, touched by a breath of laughter, curled in a devious grin. “Quinn Varden..” she muttered, drawing from a memory. 

It was an evening spent in Lakeshire. The air warm and misted with the oncoming spring. She rode through the afternoon in hopes to catch the market only to arrive just short of closing. A cup of coffee would serve as consultation prize; enough to bolster her spirits for the ride back. She earned herself a little more that evening as she herded a tipsy Melorica home. The poor girl had been all rosy-cheeked and bleary eyed, charmed into a third drink by the two bartenders: Miss Samantha Bradford and Quinn Varden. 

“Speak of the devil!” Melorica chimed, “We were just talking about you! Quinn mentioned wanting to learn alchemy...”

“What a small world...” 

Max folded the note on itself and tucked it in her pocket. She reviewed the rest of the pamphlet, ensuring every dotted line was signed. Gathered in a neat stack and shoved back in its envelop, she left the dense agreement on the side table to be delivered by hand in the morning. 

( Mentions: @kat-hawke/ @samantha-bradford @quinn-varden @melorica )

[kat-hawke]

Wayward Souls

Pain raced down the Director’s arm as she looked upon the veins beneath the skin. Discolored, alternating between a pale blue and gold hue with each pinch of intoxicating pain. The flesh itched in a way that could not be sated no matter how hard her nails raked against the surface. The warnings from Merton and Benson echoed in the recesses of her mind, the words of caution against the dependency of Azerite. A self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts, an addiction turned toxic overdependence.

With a frustrated breath, the sleeve of the dress shirt was pulled down to the wrist once more, and Kat’s focus shifted to the glass of whiskey upon the desk.

The fight against Uxevius had been long and tiring, resulting in Jocelyn and Vynette landing in the medical ward and the rest exhausted. Nikki may have dealt the final blow, and they all witnessed Grimm’s physical form disintegrate, but Kat knew a vile man such as Uxevius had to have contingency plans.

The cracked necrotic focus spun over in the Director’s hand, housed safely within a glass box for studies. An unknown variable in the large picture of Grimm’s so-called “renovation” of the world, an object and force never seen before until the breaching of the veil. The only confirmed fact after restless nights of research being that it matched descriptions of similar crystals in Maldraxxus.

Setting the magical object aside, Kat reached for the parchment and quill. If Uvexious aided or served a power from beyond the veil, there alone was cause for alarm and raised the question of how many more were out there. Furthermore, they sent Grimm straight into the beyond.

Yet she could not, and would not, dispatch her Unit into the lands of death, as the cases here in the realm of the living continued to pile up by the day. Myzariel had already been dispatched to the northern highlands searching for the “Hallowed Harbinger” for a second time, who managed to escape the Stockades during N'zoth’s assault upon the minds of the guards. Jocelyn, even during recovery, expressed her interest in Westfall and the ever-elusive Zion Tindall, who continued to poison the locals in despicable experiments.

Vynette, however, desired to venture into the Shadowlands for personal closure. Coincidentally, Maldraxxus. While Kat disliked every aspect of the idea, she knew that going back on her word would increase the probability of her operative going rogue. The possible connection of the necro-focus recovered from Uvexius to the Shadowlands would sure be seen as an excuse to grab at potential power, especially from Fiske, who already held no trust for the Director or Vynette’s motives.

As ink flowed across the parchment in the drafting of the request, she continued to solve another problem, petitioning that Director Fiske accompany Operative Mistcaller into Maldraxxus to chase the possible lead and ensure there were no other agents or loose ends in Grimm’s “renovation”.

[ Mentioned/Relevant: @tristanasneak​, @jocelyn-wellson​, @myzariel​, @nikkithorpe​, @lovelydeadlysocialite​, @quinn-varden​ ]

[Uvexius Grimm] [Angelus Withers] [Zion Tindall]

[kat-hawke]

Further Education

Scanning the Pig & Whistle tavern’s recently repaired interior as she entered, Kat caught no sign of the bartender who sat comfortably on her payroll. Vibration within the throat rolled slowly as she approached the bar, ordering her regular and waiting for several minutes to see if Quinn would make an appearance. The eventual conversation between employees revealing the young woman left work early. Pressing her lips into a fine line, the Director sucked her teeth in annoyance, funds were tight, and she couldn’t afford to pay an informant who wouldn’t stay at her post.

Knocking back the last of the whiskey before leaving, Kat set her path for Quinn’s ramshackle apartment at the end of the street. Ignoring the beggars who loitered on the doorstep as she entered, taking the steps two at a time, and coming to a halt at the desired door. Digits curled around the doorknob, finding her entry denied by the lock. Kat rolled her eyes and knelt to the ground, glancing down the hall before slipping the lockpick from her back pocket.

One, two, three, and four tumblers clicked into place as the bar rotated the lock, allowing the door to swing open. “Shit security,” she muttered beneath her breath as she inspected the flat. Things had improved since her last visit, though it seemed Quinn kept true to her word and refrained from immediately spending her paychecks like water.

The sudden meow of a cat underfoot nearly tripped the Director, who cussed beneath her breath and shoved the feline away. “Fuckin’ cats… Why did she have t'get a cat.” She mumbled in irritation, grabbing a chair and propping it in the far corner beside the window. Quinn was not currently home, but eventually, she would return.

Two hours pass and the statuesque Director remained seated and poised as Quinn’s key turned the lock. The woman rushed in, slamming the door behind her as she pushed the cat away from the exit, scolding the creature for its attempted run-away. Looking up, she finally noticed Kat in the corner, nearly jumping out of her skin with a startled squeak, placing her hand over her chest as she used the wall for stability.

“Evenin’ Director,” Quinn cleared her throat. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Kat stared the young woman down from across the room, tilting her head ever so slightly as she leadingly inquired, “Where have ya’ been?”

“Left work early, my best friend, Sam, she’s back in town, and I had to check on her. Think she lost her mum in the attacks.” Quinn looked away, moving to the tiny kitchen to collect two glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

“Mhm…” The single note rumbled in the Director’s throat as she glanced out the window. Placing others above oneself was a trait that got many in this profession killed, but Kat’s annoyance was split by the admiration to help those who were like family.

 "Stopped by for a drink ‘n was a little surprised to find ya’ absent so soon after the reopenin’. Though I suppose it can be excused fer such a reason.“

A few short nods from Quinn as she closed the distance, offering one glass to the Director, and continued to hover. "Yeah. Felt bad about it when I was the only one workin’ bar, but…well, Sam’s got to come first. She’s havin’ a rough time of it, so I’m just goin’ to visit a few times a day, make sure she’s eatin’ and all.”

“Mmmhm,” another note hummed in Kat’s acknowledgment, taking a sip of the whiskey as she watched the group of children in the street beneath the window.

The informant looked down into her glass in the brief pause before asking, “How’s the Unit holdin’ together?”

“Everything is fine if no’ a bit overworked and overburdened by the bureaucracy, which is the noble houses.” Disgust laced Kat’s tone as she took in more of the liquor. 

“I heard ya’ and Fiske got properly acquainted fer a few weeks in the mountains.”

“She’s intense that one. Little judgy too.” Quinn lifts her shoulders in a half shrug and then takes a sip of her drink, looking out the window. “I didn’t make breakfast right. I didn’t organize the stores in the right order. I had them pets in there, and that was an issue. Still, it was good to get to meet her. Better to know than not, yeah?”

“She’s a career militant,” Kat interjected, “born and raised t’ follow orders, like her mother and father before her. It’s easy to see where views don’ align." 

"Wonder how much I’d have agreed with her if I’d known my parents. Supposedly they were militant too.” Quinn questioned, glancing into her drink with a weak shrug.

The glass in Kat’s grip swirled slowly as she looked to the adjacent wall, spotting the terrarium and serpent within. “Since when do ya’ have pets?”

“They’re Sam’s. Her cat and snake.” Quinn motioned vaguely to the animals. “Thanks, by the way, for the cube…thing. Myz gave it to me to help move them." 

Before Kat could ask for the magical container to be returned, Quinn had already plucked the cube from the nearby shelf. With a nod, the Director tucked it away within the inner pocket of her blazer. The dagger sheathed upon her thigh visible for a brief moment.

"Thank ya’, I was about to ask for that back.”

“I’m takin’ the cat home tonight. I’ll get the snake there soon too.” Quinn added.

“Enough small talk,” Kat tapped her glass with a single finger, pinning the informant beneath her gaze. “How has the education been comin’ along?”

The question was merely a formality to test Quinn’s honestly. Kat had received detailed reports and scores from the tutor every month over the last year, like a parent overseeing their child’s classes.

“Good, leastwise, I think it’s goin’ good. My writin’ is gettin’ cleaner all the time. Readin’s hardly a chore now, that’s no trouble. I hope my reports are better all the time, even with a few hiccups here and there.” The informant answered modestly, meeting the Director’s eyes.

“They’re looking good, yes. Glad t'hear readin’ is no longer a strain.” Kat remarked, one hand slipping into her coat’s outer pocket, palming the small book within as Quinn quickly spoke again.

“I’d like to know what opportunities are next. If I wanted to train more, broaden my skills.” There is a hint of hesitation in her voice, eyes shifting nervously. “Bein’ helpless doesn’t much feel like somethin’ I want to do. Durin’ all that chaos, I felt…useful. I know I’m young, that whatever this path is, it ain’t a short one but…what would workin’ towards takin’ a more active role in the Unit look like?”

“Ambitious,” Kat remarked with a lifted brow, going silent for a moment as she scanned the young woman. She had to sip from the glass to hide her smirk as Quinn broached the topic she came to discuss. A small part of her was pleased to see such forward ambitions, but the other spiked with paranoia, remembering when she was that young and everything that happened in the quest to get ahead.

“Is that ambitious?” Quinn asks, “just…you got a powerful and enviable group of women workin’ under you, and I see in them someone I want to be. Eventually.”

“Mmm, don’t be like them,” Kat commented off-hand with a grin. 

“They all got their own unique strengths and weaknesses. I’d hope, in time, I’d have my own separate from theirs,” the informant chuckled, looking off to the side.

With another short hum, Kat pulled the small leather-bound book from her pocket, offering it to Quinn, who studied the embossed image of peacebloom and silverleaf before thumbing through the pages. 

As she spoke, Kat pulled a small book from her coat, extending it out to Quinn. The leather cover had an embossed picture of a peacebloom and silverleaf. While the young woman was correct in her assessment of the Unit’s members, Kat did not wish to see Quinn become another killing machine of the Alliance or suffer the same tribulations the rest of them had and lose a part of herself.

And the Unit currently lacked a proper toxicologist.

“So glad ya’ brought it up,” Kat smiled. “Study that, with yer new skill of readin’, and make use of it.”

“I’ll do just that, Director. Thank you.” Quinn beamed as she flipped through each page, scanning the detailed images of various herbs and fungi.

“Figure mixology of drinks isn’t too much of a leap, so.” With a single shoulder shrug, Kat polished off her drink and stood. “Get familiar with th’ plants first. I don’t want ya’ in the field. Yet. Lon’ way t'go.”

“I don’t expect to be. I’m just glad I’ve been able to help. I’ll start with this. Thank you again.” Quinn pulled the book to her chest, watching as Kat moved across the apartment to leave. 

“Is there anythin’ else I can help you with tonight?” She called out from across the room.

Kat chuckled, stepping into the doorway. Looking back over her shoulder, she answered with a pointed tone. “Don’t be late for work tonight.”

As the door shut, she could barely make out Quinn’s response. Taking a deep breath and straightening the hem of her blazer, Kat quickly interjected to the dagger-bound voice in her head as her boots clicked down the hall. “Don’t even say it.”

[ @quinn-varden​​ ] [ Vague mention: @alyssa-ward​​, @myzariel​ ]

[samantha-bradford]

Melancholia

Several days had passed since Sam returned to her Stormwind apartment, where dust had settled on every surface in her absence. Rarely did she feel the need to illuminate the space or even light a fire in the stove, the dark and chilled interior becoming a metaphor for her current state of mind. Sleep plagued by nightmares and recounts of the horrors she witnessed in Lakeshire and the surrounding woodlands, her mother’s pleas and screams filling her ears as tears poured endless through the day and night. The food stores were quickly depleted, and Sam turned then to the box of holiday sweets someone left in her mail, gorging in her depression.

A bar of half-eaten chocolate fell to the floor as she stared at the wall across from the couch, having spent most of her nights in the same spot. The frantic series of knocks at her door were ignored once again, wishing only to be alone with her thoughts. Then the sound of a key within the lock clicked through the silence. “Quinn,” Sam thought, the only other person she allowed to have a key. She had avoided all her friends upon return but knew Quinn would have heard that she quit her job at the tavern eventually.

“Sam…” The other woman called, hurrying across the room, the sound of empty candy wrappers crunching beneath her shoes.

Sam didn’t bother to look up or even move, staring still at the wall as her mother’s death replayed again in her mind. 

“Hey, hey Sam…” Quinn dropped her bag and went to her knees on the floor, searching her friend’s vacant gaze as she placed a hand on her arm.

The touch of another snapped Sam back into reality, her gaze shifting to Quinn in a blink, and she immediately broke down. Lips trembled, and water welled in her eyes as sobs rose uncontrollably. Without thought, her arms wrapped around Quinn, yanking the shorter woman into a tight embrace and burying her face into the shoulder as she wept.

“It’s okay. I’m here, Sammy,” Quinn whispers as she stroked Sam’s hair, the tough and matted mess, another sign that she was failing to properly care for herself in the spiral of depression.

“I couldn't—” Sam chokes on a sob. “There was—” Pain cut through her heart like a hot knife to butter as she attempted to speak of the horrors.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Quinn reassured, resting her chin on Sam’s head. “Take your time Sam.”

Cries muffled into Quinn’s shoulder as tears stained the blouse, Sam’s entire body convulsing with the heaviest wails. Minutes passed by as she continued to unravel in her friend’s embrace. Slow and delicately, Quinn moved to sit on the couch, letting Sam’s head rest in her lap as the reassuring strokes of the hair continued.

“I’m so, so sorry for whatever happened, Sam.” She spoke above a whisper. “I’ve been worried about you. Your babies have missed you too.”

The pets were merely an afterthought at the moment. Sam failed to help her mother, watching as she was ripped to shreds. For a moment, she wondered if they were in better care with Quinn. At least then, she couldn’t fail them as well. With a runny sniffle, Sam wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I- I can't—” The sentence broke with another sob and bite of the shaking lip.

“You can’t?” Quinn echoes, glancing down at her friend. “You don’t have to. You’re okay. I’ve got you, Sam.”

One syllable at a time, she choked out her next sentence as her head rapidly shook. “It sh-sh-should have been me!”

“What should have been you, Sammy? You can tell me anythin’,” Quinn inquires, keeping her voice at a calm and comforting level.

Sam’s answer stuck to the tip of her tongue as she convulsed and wailed again. Even the single word revived all the pain associated with the memory. Turning her head to sob into Quinn’s thigh, she manages to mutter out a response.

“Mom…”

There’s a split-second moment where Quinn pieces it together, her shoulders sinking as both hands attempt to offer comfort in tender caresses across Sam’s side.

“I’m so, so sorry, Sam. I’m so, so sorry. I’m here, and I’m not leaving you.” She cooed, trying to offer any level of comfort or security as Sam unraveled further, tears dropping to the floor like a broken faucet.

Nearly an hour went by, and Sam still cried despite her body offering no tears in the dehydration. Quinn began to move, propping Sam up against the couch as she stood.

“I’m staying right here, just helping out.” The younger woman whispered as she plucked the empty wrappers from the couch, tossing them in the waste bin as she proceeded to straighten up the apartment.

Sam stared lifelessly out the apartment window where her easel and paints were, her head falling against the back of the couch like a ragdoll as the sound of pots clattered in the kitchen behind her. Tinder in the stove lit, and cupboards opened and closed as Quinn prepared a simple soup.

“I’m not hungry,” Sam mumbled as she realized what her friend was doing.

“Hungry’s got nothin’ to do with it. I’m still goin’ to make you eat,” Quinn replies, continuing to clean up the mess of wrappers and half-eaten candies Sam left in her depressive state.

“I don’t want to.” She protested.

“I know it, but you gotta keep goin’ even when you don’t want to. That’s just how life works.” Quinn checked the soup before moving behind the couch, resting a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Else, what’ll you do? Lay on the couch forever and eat candy? This is goin’ to be hard, no question, but I’m not leavin’ you alone for it.”

“I want to be alone." 

Quinn exhales slowly, flattening her lips in a nod. "Make you a deal, you eat some of the soup, and I’ll leave you alone for a bit. Though, don’t think I won’t be back to check on you tonight.”

Silence was the response as Sam peered across the room still. Quinn sighs again as she goes back to the kitchen, pouring soup into a bowl and collecting a spoon. “Please?” She asked, settling on the floor in front of Sam as she held the bowl up. “Just a little bit, for me?”

Lazily, Sam shifted her gaze to the steaming soup in Quinn’s hand, her expression still empty. Eventually, she reached to take the bowl, sitting up properly as she wiped her eyes. “Okay…”

“Thank you, Sam, I appreciate it. Really, I do.” Quinn breathed out in relief.

With the warm bowl tucked into her lap, Sam slowly moved each spoonful to her mouth. To her, it was merely a motion, unable to taste the soup and feeling no hunger or satisfaction from the consumption. In the awkward silence, they sat facing one another before half the bowl is depleted. Sam let the spoon sink into the soup as she passed it back to Quinn with no desire to finish the rest.

With a smile, she retreats to the kitchen, cleaning out the bowl and pot as Sam went back to her vacant stare at the wall. A moment later, Quinn set a glass of water on the end table, looking over to her friend with concern.

“I’ll…” At first, she trails off, biting the corner of her lip as Sam was still far from herself. “I’ll give you some space, Sam. But if you need me—” she gestures meaninglessly towards the door. “Well, I’ll be back tonight for dinner. Do you want to see Peaches? I can bring your cat with me.”

Sam doesn’t answer that, pulling her lips inward instead and bringing her knees to the chest, curling up into the corner of the couch. Another sniffle as tears threatened to flow again, and she managed to nod a few shallow times.

Quinn lingers a moment longer, picking at her fingers with a quiet sigh as she watched the wordless response. “I’ll back soon, Sam. Stay safe for me.”

She sees herself out then, glancing back across the room before shutting the door. As the lock clicked, Sam let the dam breach, falling into the cushions as she sobbed uncontrollably. 

“Mom…” She repeated over and over to herself. “I’m sorry…”

[ @quinn-varden​ ]

[trickstertris]

The Return

Once more, a letter would arrive in a rather strange way to Quinn. Sliding in under the door but not a soul would be seen bringing the enveloped message. Upon unveiling from the envelope prison, Quinn would find the words written to her by her newest friend, Triststain. Following onto such, the letter would read as: Dear Quinn, As fast as those undead came, they seem to have vanished. I didn’t even seem to find the end of their trail. I swear there was hordes of them and then i wake and there is none at all. Perhaps the new lich or whatever got control of them again? I haven’t seen any of the Ebon knights, so trying to get answers has been defincult. For now, they have paid for my services and have sent me back home. I’m just packing everything up now. I should be home soon, or likely by the time you get this. I will warn, i did have a close call, but i promise it’s nothing bad. I just broke my arm is all, it’ll be in a sling for some time.  I’ll be the one armed parent. Think i can handle twins with one hand. Well, mostly just Tay. I missed them. Sorry, going on about them already. I missed you too and i hope to see you soon. Winter’s veil is on it’s way soon, isn’t it? Think you can help me look for presents for the kids? Well mostly i’m using that as an excuse to see you, i’d like to get something too so you’ll need to help me with that too.  For now, i hope you are still safe and i look forward to seeing you again. Till we next meet, Triststain. ( @quinn-varden )

[quinn-varden]

Quinn’s letter returns before long, having once more settled back into her home in Stormwind. 

Dear Trist,

Work hasn’t started again yet, the bar is still closed, but I am home safe in Stormwind. I have pets to care for while I wait for news of my friend Sam and what happened to her, I’m worried about the worst. I got a letter from the twins, so I know they are okay, and it’s a relief to know you are too.

Winter’s Veil shopping sounds like a wonderful idea. We should meet up soon, though Stormwind is on all cleanup duty, the markets haven’t re-opened yet. We might have to do a makeshift Winter’s Veil this year.

Sincerely, Quinn

The woman, having sent her letter in return, drops back onto her bed, lazily stroking Peaches. The world is in chaos, she’s not even sure now what her real role is in the Unit, at least going forward, and is very much missing her friend, and the security of the Pig and Whistle. But there will be time to unravel it all. For now, she sleeps, and rests.

[ @trickstertris ]

[samantha-bradford]

The Last Bradford

“Mom!” Samantha repeatedly screamed as her hand reached for the older woman who was dragged down by the geists, sliced open like a hog at a butcher. The burning sensation upon her arm as bone claws cut open her flesh, turning her attention to meet the open maw of a ghoul right before her eyes. Saliva dripping from the broken teeth as they closed upon her face.

Waking from her slumber with a terrified shrill, she quickly found herself restrained by a stranger who towered over her, holding her down and urging Sam to calm herself as she thrashed in panic, her mind racing to catch up. Through tear-stained eyes, she looked around, no longer in the abandoned cabin.

“Let me go!” She shouted in confusion, shoving away the stranger as her arm flared with pain, stifling her fight for freedom. “She’s still out there,” Sam sobbed, “I can't— I can’t leave her there…”

“Shhhh,” a second stranger cooed from the other side. “It’s okay. You’re safe here. Please, lay still, or the stitches will break.”

Sam hyperventilated as her eyes continued to soar around the room, slowly piecing things together as her mind raced on. Symbols of the Church hung upon the wall, and over the bed, she was in, the two strangers wore robes of the Clergy, the second who had spoken was decorated in the garb of a priest.

“You’re at the Northshire Abby, child.” The priest spoke steadily. “One of the scouts found you in the forest, unconscious and badly injured, and took you to the nearby lumber yard where one of our Sisters tended to your wound before moving you here. The infection was deep, and had that scout not returned you when he did; our only option would have been amputation.”

“Do you remember what happened?” The Brother of Light inquired.

“I- I went to get my mother,” Sam spoke through gulps of air as she recounted the events. “But the scourge was already there, and we were trapped. There was a fire then-then she— MOM!” Attempting to sit up again, she was met with further resistance, and her sobs echoed off the stone walls as she broke down.

“Rest, child.” The priest held out a hand, trying to calm the frantic young woman. “You have been through an excruciating experience. Your body, mind, and soul need time to recover. The stitches will come out in a few days, you are no prisoner within the Abby, but I recommend you stay until recovered.”

Flopping into the pillow, Sam was overcome with exhaustion, glancing to her torn arm, examining to stitches. Three large gashes were sewn up neatly, scarring her entire upper arm. She continued to cry as the Clergy members exited the small room, her chest heaving with each sob before the fatigue whisked her away to sleep.

[lovelydeadlysocialite]

Request for Reassignment (Vyn/Kat)

Vynette sat at her desk, finishing up the paperwork assigned to her, just like any night in the office. The only difference was her demeanor. Something about her was tense. She caught a look from Kat more than once for her heel tapping nervously, and the elf kept sneaking glances at her Director to almost make a comment before sealing her lips again.

Finally, without looking up, some of the proposed words in her head finally managed to tumble out. “I was talking to an agent from another Unit today. I guess they’ve had eight agents now put in to answer the call for aid. From, you know, the Covenants.”

“Uh-huh,” Kat muttered in response without looking at the elven operative, her focus remaining on the papers she shuffled, expression blank.

It was more or less the kind of response Vyn expected. She sighed, knowing she was going to have to move things forward. “It seems like the need for more trained hands is still pretty great. And what with the duties of wartime off everyone’s plates, more or less,” her voice trailed softer and quicker as she mumbled, “I was considering requesting a temporary assignment to offer my abilities. Ma'am.”

Kat froze in place, staring at the document in hand as a slow exhale spilled over her lips. Eyelids shut as lips curled inward over the teeth and the paper set aside. “There are plenty of eager hero types and jar-heads t’ fill the ranks.” Her response monotone as the stark gaze shifted to the elf.

“We have plenty t'do here.”

The air in the room thinned out at Kat’s tone and in any other instance, Vyn would have dropped the topic. Unfortunately, the circumstances here were unique. “I know. There is work to be done, and I’m not ignoring or underplaying the work we do.” She may have come to Unit Eight looking for a job and a safe place to hide, but she did understand the value they added to the Alliance she was somehow a part of now.

“It is just… the request came for me specifically.” An uncharacteristic uncertainty softened Vynette’s voice. “My teacher is part of the House of Eyes. He has called for me to aid the Necro Lords.”

Without missing a beat, Kat’s eyes narrowed sharply following Vyn’s confession. “I see…” Her tone and demeanor turned ice-cold, and the eye contract broke, the Director diving back into her papers.

“So after everythin’, I’ve done, everythin’ I’ve risked, yer going t’ abandon me just like that.” Pain and anger laced Kat’s words, her jaw tightening towards the end. “One letter from a ghost and I’m nothin’ t’ ya’.”

Vyn’s bright blue eyes went wide at the shift in tone. It was rare to see such intensity drawn from the otherwise collected and calculating Director. As someone who genuinely respected Kat, Vyn felt the pit of guilt in her stomach. “No, that’s not it at all! You’re… you mean a lot to me. You took a chance on me.” She spoke of the risks Kat took for her in a hushed voice, not wanting to raise suspicions of anyone who might still be lingering in a nearby office. “I owe you everything.”

Taking a deep breath, Vyn pressed forward, mustering up her determination. “I am not looking to leave beyond a temporary reassignment; my home is here. With you and with the Unit.” Their office was one of the few consistent places anyone could find her these days. “But he was the one who got me here. He saw value in me and gave me purpose. And I failed him. And he died,” she finally admitted.

“And I saw value in ya’, and gave ya’ a new purpose!” Kat quickly countered, pointing a finger in the elven woman’s direction. “A purpose that could have, and still could, get us both killed.”

With a scoff, Kat’s head shook, and her arms crossed as she stood from the desk and paced. “Ya’ failed him, but he sends a letter? Have ya’ gone dense Vynette?” For once, the Director addressed her elven shadow by the first name rather than the forged surname. “It has trap written all over it. Or did ya’ forget how ya’ were ejected from the Horde?”

It would have been easy to call her paranoid; plenty of people in SI:7 had already. The real pain came from the truth in her words.

“I was overconfident when I got set up. I’m not that anymore thanks to you,” she pointed out. “Being by your side is important to me.”

Vyn was to the point of pleading, even when she knew Kat was not so easily swayed. What else could she do? “Kat…” She addressed the woman, not the title. “There’s still closure I need from my time as an apprentice. Shit I’m still carrying with me. My loyalty is with you; no one can change that. So I’m asking– begging for the chance to serve the cause in the Shadowlands and put my ghosts to rest.”

A heated exhale pushed through the nostril as Kat turned her back to Vynette’s pleading, facing the wall where documents, pins, and red string put together the tapestry of their current case. She did not appear to be swayed by the elf’s begging, not entirely. Something in that final statement did bring a silent pause.

“If bein’ by my side is so important, then why so eager to leave it?” She chose to hone in on other points and skip over the please, keeping her back to the elf. There was still a tinge of pain and anger in her tone.

“Livin’ in th’ past never moved anyone forward. I need ya’ here. Or is suddenly wot I and this job I graced ya’ with no longer of importance? I didn’ say a bloody thing when I came back to find yer visage eerily similar to mine, plucked a hair from the office, no doubt. Even when my patience is tested by yer sometimes questionable motivations and comments in the borderline territory of breakin’ my rules, I allowed yer leash to remain lax. I never asked fer anythin’ other than service in return, even after footin’ the bills to fake and create yer life in the Alliance. But this is the thanks I get? T'be abandoned fer some Horde dog.”

Vynette got to her feet, because she disliked the tone Kat was taking regarding her teacher. Vyn rarely defied Kat; it was not in her nature. Still, she persisted. “You’ve let my leash remain lax because I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked of me, without question. I’ve followed every order, completed every mission,” her voice dropped lower, but picked up its intensity, “I’ve done every off-book task you’ve needed with a smile because I’m your knife. I’ve committed sins for you and I’d commit them thrice over and you know that.”

Scrunching her nose at the realization that her tone was getting away from her, Vynette composed herself. “He’s not some Horde dog, Director; he’s found a place of high standing in the House of Eyes. If I went over your head, they’d give me the go ahead. Hell, I could go to Fiske. I didn’t do that because I don’t give a shit about their authority. You’re the one I follow.”

Looking down at her desk, Vynette sat back down feeling resigned to defeat. “If you command me to stay, I’ll stay. I don’t ask for much. But I’m just asking for you to trust me. I have debts to repay, but he’s not my master anymore.”

As the Operative’s tone began to get away from her, Kat looked back over her shoulder. One brow lifted as she stared the elven woman down from across the room as if cursing her for the act of defiance.

“Go over m'head or t'Fiske, and it won’t be a temporary reassignment.” The Director barked. Whether it was a threat or fact was anyone’s guess.

Fingers ran through her raven tresses, pulling the strands back as she sighed quietly, seemingly content with Vynette’s concession. “When this case is over,” Kat motioned to the wall at her side as she turned to face the elf. “Then I will consider signin’ off on a temporary reassignmen’. I will no’ make any promises, however.”

The tension in Vyn’s shoulders released. Resisting Kat’s authority made her physically uncomfortable, but she had made it to the other side. They both knew the elf would not go over Kat’s head, but she was still being given an out. She could handle finishing their assignment at hand. She would cling to the hope that, if she continued to be on her best behavior, Kat would give her the chance to settle her past.

“Of course, ma'am,” she replied with an earnest salute and a genuine, radiant smile. “Til then, the only thing on my mind is our case. I’m all yours; you have my word.”

“Good,” Kat murmured as she returned to her desk and the papers scattered atop it.

“Now get out of m'sight for an hour or two before I change m'mind, and there better be a bottle in one hand when ya’ return.”

[ @kat-hawke​ ]

[samantha-bradford]

Ruination

[Concerns of a Daughter]

[Not Too Late…]

[Uncertainty]

[Lakeshire Massacre]

[Horror in the Hills]

[Hysteria]

[quinn-varden]

Quinn’s Cake

Hope

The future looks bleak and empty, there are problems lying ahead that seem unsolvable. the weight of the world crushes all semblance of perspective sometimes... but remember, you are not alone. you are not responsible for solving every issue in the world and you can let go sometimes without feeling guilty for not fighting every second of the day. hope is out there, in all shapes and sizes, trust me. tilting your face into the sun, seeing a friend after a long time, listening to your favourite song... those joys will not disappear while you are breathing, there will be music tomorrow, too!

Test is [ HERE ]

Tagged by @sailynthesayaad​

Tagging @jocelyn-wellson​ & @lovelydeadlysocialite​

[quinn-varden]

Party of Two

The rattle of the doorknob shakes Quinn from her thoughts, causing her to drop fork, whirling out of her chair to stride towards the door, eyes quickly scanning the variety of locks.

A woman’s voice outside lets out a muffled swear, and then a less than gentle pounding follows it. “Varden, if you’re in there, open the damn door.”

It’s not Myzariel, that’s certain, whoever the voice is, Quinn’s never heard it before. She presses ear up against the door, and then follows the clear instructions she’d been given. “Pass phrase,” she replies.

Another swear from behind the door, a pause, and then, “Mockingbird.”

Quinn sets to work on the locks, unclicking deadbolts, undoing chains. The Safehouse is not meant to be breached, even the windows are all barred and locked multiple times over. When the door finally opens, Quinn finds herself face to face with a dishevelled woman.

Thea Fiske’s hair is half in a tight bun, half unraveled from it, falling over one side of her face. Her uniform bears scratches and gouges, leather torn asunder in places. Dried blood, gore, and other unidentifiable matter spatters the arms, torso, and legs of her clothing.

She doesn’t wait for introductions, the Director pushing past Quinn and into the interior, and the Informant doesn’t stop her. If anything, she’s too busy stooping down to catch Peaches when he cat makes a run for the door.

Quinn leans her hip against the door, closing it so she can set the cat down. “All respect Miss? I don’t think I know who you are,” she says, as she sets to the locks, sealing the place up once more.

“Director Fiske. You’re right, we’ve never met, I see that even as the world burns, you survive? We lose most of Stormwind, and the Barmaid makes it out, it speaks to the skill of Arilyth.”

“Myz? Yeah, she and I got each other out, she’s a hell of a shot.”

The ‘got each other out’ earns a skeptical look from the woman as she moves about the space, checking it over. The Director moves with smooth efficiency in spite of her roughed up shape, checking cabinets and cupboards, taking mental inventory even if she knows what this place should have supplied. “Have you been keeping an accurate count of the supplies you use Varden?” Of all the things to be concerned about at a time like this.

It clicks for Quinn though...whatever it was that lead Thea Fiske to this safe house, alone, with no other agents and in the state that she is, must’ve been harrowing to say the least. If there’s one thing Quinn is good at, it’s quickly getting a sense of a person, and she identifies something key about Director Fiske immediately. The woman needs to stay busy, she focuses on tasks, on work, on structure, that is her coping method.

“Yes ma’am,” Quinn gestures to a clipboard hanging to the side of one of the cupboards. “Full inventory of everythin’ in the safehouse, and everythin’ I’ve used.”

“And the...pets?” Fiske’s voice carries a hint of distaste as she observes the Terrarium and the cat. “We stockpiled this place for humans, you had best be tracking everything these animals take. It will be coming out of your pay when this is all over.”

“If this ends up all over ma’am, I’ll gladly pay whatever outta my salary. I’ll just be glad to be alive.”

Thea gives the Informant a side glance, as though attempting to determine if she’s being flippant, but finds an at least seemingly genuine expression on Quinn’s features. “That is, I believe, the case for all of us Varden. Regardless, I’ll be staying here with you for the forseeable future. The rest of our Unit is camped far enough away that it would be unreasonable to make for them until things have calmed.”

“Does that mean they’re alive?”

Fiske’s lips tighten into a flat line. “I hope so, Varden. I hope so.”

[ Mention to @myzariel​ ]

[quinn-varden]

what is Quinn doing during the zombie apocalypse?

Unit 8 evacuated Quinn from the city when things got bad after the incident in the Pig and Whistle. She and @myzariel fought their way out, and Quinn is now in an SI:7 safehouse in the mountains. She's staying there with @samantha-bradford's pets to ride this thing out.

[trickstertris]

A letter to a dear one

Dear Quinn, I hope this letter finds you well. I know times are looking rather blek bleec gray and honistly it’s not looking all that great out here, i’ve had a cuple close calls already. Think i’m still a bit rusty. But you know, threw it all, i know we can make it threw it. The sun always rises right? The seesons always change. They always around and i hope i can always be around with you. I don’t want to think our short time together was just that. Maybe i’m scared, maybe i’m being greedy, but i like you and i like our time together. I don’t think this is all very fair.  I hope you have some where to go that’s safe, i don’t know if the city is going to be safe. Please get somewhere safe. I’ll have someone come check on you. So if you see them then they will help you. Also, if anything happens to me, don’t worry about the kids. Okay? I got that sorted. Just make sure to be safe. If you get lost, don’t worry i’ll come find you again. It’s funny. Letters. I mean, i’m writing letters on a page and that makes this a letter, so is this hole page just one big letter? Did that make you smile? I hope it did, maybe it wasn’t very good. Sorry. I really like your smile.  I’m heading out again, so it may be some time till i can nect  nex write. Be safe and take care. I can’t wait till this is over and we can go on another picknick, maybe do some fishing. I think Tay and Jay will like that too. Yours truly, Triststain Solarbane.

(( @quinn-varden​ ))

[quinn-varden]

The feel of a rough tongue against forehead pulls Quinn out of sleep. Peaches, upset in strange surroundings, hungry, forces the once Barmaid out of slumber, and to address the reality of her new situation.

Sitting up slowly, still wearing leathers from the desperate flight from the day before, Quinn Varden takes in the interior of the safehouse.

Myzariel seems nowhere to be seen, and for a moment that makes a pang of disappointment hit her. She’s not surprised the somewhat distant Ren’dorei who helped her escape didn’t stick around in the long term, but still, she’d like to at least learn more about the Operative and her curious life philosophies. For now, she will simply see if there’s the possibility of friendship there in the future...if everyone survives this.

She rises with an aching stretch, scooping up the cat that woke her, who does a bit of protest flailing at being picked up, and carries it over to the food dish, nudging it to get the food within to cover the open spot at the middle, reminding Peaches that they are not in fact about to starve.

“Morning little assholes,” she murmurs, making her way over to the Terrarium sitting on the small table in the safe house, finding one of the dead mice brought along to feed Max to toss in for the snake within.

She rummages hands in her pockets as she explores the small space, fishing out brass knuckles, still spattered with ghoul brain matter, and tosses them into the sink to be cleaned up. Her other hand finds something she’d nearly forgotten about in the flight, the now slightly crumpled envelope that had been slipped beneath her door shortly before her escape.

It struck her as odd at the time, with the state of Stormwind when they fled, she certainly didn’t assume a courier might have been working, but whoever dropped it off didn’t make themselves known.

She sets the envelope on the counter, and starts the work of prepping coffee, nearly tripping as Peaches winds back and forth through her legs while she goes about her dazed morning routine. Finally though, she drops into a chair, sitting aside the Terrarium with a cup of warm coffee, and gets a chance to crack the envelope and pull out the letter within.

Dear Quinn, I hope this letter finds you well. I know times are looking rather blek bleec gray and honistly it’s not looking all that great out here, i’ve had a cuple close calls already. Think i’m still a bit rusty. But you know, threw it all, i know we can make it threw it. The sun always rises right? The seesons always change. They always around and i hope i can always be around with you. I don’t want to think our short time together was just that. Maybe i’m scared, maybe i’m being greedy, but i like you and i like our time together. I don’t think this is all very fair.

I hope you have some where to go that’s safe, i don’t know if the city is going to be safe. Please get somewhere safe. I’ll have someone come check on you. So if you see them then they will help you. Also, if anything happens to me, don’t worry about the kids. Okay? I got that sorted. Just make sure to be safe. If you get lost, don’t worry i’ll come find you again.

It’s funny. Letters. I mean, i’m writing letters on a page and that makes this a letter, so is this hole page just one big letter? Did that make you smile? I hope it did, maybe it wasn’t very good. Sorry. I really like your smile. 

I’m heading out again, so it may be some time till i can nect  nex write. Be safe and take care. I can’t wait till this is over and we can go on another picknick, maybe do some fishing. I think Tay and Jay will like that too. Yours truly, Triststain Solarbane. 

A pang of sadness, worry, fear, when she realizes who the letter is from, but as she reads, her heart warms. Trist and their kids has been a wonderful addition to her life in the last few months. Their time in the library studying writing together has helped improve both of them a great deal.

Little spelling mistakes that they might’ve corrected together during their study sessions make her smile, and grin warms a bit at the little jest about Letters, simple wordplay for those who share in not being able to read or write yet.

“We’ll do more picnics, and ice cream runs, and more when all this is over...so you better damn survive it Trist,” she murmurs to herself, as she folds up the letter once more, letting hand linger for a moment on it. “Alright Peaches, help me write a nice letter back on the off chance I ever get to have somethin’ delivered from here. Maybe Myz will take somethin’ for me next time she drops off supplies.”

She clicks fingers down, coaxing the cat to hop up into her lap, and grabs a sheet of parchment and quill to consider a response.

[ Mentions to: @myzariel, @trickstertris, @samantha-bradford ]