If Rosanna Pansino was cast in Game of Thrones / House of the Dragon / an ASOIAF spin-off, where should their character hail from? Imagine you are the casting director for HBO.
The Wall & Beyond the Wall
The North
The Riverlands
The Vale
The Crownlands (King’s Landing) & The Westerlands
The Stormlands & Dragonstone
The Reach & Oldtown
Dorne
The Iron Islands
Essos: The Free Cities
Essos: Slaver’s Bay & the Outer East (Asshai, Yi Ti, Qarth, etc)
I have a unique answer to this
Voting ended onNov 16, 2025
If you need a guide for making a choice (read below):
1. The Wall & Beyond the Wall – A massive wall of ice stretches across the northern border of the continent. It is defended by the Night’s Watch, a sworn brotherhood made up of volunteers and criminals who give up their former lives to serve for life. Their jobs include guarding the Wall, scouting in the wilderness, and maintaining the fortresses along it. Beyond the Wall lies frozen wilderness of forests, tundra, and mountains. There, the Free Folk (often called wildlings) live in clans without lords or kings, surviving through hunting, raiding, or trading. Giants and other strange creatures also live in the far north.
Key Characters: Jon Snow, Samwell Tarly, Mance Rayder, Tormund Giantsbane.
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2. The North – The largest and coldest region of Westeros, ruled from Winterfell, a great stone castle in the center of the North. This is the land of the Stark family, one of the most important noble houses. The North is full of forests, tundra, and long stretches of snowy wilderness. It is sparsely populated, with mountain clans, coastal fishing villages, and marsh-dwelling families. People here are known for being serious, loyal, and bound by old traditions.
3. The Riverlands – A fertile region of rivers, farmland, and castles located at the center of Westeros, ruled from Riverrun by House Tully. Because of its central location, invading armies almost always march through here, leaving the countryside exposed to destruction. The Riverlands are dotted with smaller castles, villages, and farms, as well as inns and mills that rely on the rivers.
Key Characters: Catelyn Stark (born Tully), Brynden “Blackfish” Tully, Walder Frey, Edmure Tully.
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4. The Vale – A mountainous, wealthy land ruled from the Eyrie, a castle perched high in the mountains and considered almost impossible to capture. The Vale has fertile valleys, but its people are largely cut off from the rest of the continent by its steep mountain passes. Many of its nobles are proud of their ancient bloodlines. The Vale is also home to mountain clans, small groups of raiders who live outside noble control in the high passes.
Key Characters: Lysa Arryn, Robin Arryn, Petyr “Littlefinger” Baelish.
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5. The Crownlands (King’s Landing) & The Westerlands – King’s Landing is the capital of Westeros, the largest city in the realm, and the seat of the Iron Throne, where the king rules. It is crowded with nobles, merchants, guards, commoners, and beggars. The city is known for its mix of wealth and poverty, political intrigue, and frequent unrest. To the west lie the Westerlands, ruled from the fortress of Casterly Rock by House Lannister, the richest family in the realm. Their wealth comes from gold mines, and they use it to fund armies and influence politics in King’s Landing.
6. The Stormlands & Dragonstone – The Stormlands are coastal lands constantly battered by violent storms, ruled from Storm’s End, a huge fortress famous for its strong walls. The people here are tough and battle-hardened. Just offshore lies Dragonstone, a volcanic island with a black-stone castle carved into the shapes of dragons. Dragonstone was once the seat of House Targaryen, the former royal family who conquered Westeros with dragons centuries ago.
7. The Reach and Oldtown – A rich and heavily populated region ruled from Highgarden by House Tyrell. It is known as the “breadbasket” of Westeros because its fertile lands and vineyards produce much of the realm’s food and wine. The Reach is also famous for its knights, who value pageantry and tournaments. Oldtown, one of the oldest and largest cities in Westeros, is a major port and home to the Citadel. The Citadel is a school and headquarters where maesters—educated men who serve as healers, teachers, and advisors to noble families—are trained.
8. Dorne – The southernmost region of Westeros, ruled from Sunspear by House Martell. It is a hot, arid land of deserts, mountains, and coasts along the Summer Sea. Its culture and laws are different from the rest of the realm, partly due to its Rhoynish ancestry (a people who migrated from a distant river kingdom). In Dorne, women can inherit titles the same as men, and attitudes about sexuality and marriage are more relaxed compared to the rest of Westeros.
9. The Iron Islands – A group of rocky islands off the western coast, ruled from Pyke by House Greyjoy. Farming is poor here, so the islanders survive mostly through fishing and raiding the mainland. Their society is built around seafaring and a religion dedicated to the Drowned God, which teaches that “what is dead may never die.” This faith emphasizes drowning as a ritual and glorifies taking wealth by force rather than working the land.
Key Characters: Balon Greyjoy, Theon Greyjoy, Asha/Yara Greyjoy, Euron Greyjoy.
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10. Essos: The Free Cities – Across the Narrow Sea lies Essos, a vast continent of independent city-states. Each city has its own culture: Braavos is known for trade, banking, and a secret guild of assassins called the Faceless Men; Pentos is ruled by wealthy merchant princes; Volantis is an ancient port with large temples and a reliance on slavery. The Free Cities are filled with mercenaries, sailors, traders, and exiles from Westeros.
Key Characters: Arya Stark (in Braavos), Tyrion Lannister (in exile), Jorah Mormont, Illyrio Mopatis.
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11. Essos: Slaver’s Bay & the Outer East – Farther east along Essos lies Slaver’s Bay, home to the cities of Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen. These cities are built on slavery, with ruling families owning large numbers of slaves. Astapor is also known for training the Unsullied, soldiers who are taken as boys and brutally trained into an elite army. Beyond Slaver’s Bay are the grassy plains of the Dothraki Sea, where the nomadic Dothraki horse-lords live in mobile camps, raiding and trading across the land. Even farther east lies Qarth, a wealthy trading city, and Asshai, a mysterious port associated with dark magic and shadowy practices.
The cooking girly who never said an ill word about anyone becoming That Bitch (complementary), taking on the worst men on YouTube with sweetness and vengeance that makes Consumer Reports want that energy from you, then turning your father wanting to be smoked as a joint after his passing into a 'fuck I'm hot' photoshoot is such queen shit.
(Both of the characters in this story belong to me. You can find more information about Azalea here. Caliban and Murdock will only be mentioned, but my boys still deserve credit. So, for more information about Caliban, go here. For my personal headcanons on Murdock, who belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, go here. And if you’d like to learn more about the mob these guys all work for, go here.)
(Trigger Warnings: talk of death/dying, poisonous plants, toxic chemicals, talk of pain/sickness, implied murder, food, talk of eating/drinking, descriptions of illegal business, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)
A soft, satisfying crack broke the silence in Azalea’s kitchen. The egg in her hand dripped with yolk and albumen—the same way a skull might drip with brains and blood.
After tossing the broken shell into the garbage can, she spent the next moment or two incorporating the yolk into a concoction of butter, sugars and 🅥🅐🅝🅘🅛🅛🅐 🅔🅧🅣🅡🅐🅒🅣. She repeated this process with a second egg, as well as a blend of flour, baking soda and salt. Once that was done, she exchanged her hand-mixer for a silicone spatula, which she used to fold in a bag’s worth of chocolate chips.
Just like that, Azalea had a bowl full of fresh, ready-for-the-oven cookie dough on her hands.
However, she wasn’t about to bake it. She left the mixing bowl on the counter before heading to the sink to wash the equipment she’d used.
A few special ingredients had to be added before this batch of cookies could be completed. Obviously, Azalea could’ve just taken care of this herself. It wasn’t like there was anything to stop her. . .
As she set her tools on the drying rack, the long, loud, pre-recorded chime of her doorbell suddenly rang throughout the house. Azalea startled (whether or not this could indicate the cleanliness of her conscience was up for debate), but was still quick to compose herself.
She walked through the living room and took a moment to peer at her reflection on the TV’s black screen. After checking her white button-down for stains and making some adjustments to her cherry-red headband, Azalea moved to the front foyer and pulled the door open. She discovered Murdock’s tagalong on her front porch. They flinched, probably having been rocking back and forth on their heels during their wait.
“Oh, hey!” The Newcomer blurted, offering a small hand-wave as their gray eyes met her brown ones. “You, uh—you must be Azalea, right?”
Azalea hummed in affirmation. “Just call me Aza if you’d like.”
She held out a hand, which The Newcomer was quick to grasp. She took a few seconds to look them up and down as they shook. The Newcomer stood at an average height: much taller than her, about the same as Caliban and Murdock.
Aside from that, their characteristics were. . .vague. Vague enough to make the scarlet leather gloves on their hands stand out even more than they already did. A backpack was slung over their shoulder, boasting a pattern that resembled a hodge-podge of newspapers.
“Nice to meet you,” they said with a polite smile. “Thanks for taking the time today.”
“Likewise! It’s no problem at all,” Azalea answered as she stepped aside. “C’mon in.”
The Newcomer stepped forward, their eyes wandering about the decor around them as their host closed the front door. They then padded after her as she returned to the kitchen.
Azalea hovered in the space between her oven and the bar, gesturing towards the stools on the other side of said bar. “I heard you met my brother for a demonstration a little while ago. Did he treat you well?”
As they set their backpack down and took a seat, The Newcomer’s eyes widened. The smile remained on their face, though it grew ever-so-slightly nervous.
“Yeah,” they eventually answered. “Cal was super welcoming. His methods were interesting to study.”
“That’s nice to hear. He said you were a great help.” Azalea could tell they were being genuine, but she supposed she couldn’t really blame their anxiety. Sure, they were new to the whole being-a-contract-killer-and-doing-other-types-of-illegal-stuff-professionally racket, but interacting with a cannibal was in a whole other ballpark.
Gratitude manifested in The Newcomer’s eyes, slowly but surely overtaking the wariness. It was a refreshing thing to see.
“Now, to business,” Azalea pronounced. She rested her hands on the bar, lightly drumming her nails on the marble finish. “What do you know about toxic stuff?”
“I, uh. . .well. . .” The Newcomer chewed their lip in thought.
Azalea stayed quiet, raising her eyebrows, showing patience and encouragement.
“Oh! I know almonds can mask the taste of cyanide,” The Newcomer eventually answered. “And arsenic is basically untraceable, since its key elements are vital to the diets of most mammals.” They paused, awkwardly glancing around the room. “That’s about it, I guess.”
“Hey, that’s still a decent start,” Azalea reassured. “You already know more than I’d expected.”
“Yeah, sorry. I’ve just never really worked with poison before,” The Newcomer said with wide, uncertain-yet-curious eyes. They obviously weren’t afraid of the concept; just a bit shy about it. Their tone was somewhat similar to that of a schoolkid introducing themself to their new class.
(Which, in a strange way, they kind of were. If you squinted, at least.)
“A lot of people haven’t. In fact, a lot of people probably shouldn’t, because that’s how news stories about blue-ringed octopi being handled without gloves happen.”
The Newcomer let out a light chuckle. “And that makes the professionals look bad, huh?”
“Exactly.” Azalea felt something grim etch its way into her smile. “And that’s why you’re here. Even if you don’t end up having poison as your signature, it’ll still be good for you to know your way around it. Just in case.”
Azalea stepped away from the bar, beginning to pace the kitchen floor as she continued. “Different materials have to be handled in different ways. For example: if you wanted to use venom from a snake or a spider, you’d have to inject it into your target in order to get actual results.”
“Wait, really?” The Newcomer asked. “Venom wouldn’t work on a target if it was swallowed?”
“You’d think that it would. When I first started out, I thought so, too. But it all comes back to the difference between poison and venom. Which is. . ?” Azalea gestured toward The Newcomer, encouraging them to speak.
“If it bites you and you die, it’s venomous. If you bite it and you die, it’s poisonous,” The Newcomer stated, as though they were practicing with grammar flashcards.
Azalea nodded. “Very good. Venom is harmful when it gets into your veins. And the acids in your stomach are actually strong enough to break down venom before it’s absorbed into your bloodstream. You’d probably still get sick, but that’d be it.”
“. . .Oh! Okay, that makes sense.” The Newcomer replied, eyes thoughtful. They considered this for a good few seconds before inquiring, “What if the target had an ulcer? Would that make venom kill them if they ate it?”
“Yeah, it would!” Azalea laughed. “And you said you don’t have much experience with this stuff!”
The Newcomer offered a timid smile, shrugging.
“But when you’re taking on a job, you can’t really depend on something like an ulcer,” Azalea quickly added. “We may need to know as much about our targets as possible, but sometimes, our clients can only provide so much information. And even when we do our own research, we still have limits to deal with.”
The Newcomer nodded. “Right, right.”
“Getting back on track. Injecting venom can certainly be effective, but it doesn’t offer much in the discreet department.”
“And this family relies on things being handled quietly and carefully,” The Newcomer said with an air of understanding. “When in doubt, hide in plain sight.”
Azalea hummed. “And if poisoning a meal doesn’t count as camouflage, then I’m not sure what does.”
She quickly strolled over to the laundry room. On the cabinet above her washing machine, a vaguely owl-shaped watering can looked out over everything below. It was covered in pieces of colored metal, which gave the impression of spiky feathers. The very top of the can boasted a piece of coppery metal that had been cut into an upside-down, slightly-curved triangle to give the owl a pair of those ear-horn-things and a beak. The can’s spout was hidden behind said beak, which was flanked by a pair of wide yellow eyes with huge pupils.
Caliban had given this to Azalea for Christmas last year, and ever since then, it’d been one of her favorite household items. Azalea unfolded an elaborate mahogany stepstool beside the washing machine in order to reach the owl-can, then carried it over to the kitchen sink and held it under the faucet.
“Would it be okay if I took pictures throughout the process?” The Newcomer asked from behind her.
Though Azalea didn’t flinch, she became tense on instinct as she turned the water off. She then turned to face The Newcomer, her dark brown eyes drilling into their dull gray ones, looking for any trace of dishonesty or ulterior motives.
The Newcomer blinked, and another type of nervousness appeared in their expression.
They were quick to add, “Ah, if it’s a no, then I won’t push it. I just thought this could be some good material for my notes.”
“‘Notes?’” Azalea echoed. “What kind of notes?”
The Newcomer unzipped one of the compartments in their backpack, quickly fishing out a small roll of tape, an Instax camera, a mechanical pencil. . .and a journal. They offered the book to Azalea, who carefully took it and examined it.
The front cover was grayish-black card stock, adorned by image of a jumping spider which seemed to have been hand-embroidered with vivid purple threads. When she opened it up, she discovered lines of neat penmanship, as well as some sketches here and a few small photographs there. The first several pages were full, but there were still at least a hundred more pages that remained blank.
“I know my phone and laptop are safe, but Murdock said it’s good to keep an extra log,” The Newcomer mentioned. “Since I’m still just making my way here.”
Azalea pursed her lips in thought. That did sound like the kind of advice Murdock would give.
One part of her wanted to be suspicious; like The Newcomer had just said, any electronics belonging to Pentas representatives were in no danger of being tapped or recorded.
The same couldn’t exactly be said for something more physical, like this notebook. Especially if said notebook wound up being lost. . .or being turned over to an outside party. . .
However, another part of her remembered that not just anyone could join The Pentas Family. Underground business was never for the faint of heart—if you really wanted to make a name for yourself, then you had to earn it. You had to give up blood, sweat, and tears (and if you were to end up doing something traitorous, then even more of those bodily fluids would be taken from you. Violently). So, of course, The Boss was always vigilant when it came to bringing in new people.
Though she’d only known The Newcomer for a short time, Azalea could already tell that they were a good addition. They were just getting their feet wet, but they clearly had that cunning, unconventional and resourceful nature that The Boss invested in.
“As long as you don’t aim the camera flash at my eyes, I’ve got no problem with photography,” Azalea finally stated as she gave The Newcomer’s journal back to them. “Just make sure you keep close track of this book.”
“Of course,” The Newcomer said, nodding solemnly.
Azalea took a few more seconds to peer at them before turning on her heel to lead them through the laundry room, out the backdoor, and into her backyard.
The weather was lovely today. Birds were singing, clouds were slowly chasing one another across the sky. Sunlight glinted off the panes of Azalea’s greenhouse, making it almost appear to be sparkling.
The structure’s looks were truly just as deceiving as the things that it was currently protecting.
Azalea paused before the glass door, reaching into one of her pockets and fishing out a small bronze key. Although it didn’t have much of an antique appearance, its bow had been crafted to resemble one half of a pomegranate; the seeds packed inside were visible. If a mold hadn’t been used to make it, then the designing process must’ve been painstaking.
She slipped the pomegranate key’s biting cuts into the greenhouse’s doorknob, then turned it to the left. Once she heard a sharp, confirming click, Azalea held the door open, allowing The Newcomer to step inside.
They gaped in wonder, slowly turning in a circle to take in the beautiful controlled chaos. She chuckled at the sight of a killer-in-training looking like a kid in a candy store. As she worked with these plants on a regular basis, she’d gotten adjusted to the veritable explosion of color in here.
White baneberries resembled tiny eyeballs, and the red branches they sprouted from added to an eeriness factor. . .Hydrangeas gave off soft, soothing vibes; the way their blooms clustered together could almost remind one of popcorn balls. . . Angel’s trumpets were colored similarly to pale peaches. . .Larkspurs came in a lovely mixture of blue and purple. . .Bleeding hearts were vividly pink and hung from sinuous, gently-curling tendrils. . .
And that was just scratching the surface of Azalea’s collection.
The air in here was a bit more humid than the air outside, which seemed to make the various scents wafting off of the flora even stronger. Two of the four walls were adorned by wooden shelving, which in turn supported a few dozen flower pots that came in a plethora of shapes, sizes and colors (more past gifts from Caliban. He really knew how to make a horticulturist happy).
Some were kept in shade under suspended veils, and others nearly seemed to glow in the sunlight. Dew droplets clung to leaves here and there. A few baskets hung from the ceiling, almost identical to the decorations on lamp posts lining the streets downtown.
Azalea led The Newcomer over to a wide folding table at the head of everything. She set the owl-can down, then rummaged through the boxes stowed beneath said table, dragging out some basic gardening tools, a bunch of small plastic bowls, and a bag of soil. The Newcomer placed their journal and camera on one corner of the table, trying to take up as little space as possible.
“We’re gonna kill two birds with one stone.” Azalea donned some clean leather gloves. “I’ve got a job coming up this weekend, and today’s repotting day for some of the plants. So, while I’m taking care of them, you’re gonna help extract some of their poison. Sound good?”
The Newcomer nodded briskly, their eyes excited and unhinged. “Sounds great.”
Azalea grinned. “Let’s get to work, then.”
She stepped away from the table and surveyed the shelves, wondering which plant would be best to start with. She wound up choosing one specimen that was adorned by little rows of white, bell-shaped flowers dangling from thin stems. They looked like something a cartoon pixie might wear as a hat. Delicate. Innocent.
Azalea lifted its pot—which looked like a kodama sitting cross-legged—off the shelf and set it down on the table. “You know what these are?”
The Newcomer blinked at her, then cautiously leaned forward to get a closer look. Their features softened. The plant practically smelled the way it looked: sweet and fragile.
“. . .Snowdrops?” They eventually guessed.
Azalea shook her head. “Nope.”
“Ladybells?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Cassiope?”
“Close,” Azalea said, impressed, “but no. Give up?”
“Yeah,” The Newcomer admitted. Their tone was partially defeated, but still curious. “What are they?”
Azalea took one of the stems into her hand and held it away from the rest. “Lilies-of-the-valley,” she announced.
The Newcomer grabbed their Instax, kneeling in order to get a closeup on the flowers. Azalea looked the other way as they focused the lens.
Whrrrrrrrrr. . .SKRT-CLK!
A quick, sharp, bright light flashed at the press of a button. The camera softly hummed as The Newcomer stood up straight. A few seconds passed before a small photograph popped up through a slit on the camera’s side. The Newcomer pulled it out by one corner and carefully shook it up and down. The black rectangle in the center gradually filled with color.
Azalea offered a thumbs-up, which caused The Newcomer to beam as they taped the picture to a blank page in their journal.
As they wrote down and underlined the specimen’s name, Azalea wrapped one hand around the stems to bring them all together. She used her other hand to dig into the soil, gently lifting the lilies out and laying them down on the table. She separated two plants from the rest, pushing them and a pair of gardening scissors towards The Newcomer. “Just cut off the blossoms and put them in one of these bowls.”
The Newcomer took the tool into their hands, nodding enthusiastically.
While they went to work, Azalea took the kodama-pot outside and upended it over her compost mound, getting rid of the old, dry dirt. After that, she hurried back into the greenhouse and gathered the lilies up. She held them in the center of the kodama-pot, carefully pouring some fresh soil around them.
Once they had enough support, she gave them some water and returned the kodama-pot to its place on the shelves. Then, she glanced at the table and realized that The Newcomer had completed their task; one bowl was filled with the bell-shaped flowers.
“Two leaves are enough to make a target severely ill,” Azalea said. “If you’re looking for more fatal results, then you’ll need to use five of the flowers. Its berries can work just as well, but they only sprout around fall.”
The Newcomer paused at this, quickly jotting down notes beside the photograph. “How long does it take? What does the poison do to a person?”
“The symptoms can occur anywhere from two to twenty-four hours. It typically starts off with headaches and dizziness. But then there’s nausea, vomiting, and chest pain. Near the end, the target will experience an altered mental status, an irregular heart rate. . . .and, eventually, cardiac arrest.”
“Holy shit,” The Newcomer murmured, eyes widening in shock.
“Holy shit indeed,” Azalea said as she took another unique planter from the shelves.
This one was a mottled gray color, sculpted in the likeness of a wolf’s raised head. Its clay jaws were wide open and hollow; seven stems lined with dark purple, helmet-shaped flowers seemed to have sprouted from deep within the beast’s throat.
As Azalea carried it over to the table, The Newcomer looked up from their journal.
Their face lit up with recognition as they proclaimed, “Hey, I’ve seen those before! Wolfsbane!” Their uncertainty was made of some stern stuff, because it took no time at all for them to question, “Or. . .is the name monkshood? I’ve heard both, but—”
“It goes by both of those names,” Azalea interjected, “so, you’re right either way. Eating it will make your mouth go numb, your skin turn clammy, and cause awful stomach pain. And after that, a target can expect labored breathing and an irregular heartbeat. Just a two-milligram dose can kill within four hours.”
The Newcomer’s hands were nearly a blur as they readied their Instax. Once again, Azalea had to brace herself for the flash, but it wasn’t long before she was removing more old soil and leaving three of the wolfsbane plants out for The Newcomer.
“Every part is dangerous, but the roots are where this poison is at its strongest,” she explained. “You can take off the flowers if you want, but you don’t have to.”
“Got it,” The Newcomer stated, taping their new photograph to a fresh page in their journal. . .
___
“I still can’t believe I never thought to do my own research on the poinsettia myth,” The Newcomer stated. They were currently holding a calcite mortar-and-pestle, using it to grind some freshly-dried wolfsbane roots into a fine powder.
Azalea shrugged as she reduced a mound of belladonna berries to paste with a stainless steel masher. “I mean, it’s partially true. Those things are toxic, just not deadly. Besides, I can’t really blame people for wanting to keep their pets safe, y’know?”
The Newcomer hummed, nodding, probably thinking about the beloved dog they’d mentioned to their host a little while ago.
About twenty minutes had passed since Azalea’s greenhouse had returned to being silent and empty (aside from all the greenery it sheltered). Azalea found herself back in her kitchen, The Newcomer still by her side, the two of them working on the fruits of the harvest.
Oleander petals became liquified inside a food processor, and the lilies-of-the-valley met a similar fate thanks to a blender. Foxglove blossoms were being dried out inside a microwave oven, having replaced the wolfsbane’s roots just a moment ago.
“And the hemlock trick!” The Newcomer pronounced, eyes widening as their previous frustration vanished. “A flower that forces you to smile when you die? It’s crazy how something like that can actually exist!”
“Yeah, well, muscle constriction is a heck of a thing,” Azalea replied. “Too bad hemlock’s so traceable. Can’t really be used unless you’re sending a specific message.”
It was honestly delightful to have seen just how inquisitive The Newcomer really was. If she’d met them in normal society, she probably would’ve mistaken them for someone who still had the luxury of innocence.
The poison-preparation-process took almost no time at all. After lining up her used equipment by the sink, Azalea produced a box of glass vials that, while appropriately labeled, were empty. One by one, she handed a certain vial to The Newcomer, who paced around the kitchen to fill it with the right substance.
And as they were taking care of the last vial, The Newcomer suddenly stopped short.
“Why’re those in here instead of your greenhouse?” They asked, pointing over to the living room. “Are they not poisonous like the rest?”
Azalea raised an eyebrow, following their gaze and quickly understanding.
Just behind Azalea’s sofa, yet another planter sat in one corner of the front windowsill; it was in the shape of a human skull. Its teeth resembled tarnished brass, and purple spirals had been painted in the darkness of its eyesockets.
A hole had been carved out of the skull’s crown, and a healthy shrub currently protruded through said hole like an erupting geyser. Several lovely blossoms stood out against dark green leaves. The petals were a rich pink hue, funnel-shaped with a slightly rippled appearance.
The space in her house was very nicely furnished, but these were the only flowers that had apparently been grown in here rather than outside.
“Oh, no! They can definitely be life-threatening,” Azalea eventually answered. “I guess they’re just very special to me.”
“How so, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“They contain grayanotoxins. So, their side effects range from blurred vision, vomiting, and low blood-pressure to convulsions, mild full-body paralysis, and even seizures.” Azalea strolled over to the skull-planter, reaching out to gently poke at the specimen’s petals. “All parts of it are deadly, although the leaves pack a serious wallop. But its real strength is in its nectar.”
“. . .Are you saying this plant’s honey can kill?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying!” Azalea declared.
The Newcomer blinked before starting to laugh. “I guess that must be the easiest stuff for you to use, huh?
“Yes and no. I have special connections to the local flower shop, which means I can send these off to contracted beekeepers,” Azalea explained. “But honey harvested from these flowers tends to be dark red, so, kinda-sorta-extremely identifiable.”
“Ah. I can see how that might throw a wrench into certain plans,” The Newcomer agreed, wandering closer. “But how does the honey work?”
“After bees finish ingesting the nectar and secrete it into their hive’s combs, the water inside the honey will evaporate. That’ll make the toxins even more concentrated.” Azalea paused, grinning wickedly. “When consumed in large amounts, it generally does the same damage I just told you about. In smaller doses, let’s just say that the consumer’s gonna be. . .seeing things for a while.”
The Newcomer gawked at this. If their expression didn’t qualify for morbid fascination, nothing would. “Really? You mean. . .like a hallucinogenic?”
“It isn’t called Mad Honey for nothing.”
“Wow,” The Newcomer breathed.
“I know, right? And can you guess what the best part is. . ?”
“What?” The Newcomer stared at the gorgeous pink blossoms, no doubt wondering how this risky treat they’d just learned about actually tasted.
“The honey’s actually legal to sell in the states!”
“Nuh-uh! You’re kidding!”
“No, I’m not!” Azalea chortled. “It’s prohibited in plenty of other nations, but here? It’s just expensive as all hell.”
The Newcomer still looked very much disbelieving, but the shock in their eyes soon morphed into something more thoughtful. They considered this information for a long few seconds.
They eventually remarked, “So. . .if you were to sell some Mad Honey to a target, as long as you played your cards right, their death would only be seen as a case of accidental overdose?”
Azalea jokingly clapped her hands, nodding and smirking. “I can see why Murdock decided to vouch for you.”
The Newcomer stayed quiet. They offered a small smile in response; it was hesitant at first, but an undeniable trace of madness could be seen.
Azalea reached over to clap them on the back, gently leading them back over to the kitchen. “Let’s get back to it. How’d you like to choose what I put in the cookie dough?”
Though The Newcomer seemed both excited and honored by the prospect, they suddenly stuttered, almost halting in their tracks.
That made Azalea give pause. “. . .Is something wrong?”
“No, no. Don’t worry,” The Newcomer blurted, shaking their head. “I just realized—I never got the name of those flowers.” They glanced over their shoulder at the skull-planter.
Azalea’s brief concern shifted back to unconventional happiness. “Oh, didn’t I say?” Her voice was coy, as she was well-aware that she hadn’t brought up the title at all. “They’re azaleas.”
