DWC Feb 2025 - Day 3 - Suspicion/Salutation - Tinnaire
There was a tiny park near her apartment building. Just a patch of grass, some flowers, and a few benches. She tried to come down at least once or twice a day and sit there, though. Tinnaire had never even noticed it, before the Scourge had come. She’d certainly never noticed the multi-level apartment building just behind it. She’d never lived somewhere that the translocation orb to the top floors was so often out of commission.
Still, she’d always appreciated her legs. Going up and down five flights regularly had only made them better.
A grin tugged at her lips and she sipped her iced coffee from a paper to-go cup. She could hear the sounds of construction. It bounced off the walls of the city and came careening through the streets, even a district over, as a constant buzzing you could sometimes feel through the stone of the roads.
Just as the rumble faded away temporarily, Tinnaire saw a duck waddle out of a bush. A strangely distressed quarking sound came from the beak and it seemed to stumble just a little, like its body wasn’t right for the nervous system driving it. The corner of her lips came up to watch it.
In a puff of arcane dissipation, the spell wore off with a glittering cloud. A rabbit. It shuddered all over and immediately set in on grooming itself. Tinn couldn’t help wondering if it exalted in being in a familiar form, or if it was trying to clean off the ‘duck’. Either way, it made her chuckle.
“Hello, little one. Student practicing on you today?”
It froze in response, looked at her with suspicion and dashed back into the bush.
Silvermoon, truly a city of magnificent and inspiring magics, was also home to small, vulnerable animals constantly being polymorphed without consent.
Banagan gently pulled on the reigns, guiding the larion through the afternoon sky. Here and there he could make out the road below through the opening in the trees. Banagan knew he was getting close when the trees started to grow thicker and closer together. The paladin gently coaxed the larion to gain a little altitude and veered him towards the left. Finally, an opening appeared and Banny directed the larion down. They gently landed at the flight path and Banny slid from his saddle.
With reigns in hand, Banny stepped away from the flight path and looked down the road leading towards Darkshire. The larion padded next to the paladin, keeping watch as they traveled. Banny reached over and gave the larion a gentle pat on his side.
“It’s okay, this is home.” They continued walking, eventually turning off the road and taking a path that led to a familiar house. Banagan came to a stop about five meters away from the door. The larion halted and looked curiously at the paladin before scanning the area. “We need to wait here for a moment,” Banny explained though he wasn’t sure if the larion was paying attention.
A deep growl could be heard from behind the house. Banny held onto the reigns and waited. After a few moments, a large winged lion came walking around. Flames danced around the lion’s wings and mane as it moved into view and stopped. It let out another growl, but this one was not as threatening. In response, the larion stared directly at the winged lion as a deep rumble started in his chest.
“It’s okay. That’s Valiant,” Banny said in a calm voice. “He’s a friend. You hear that, Valiant? Friend,” he added towards the flaming lion.
“What’s going on out here?” A voice called out as the door to the house opened and an older man holding a warhammer stepped out.
“Hi, dad.”
“Hi, son,” Bragh said as a big grin appeared on his face. Shouldering his hammer he strode forward with his right hand out. As he got closer, the rumble in the larion’s chest grew. Bragh stopped, his grin replaced with a look of curiosity. Hearing another growl, the elder paladin turned to see Valiant stepping to his side. “Behave, Valiant.”
“Sorry for dropping by unannounced, dad. Just thought it would be a good time to introduce everyone.”
“You know you’re always welcomed. So who is this?”
“This is Sentinel.” Banny gave the larion another reassuring pat. The larion still seemed unsure, but had stopped rumbling at least.
“Sentinel, eh? Nice name.” Bragh laid his warhammer on the ground and slowly stepped forward. “Greetings and salutations, noble Sentinel.”
The larion looked from Braghaman to Banagan and then back to Bragh. The elder paladin stood in front of the larion with his hand outstretched. Sentinel sniffed and then thought for a moment before sitting down. Valiant moved forward to stand next to the elder paladin. The two great felines stared at each other, neither moving or making a sound. Finally, as if by some unspoken agreement, the two cats both laid down on the ground next to their respective paladins.
Banny and Bragh looked at the two cats before looking at each other.
“He ever do that before?” Banny asked.
“Never. Probably the best outcome for a first meeting.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Well these two look comfy. Be a shame to move them.”
“Agreed. Are the chairs still out back?” Banny asked.
“They are. You want to grab them while I get us some drinks?”
“Yes, sir. Think we can trust these two alone for a minute?”
“Guess we’ll find out,” Bragh answered with a shrug before turning and heading back towards the front door.
Beneath the full moon rising over the roll of the Ghostlands, Lord Everheart knelt at the moss sprawling beside Lake Elrendar. Somehow the decayed presence usually prowling the landscape seemed to be at rest tonight. As he slacked a rope between the survey equipment, from the corner of his eye he watched his daughter with affection.
Eluvianna was sifting through a tower of books in a crate, holding one in each hand as she narrowed her eyes in consideration.
“Arcane Currents & Alignments of Northern Quel'Thalas,” he prompted, reaching out.
One of the books came to settle in his palm, but her attention wandered to the structure crumbling in the distance: Dawnstar Spire.
She was far more curious about what lay within than their work beneath the earth. It wasn't just a guess—his daughter was already spending her time among the few shadow tomes of the family’s library. The collection was modest, and he hadn't thought twice about them before. But her careful study had begun to raise his thoughts to what this meant, purpose beginning to blossom.
While the volumes still in the spire would likely not persuade her to follow a path of blood, he knew how one's path could transform—had not Lady Liadrin herself once been a priest? The magic within Eluvianna was already reaching beyond the Arcane, touching something deeper. Something that strayed.
“Darkness does not stand without the Light,” his words called to her thoughts.
Meeting his gaze, she smiled. Her father had always seen her for who she was—no judgment, only guidance. But it was tentative; while he would not keep her from her interests, it was his duty to remind her of the tension that had already begun to coil around it.
“The glow of the Sunwell rivals that of the sunlight on the Great Sea," she paraphrased. “It seems we can never forget our past.”
No. That was not going to do. It sounded far too stiff. Far too… artificial, even. Laeynna wasted very little time in striking a sharp line of dark purple ink through the letters in elegant script so carefully crafted by her hand.
My Lady Luridveil—
Gods. That was worse. Somehow. Maybe it was the notion of just writing the family name. Never mind that she’d done so when she was writing to her father. But apparently multiple glasses of red wine made getting through that substantially easier. Or she was simply full of it and had no excuses for her cowardice. That opening also couldn’t work. One more line scribbled out.
Sister—
Something about that word made bile threaten to rise from Laeynna’s stomach right into her throat. What right did she have, really, to refer to Ankalei in such a familiar manner? There was no doubting that Ankalei cared about her. For her. If she hadn’t, she certainly wouldn’t have gone poking around Fancy Cakes and doing investigation. And she definitely would not have sent Zaihne to fetch her. But just because Ankalei cared about her did not necessarily mean that Laeynna had the right to start acting familial.
At least, she certainly didn’t think so. It was one more line she crossed out and then with the tip of quill, she simply kept crossing it out, as if through the sheer force of ink alone, she would utterly eradicate the very notion from her mind. And from the parchment that she easily tore. The pressure of her hand so great, the tip of the nib snapped, flinging off into a direction where she heard it ricochet off of some other metallic trinket before it landed elsewhere.
“Oh, for the love of…”
Laeynna sighed, lifting her hands into her dark, messy hair. She’d been sitting for… what was it, hours? Hours, she was certain, on an early morning in which the sun had not yet entirely poked itself out to greet the world, though was definitely threatening to do so. She was not yet presentable for the day and had no real plans to make herself so. At least not yet. Dressed in a rather simple dressing gown of white, she looked—and felt—like a mess.
Rising from where she sat, bare feet crossed over a dark wood floor and she stretched her arms over her head just until she could feel the gentle strain and pull on muscle that sent a minute rippling ache right into her shoulder. “Why am I so awful at this?” She wasn’t asking anyone in particular. If Andaeros was up, it was because he was in the washroom likely doing his morning rituals of trimming the hairs that graced his cheeks and his neck. If he wasn’t up then she had been doing him the extra courtesy of staying quiet to let him have some peace and likely much-needed slumber. And if Rags was going to be presenting any kind of response, it was likely to sound as scraggly as he looked.
Drawing in a breath to centre herself, Laeynna held it and shook her head. Her hands slowly dropped back to her sides and she freed the same exhale she’d held captive. Hopefully with it, some of the worry and anxiety that nibbled along her insides. Why did it seem like it was easier to write her father than it had been to write her twin? Tilting her head, her gaze fluttered over to the kitchen counter where she’d put on a kettle for tea. She’d already had one cup, but seemed about ready for another. Slowly making her way over to it, what once was empty was filled with a steeped black tea and as she leaned onto the counter, she curled her slender, musician’s fingers around the porcelain, comforted and soothed all at once by its welcoming warmth.
She knew why it’d been easier. Sort of. In truth, she cared more about her sister’s opinion than her father’s. Reknon and Seilahs would not live forever. Ankalei now, most likely, would. There was also the notion that it was… Well. Frankly horrifying to face the woman she had so unforgivingly done away with. She still couldn’t remember what had happened, just as she had told Andaeros when she made such a fated confession. After discussing it with him, even, Laeynna found herself thinking about it a lot. Where once it had lingered in the back of her mind, it now had a place in the forefront. Ankalei would know. But would asking only dredge up the past? Was it not more important to acknowledge that, regardless of reason, there were no excuses, no validation, no legitimate reasoning for what she’d done? Was it not better to acknowledge it and, as her other half had urged, seek forgiveness?
Provided Ankalei was willing to give it.
Understanding the past, some might have argued was worthwhile, if only to apply to the future. But Laeynna had never had another moment in time like that. She had never again lost herself and she certainly was very much not the same person she’d been then. Many, many things had changed. Would anything like it ever happen a second time? She didn’t think so. Most likely not. She couldn’t know for certain, but when she lifted a hand and eyed it, trying to imagine what blood must have stained it, she knew she didn’t want anything like that to happen. Which meant she wasn’t going to allow anything like that to happen.
Not again.
With a gentle furrow in dark brow, her mouth pulled to one side, in somewhat a childish sort of manner. She was no closer to figuring out how to start her letter, though, or what to include in the body of it. She was good at diplomacy and whilst she could have relied on that, it felt so… impersonal. She didn’t want to be impersonal with her sister. On the contrary, she wanted to bring Ankalei to the apartment to have tea and coffee and cake with her and Andaeros. She wanted Ankalei to be a part of her life. She wanted to… to… to make up for all of the time that they’d missed out on, though she understood that wasn’t exactly possible. Even if it was, there was potential that Ankalei would not want that. It was too easy to get caught up in what she hoped would come out of such a correspondence. Too convenient to let herself hope too much with a heart that was not at all practised with experiencing hope.
Simple was going to be better. No outright apologies. Gratitude and acknowledgement for Ankalei’s part in Laeynna’s current state of affairs. And a very gentle invitation that involved no expectation or pressure. An invitation for conversation. She drafted the bare minimum ideas in her head, thinking that she was, as usual, best when she put her most logical foot forward. The balance between the mind and the heart was a most complicated one and as someone who had very rarely used her heart in the past, she found herself agreeing with the comparison Andaeros had once made of it.
He had, at one point in time, resonated with the notion that the heart was a muscle. Without its use, its strength diminished and thus, an ache when it began to carry weight or strain. And like any other muscle, it would need to be practised. He’d not said the next part, but Laeynna had inwardly reminded herself that for her heart to grow strong, it would require patience, time, and understanding. She could not hold those same ideals for others, if she could not first hold them for herself.
As if feeling her resolve fortify, Laeynna lifted her cup of tea and making way back to where her pile of parchment waited, several with unfinished, scribbled letters marking her frustration at an inadequate display of colloquial elegance, she sat back down. Setting her cup down as warm and tranquil companion, she located a new quill, lightly brushing the tip of her forefinger along its nib. She’d make certain it was ready for when Andaeros sought to seize his day.
Besides, they had one more left to write. Together.
Daily Writing Challenge
February 2025
Day 3: Suspicious / Salutation
When Theras arose and slipped from the inn in Rambleshire - or what stood in for one, with improvised quarters and victuals provided for the first non-Earthen guests in many ages - the stars still glistened in the sky, with thin wisps of clouds veiling them on the western horizon.
Leather-shod feet padding over cobblestones led him to the edge of the village and onto a trail to the east, climbing the slopes of Thunderhead Peak. Under the light of the stars, dark as it otherwise was, the ranger's step was sure, and before long, beyond the rocky ridge, he could see the sheen of the sea, black depths gleaming with countless stars, their forms shifting as they only do in the choppy reflection of the ocean's mirror.
As the elf passed by Dhar Khazad, the structures dark, even none of the Earthen who tended the territory of the thundering ram out and about so early. In the distance, though, a rosy finger stretched across the horizon.
Theras' pace quickened when he saw the shadows begin to shift, those movements the herald of morning. He clambered up a steep path, hand over hand, feet scrabbling in the gravel, and breath heavy, a shock of red hair falling before his eyes and sticking to his forehead from exertion, he crested the rise.
Settling himself onto the cool stone, he basked in the first full rays of golden light, and greeted the dawn.
February Daily Writing Challenge 2025 | Day 3: (Feb 11) Suspicious/Salutation
Naia hums softly while she writes, feet tucked under her. The night had become chilly, so the hearth danced with life, while she wrote with a blanket over her legs. She had recently signed up to perform at another Tart show and was working on the song she planned to sing.
How many letters had she sent to her husband when he had been out on deployment? She knew she had to do this performance because she had always been a romantic. She could only imagine all those unsent letters wives had sent to husbands and husbands to wives, or lovers to each other.
It was finally finished. Tomorrow she will go to the Tarts place in Shattrath to start practicing the performance. The show was next weekend so there was much to be done. Al'esena had been wanting to go see her grandparents, which would allow Naia time to practice. Standing up Naia folded the blanket and hung it over the back of the couch.
There had been a suspicious package left in front of the door of the bookshop that morning. With no name written on it, she had taken it to the local guard on duty. There was no chance she was about to risk the shop or her own life and open it. She could only hope to hear something soon about what was inside.
After returning the empty cup to the kitchen she set about doing some other work in her office. New shipments of books had just come in and she needed to file the paperwork for them. Suddenly the door to her office swings open as Al’esena runs over to her, “Mom! I need your help!”
Naia grins, “With what love?” she wraps Al’e up in her arms. “We are having a party at school tomorrow and the teacher told us we could bring some candy! We can also bring Love is in the Air cards to hand out!”
Naia kisses her forehead, “Well would you like to buy the candy? Or we can make some here. I have to run some things out to the shop, and I can go pick up some cards on my way home. How does that sound?”
Al’e quickly takes her hand and pulls her out of the chair, “Make some at home!” Her daughter rushes out of the office while Naia chuckles. Closing the door to her office Naia follows her into the kitchen, finding that Al’e was already getting things out for their baking. It was going to be a long night, but she cherished every moment of it.
Daily Writing Challenge: Day 3 - Suspicious/Salutation
"Lords and ladies, friends and countrymen, ladies and what we might perceive as gentlemen," a rising voice broke over the loud din of the common room, head perking up now and then though many stayed with their conversations. "May I have your attention please one and all?"
"Shuddap!" Came an ugly answer followed by a raucous laugh, with surprisingly the previous voice joining in the loudest.
"I'm afraid I cannot do that friend, for you are not yet paying for my supper," the previous caller pressed back with a smattering of chuckles. "But you are more than welcome, my throat is tired from the roads and I could use a few more beers before I nestle up with some fine young body."
Another chorus of chuckles followed as heads began to lift and shift toward the center of the Boarded Bat's common room. Standing in his own homemade spotlight was a taller man than main patronage of the evening, a dark blue coat billowing about his calves as he spun around to face the crowd. A grin was plastered to his bearded face while matching wild black hair did it's damnedest to follow the loosening of the coat tails. As strange as it was to having a smiling idiot call to the crowd, the strange instrument in his arms was another thing entirely.
Beautiful sleek and twice the size of any fiddle, the man carried the thing by a bootstring and prayer across his abdomen and hips like a sleeping child. One could guess what awful shriek might come from it as he steadied the thing by a bright silver crank. As many of the eyes of the people who watch the fool, they also watched his contraption with curiosity and suspicion. Jamurlak had had many troubles and none of them began with a turnip farmer.
Always an outsider.
The man in the middle of the common room could feel plenty of eyes on him now, perhaps not as many as he wanted but enough for him to get started. "Enough of my jabberin on, let's get this night going eh? My name is Janus Klaudin, tonight's performer. Is it just a random week night? Of course. Does that stop me?"
Janus's head would swivel amongst the people expecting an answer but accepting none. "Of course not! As a handsome and extremely talented troubadour of the world I must express myself. Especially to approval and a bit of coin."
Silence followed to his extremely bad attempts at humor, but it didn't seem to stop Janus as he pranced about a few more times. His fingers that did not hold the crank began to drum gently on the wood body of his choice of torture. "But I'm talking far to much and not introducing you to my pride and joy. You are gazes are quite drawn to their beauty and curious of their voice am I wrong? I assure you, Kogut will make your hair rise, you smiles wide, and your toes to tapping."
Someone coughed.
There was a long moment of awkward pause as it seemed Janus had finally reached his limit with dealing with the smallfolk, but a twist and shake of his hea brought him back to speed as he began to crank slowly. The gentle whine of Kogut unleashed it's crow with a low drone swallowing whatever hope of conversation was going on in the bar. "Shall we start with a song then eh? Ah here we go. Now you all know the bar-"
The cacophony of boos and jeers nearly knocked the candles from their holders as the crowd turned on the tune all to fast.
"Hell in a handbasket! You all went south on that one real quick!" Janus laughed as the crowd glared and continued with the grumbles over one of the most overplayed songs to ever roll through a tavern. "Alright, we'll skip that ol classic and move on to a more popular modern tune we all know and love."
The crank spun up a bit more as his fingers danced over the frets and his voice began again but in different livelier tempo. "When a humble bard, graced a ride a-"
A bottle whizzed by his head and smashed into the floor nearby as the boos started up again. Janus's eyes went wide as he followed to the crash sight of the bottle, his boot coming to tip through the glass with a short nod. "Well at least you had the sense to throw an empty one."
"You know what? Fuck it," He growled with a wolfish grin and jumped into a crouch as he span the crank. The whine that screamed from Kogut was enough to make men put their hands to ears and yell the same back at him. Janus's voice took on a husky gravel as he growled as loud as a lion into the grind of the hurdy gurdy. "Down from the glen came the marching men! With their shields and their swords! To fight the fight they believe to be right."
The instrument droned loud and raucous as the crowd had been with him as he screamed out above the sound the low roar from the contraption. "Overthrow the overlords!"
The steam was hot now as the crowd came to life stomping their feet, a barrage of bottles flying here and there to smash as men pounded a long. With just one verse of the heated battle song, Janus had grabbed the crowd by playing to the frustration of a people under lockdown by the as grumbles would murmur as 'the man'. Alfred just rolled his eyes as 'that' brother did his thing.
Alfred Klaudin or as not affectionately called 'this' brother, continued to stand at the bar wishing he'd had a bit better aim to nail Janus between the eyes with the bottle he'd chucked. He wasn't opposed to this brother antics or playing, but he wasn't eager to rile up these townsfolk into a riot with songs like he was parading at the moment. The younger brother reached up to rub at his thick mustache as he tried to tune out the screaming song that the bard was barreling through the people knowing full well his parents would approve them helping Janus get work right now. He just hoped it didn't mean he'd have to clean up afterwards.
"Yeah right," Alfred answered himself as he lifted his pewter cup and took a hard drink of the spirits Jarmaluk called liquor. It certainly burned right but burning shouldn't be a flavor as he grimaced. Alfred was fairly close in looks to his brother in the face with green eyes, black hair, and hawk noses that signified them as family. Personalities though leaned more into opposite side of the coin. Janus was gregarious and antagonistic to anyone he could get under the skin. Alfred was calm and withdrawn choosing to choose his battles carefully. The elder brother was taller, the younger was stronger. One could sing, one could fight. He felt he got the better deal.
His left hand would idly come to thumb at the pommel of his mother's rapier, there was a tough time to remember it was technically his now. Tymora knew how much he had used the silver lined rapier to do his work in protecting 'that' brother and those that seemed to get mixed up in all manner of troubles. Supposedly it was should be the other way around in siblings but Alfred could have written a eight piece novel for the amount of times he had to pull him from the fire. For as much as he might complain or frown, the younger Klaudin brother knew in his heart he would always be there.
Turning about he'd watch his brother sing louder as he moved about the crowd, finding a slight smile coming to his face at seeing Janus so alive.
"From their graves I heard the fallen,
Above the battle cry;
By that bridge near the border,
There were many more to die!"
"Brother, what am I going to do with you?" Alfred muttered as he lifted his cup again to sip at the drink, his face twisting after to wonder if he could actually finish this or not.
"That good?"
The cup nearly tumbled from his hand as Alfred turned to his right to see an all to familiar face. "Holy hell! Duncan!"
There was but a hint of a smile to the vampire's face as he saw the shock on Klaudin's face. Whatever might have been on Alfred's mind at the time of his surprise was lost as the young man reached over to embrace Duncan with his thick arms. Duncan gasped a bit in surprise at the hug, unused to such affections. The hard squeeze was something unexpected as well as he let out a croak.
"Alfred easy!" Duncan grunted as he clapped the young man and gave a slight flex to solidify his need for space.
Alfred laughed, a look that suited him better than the usual grim visage he bore most of the time. "Holy Hera, what in the nine are you doing here? Why aren't you in Seren?"
The questions were squashed though as his smile faded quickly and he looked at Duncan with more seriousness. "Is everything alright? Are my parents alright? Are you alright?"
Steady hands were raised to ward of the assault of worried questioning, the vampire's voice soothing and calm as he did his best assail the man's fears. "Easy, Alfred. Easy. All is well in the north, I promise."
Duncan's hands would lower just as much his voice as he leaned in closer to speak at least under the newest solo from Janus's instrument. "It is you and your brother I am more worried over."
"You came all the way here because you were worried about us?" Alfred looked perplexed at the vampire. Duncan had always been kind and patient with the brothers, but the idea of love for the Klaudin boys was a bit of a stretch. Waycrest had the manners of a saint but he was very keen to let them be adults on their own. To hear him say he was worried about them made Alfred's face slip back quickly into his usual grimace under his mustache.
Klaudin wore his heart on his sleeve and doubts on his face like a book. Duncan being the avid reader he was had no trouble guessing what was on the man's mind.
'Then onward over the mountain
And outward towards the sea
They had come to claim the Emerald
Without it, they could not leave'
Another solo began to rock out the Bat as the crowd began to thrash around the bar, which the bartender looked all the more concerned about. It was all lost though as Alfred could hear the creak as clear as a crow's caw in mid-morning. Eyes widening as he looked beyond the vampire to see the middle aged man make his way toward them, his limp quieted but still clear as the sound he made when he walked. Duncan followed his gaze a moment before looking back to Alfred with the same hint of smile.
"We were worried about."
"Uncle."
"Salutations, Alfred." Eld spoke clearly as his own face eased into a smile at the sight of his godson.
The tavern exploded in cheer as Janus finished with one more scream like he originally began in his tune.
A young, male elf in fairly nondescript clothing bellied up to the opposite end of the almost empty bar. Keranna ashed her cigarette into the little ceramic tray in front of her, paying only as much attention as she needed to from what she could see in her periphery. It was a fair little hole-in-the-wall far enough away from Sunstrider Spire to avoid most of the Magistry lunch traffic, and quiet enough that she could read a chapter or two of whatever book she was on over a glass of wine and a sandwich.
She didn't react at all when he moved to the middle of the bar instead, settling between her and the only other patron who was obviously working on a little hair of the dog medicinal therapy. Her manicured nail slid between the page she was on and the following though she'd stopped reading at this point. She knew what page she'd been on, turning this one wouldn't matter — but would keep up the farce.
Like clockwork, in about as much time as he'd taken to move the first time he moved again, parking right next to her with his own glass of wine that hadn't been touched. There was no ease with which he settled in, no charm or seductive intent either. He was simply where he was, and his tone when he spoke was quiet but perfunctory at best, "Ma'am."
She finally looked at him directly, expression flat and unamused, and responded in quiet kind, "Who's your handler?"
His fair, blonde eyebrows shot up in surprise, "I'm not— I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, ma'am."
Her stare didn't waiver.
He shifted uncomfortably and dropped his gaze back to his glass, "Bloodforge."
Keranna clucked her tongue and reached over to relieve him of the wine he was too afraid to drink at lunch, "Ohh, I don't envy the meeting you'll have later. Would you like some constructive criticism?"
"…That would be helpful, ma'am," the fresh faced intelligence agent ducked his head a bit, ready to be chastised.
"Don't dwell on it. You're new, and learning. You found me. That's better than anyone else in your group has managed. Next time you're going to make contact with an agent discreetly, don't be timid. Trying to be sneaky in a public area will draw attention. Walking up to say hello to a friend at a park, or hit on a stranger at a bar? Every day occurrences," she shrugged lightly and poured the rest of her wine into the new, mostly full glass she'd commandeered. "What's your name, Agent?"
He seemed positively chuffed that she hadn't completely torn him down, "Runeveil, ma'am. Vere Runeveil."
"Good luck with the rest of your day then, Agent Runeveil."
She didn't bother to watch him leave and picked up her novel where she'd left off.
