@forewarnedfate | starter call
Their first thought was that the perfume reeked.
Their second was, how did Émile leave this garish, smelly note outside of their accommodations with such annoying accuracy? Perhaps that was one of the many secrets kept by the bard-slash-thaumaturge-slash-conjurer, and they’ve leaned not to question his strange habits. (It was better for the state of their temples, you see.)
They flicked the envelope open, wondering how they missed the other’s less-than-subtle presence.
Meet me at Golden Ward’s Pearl Street. ☆
❧ Émile.
...They sighed. They could ignore the summons and tear up the paper right then and there, but they supposed the last they met, the other had been of help. Somewhat. And so, for lack of anything to do and lack of better companions (because they certainly weren’t going to be prancing around with anyone from the Holy See), they decided to humor him, if only because they were curious as to how he fared after the sudden monster invasion.
According to their map, it was a hells of a walk to the Golden Ward in the summer heat (Fancy that! They didn’t think they’d ever hear that term again in their meager lifespan!), so it was time the armor came off. Not in its entirety, but enough to leave only the black leather underneath. It felt strange to leave the barbut and heavy pauldroncoat behind, but it was better than outright baking in the island’s heat, they thought as they braved the formerly ruined streets.
Several navigational errors later, they finally arrived at Pearl Street, picking out Émile’s damnably punchable face in the growing crowd. “Oi, you left your shite outside of my door.” They presented the ornate letter to him, eager to to get it out of their hands. “This perfume better not stick to me; I’d rather not smell like a bloody bouquet of flowers.”