wordpaynn:
It was a letter, delivered by a trusted Paynn Industries employee to a certain courier. It was in a distinctive hand, one that only those trusted by the owner of the company would see, much less see in a letter written on his own stationary.
But this was a special occasion, so Word would obviously make sure the one who received it knew it. The almost aged envelope and parchment were crisp, and the lines written on it even more so.
‘You might say I’m hard to shop for, but I find those who manage to find such as you have - not to mention give such to me - even harder to place for gifts.
However, as you should know, I am not one to leave such things without gratitude, but I have a feeling my favor is already well gifted upon you, so I do believe I have found another solution to my pondering.
Would you care for an evening out? I am partnered with Raven’s Night, a five-star restaurant, as well as there is also a film I have been looking for an opportune moment to see, and I would like to share the experience with you.
I would understand if you declined, but should you not, meet me at my citadel in two days, around suppertime. No fancy dress is needed, though I’m afraid news reporters will vie for photographs should we be spotted.
I must thank you for your gift, I appreciate it. It is rare to find such pure draconium as you have gifted me, and while I’m still finding a use for it, I’m sure something great will have come from it.
Best regards.’
No signature was given, but he felt that she would know whom it came from. Never mind the several tossed rough drafts of the letter, but those were quickly disposed of away from any prying eyes, though not in embarrassment, no, just to keep things tidy.
Now to see if she would accept his offer, the pacing was just to keep himself limber, he told himself.
If pressed, the most he would say until he got an answer would probably be “I haven’t done this in a long while."
Well, it wasn’t untrue, now was it?
The door chime went off, prompting the short skull-faced proprietor to poke his head into the salesfloor from the greenhouse corridor. Ignoring the heated breath that was steadily coming closer and becoming far more noticeable the longer he had his back turned, he stepped over the threshold and shut the door. The veve sigil carved into the front face of the barrier glowed briefly and, although the door itself was not slammed shut in any way, the noises of things being toppled and thrown to the floor could be heard all the way back to the greenhouse.
Despite the look of obvious confused apprehension on the newcomer’s face what replaced a cool confident air to such developments, Death took the reaction in stride. It just meant he wouldn’t be able to access the greenhouse for a small while, for the duration of the ghost’s temper tantrum at being thwarted in its attempts to escape. Iishta had raised her head from the floor at the intrusion of both the potential patron and the fiery spirit, Minrrvah chirping in her sleep from atop the Psi’s head. There was amusement glittering in those peridot-green eyes at the sight of what he recognized as one of Word’s company employees carefully skirting around the rumbling dragon in the middle of the floor and continuing to keep a wary eye on the muffled noise from behind the greenhouse door.
“Can I ‘elp you?” he asked, slight bemusement in the undertone of the heavily-accented Caribbean voice. Of course, he couldn’t hide his cold reception; he didn’t exactly have a stable relationship with Paynn Industries to warrant him feeling pleased about someone wearing the company colors walking through his door. Still, business was business, and he would try to be civil.
An envelope was produced quickly at the question, presented to him. “I have something for ... War?”
The confusion that spilled out the impromptu courier’s mouth wasn’t so much what caused the pharmacist’s eyes to sparkle, as it was that he was being handed an envelope. “She ain’t in at th’moment, but.” He reached forward to pluck the envelope from the other’s extended hand, looking at the addressing on the front to insure that was indeed who it was sent to. “I’ll make sure she gets it.”
A loud crashing sounded down in the greenhouse at that moment, and while the shop proprietor wasn’t too nonplussed about it and handled it with little more than an exasperated sigh, it had a visible effect on the poor kid who had been deemed delivery boy. It didn’t help when sizzling steps were heard from the corridor beyond the greenhouse door and a loud slam! sounded against it, rattling the wooden barrier and causing the veve on the face to blaze with light, stronger than before.
With a muttered thanks and a hurried attempt to avoid the dragon in the middle of the floor, the frazzled courier exited the premises through the front doors again. Death watched with a feigned amusement before looking toward Iishta, still curled on the floor and rumbling with twitching tail.
“Woulda t’ought ‘e saw a ghost, wi?” There was a hint of malicious taunting in there. “Or rat’er, heard one...”
Iishta merely shook her head in response, forgetting the little serpent dragon resting on her head until the small beast was sent squealing into an indignant knot in one corner of the room. Minrrvah untangled herself from herself and, looking rather irked at her undignified dismount, slithered forward to issue a tiny hiss at the larger Psi dragon. Iishta took it like a mother being scolded by her unruly child and opted to ignore it, shaking her head again before laying it across her front feet.
It wasn’t long before Minrrvah quieted enough to resume her perch on the dragon’s head and the both of them continued snoozing, despite Death’s low-volume outburst of, “Who even sends letters anymore...”
Still, he placed the parcel on the sales counter, out of the view of all but him, and continued about his day in the upper main shop. With the greenhouse currently off-limits, it was all he could do. It wasn’t until he closed up the shop that War finally returned home, exhausted as she had been these past several days now. The door chimes tinkled out her return, prompting the shaman to look up at her briefly in silent greeting.
“Y’gotta letter.” he told her, causing the taller courier to stop briefly before looking over her shoulder at him.
“I haf a vat?”she asked, eyebrow quirking upwards to match the incredulous tone of her voice at it. “I t’ink I misheard zat.”
Death shook his head. “Non. Y’didn’t.”
There was a brief moment of tired contemplation before she finally blurted out, “Who actually sends a letter in zis city.”
The shaman had turned about to grab the envelope off the counter, handing it to her with noted pointing to the emblem in the top left corner of the envelope. “If I’d to guess, I’d say it’s t’is guy.”
There was a moment of stunned silence as she processed the correlation between the existence of the letter and the little sigil in the upper corner. Her hand was deft to snatch it from her shorter companion’s grip, inspecting it carefully as though afraid it might explode or some other some such adverse happenstance.
“I doubt it’s poisoned.” Death taunted at her apprehension. “’E’s still got use fo’ you.”
Her lips pursed at the teasing, abyssal gaze landing on him briefly. “It’s just ... unusual, is all.” she stated, haughtily. “Usually, I come home to a vid message, not somet’ing written.”
Not that she was complaining; a change in the monotony of the technological age of the city was welcome. She turned to head up the stairs to her designated room in the apartment above the apothecary, offering her companion an assured smile. “Danke. I’ll see you in ze morning.”
Death gave a wave in response, shaking his head as he continued his evening routine, closing out the day’s sales and eventually moving on to properly exercising Iishta for the night. A click from up the stairs signified that the elder had made it safely to her room, leaving the night to continue on as normal.
Sort of. It wasn’t every day that a hand-written letter came to anyone in the building. The last time she had seen one was back in the compound, before they had been forced to flee it. But the compound was small, and so letter-postage wasn’t as unusual. Normally, it was packages that were still physical in big cities like this, and so her job was still extremely relevant.
Opening the envelope carefully, she relished the feeling of the paper, the sound of it, and the mixing smell of the finely-aged fibers and the residual smell of the author. It made her feel giddy, like she was a young teen again. It took a bit to bring that feeling back to her, especially after the week she had experienced prior.
The fatigue was gone the moment she sat down to read the contents. Every line was committed to memory, the way his handwriting seemed to reflect his speech pattern emulated his voice into her mental reading of it. Thinking back on it, it sounded almost obsessive. Perhaps she should get that looked at. But for not seeing him much passed professional work and the rush that she had been put through, to hear that she still remembered what he sounded like was a comfort.
After rereading through it several times, she had a thought. “So. You vant to play letters, hm?” she trilled to herself under her breath, a sly smirk crossing her face at the thought. “Sounds like fun.”
Looked like she and Derryus were going to make one more run tonight...