snippet of florrick romance i was working on awhile ago... i hope more florrick romance fic gets written lol i love her..
Florrick has never liked stalking about in a hooded cloak; Ulder would be amused by the melodramatic figure she cuts. She can almost imagine the dry little laugh in his voice. A poor consolation for him being here to tell her so.
The Blushing Mermaid is busier than a weeknight warrants. It's hard work to find anyone in this crush, let alone a single copper pin. Between a sodden throng of smugglers cheating each other at cards and an enterprising cutpurse who quickly turns the other way, a strong hand tugs her sleeve, and she finds herself sat beside a gnomish lady grinning up at her like a cat in cream.
"There you are," she says, as if they've met before. "Have a drink."
Upon her shoulder, beneath a ratty shawl and silvered steely curls, is the copper pin. She doesn't look like a Harper; she looks like someone's aunt. Florrick summons one of her less reserved smiles. The woman's grin only grows.
"You'll call me Lasairfhíona, then." She flags down a harried barmaid for two pints of dark and a plate of fried fish, which she pushes- of all things- in front of Florrick. "You're wasting away, my dear. Eat while it's hot."
She can't recall the last time she sat down and ate since escaping the Throne. The Harper watches over the rim of her glass with the same catlike grin.
She can't recall the last time someone bought her a meal, either. For the past fifty years she's taken meals in her study, excepting those few suppers with Ulder and his son. It's strange to have a plate and a pint in the Mermaid again. She almost expects Ulder to come through the crowd with his helmet under his arm.
Florrick wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. "Yes. To work."
Lasairfhíona pushes her untouched pint across the table, and smiles. "Have a drink first."
Florrick grimaces. The best of the Mermaid's brew- and the Mermaid has never been known for its beer- but it's good enough for a hungry stomach. She drinks slowly; all the better to take stock of the woman beside her. Careworn and travel-weary; her clothes are limned in a layer of whitish dust from the road that runs to Elturel, and there's steel beneath the changeable humor in her clever face. At her hip: a knife, a dingy little bag, a coil of rope. And a penny whistle on a bit of string.
"I half expected a Harper to harp," Florrick says, and nods at the whistle. Some of the exhaustion melts itself from the Harper's face. Her smile thaws.
"That was my brother's pleasure, rest his soul," she says, and takes up the whistle in two fond fingers. "This belongs to our younger brother. He's somewhere in the Duke's fist, and I'm of a mind to find him."
The Duke... but she means Gortash. And her brother might be one of those forced to build the Steel Watch, though what use would they have for a piper? Clever fingers, perhaps. It breaks Florrick's heart to even imagine. "Then he will be found."
"No need for oaths, my love," Lasairfhíona says mildly. "I see they've got a bit of syllabub. That'll put you to rights."
Florrick wouldn't trust the cream here as far as the cow threw it. "Don't tempt me. I've come on business."
"But I hate to leave a woman hungry. Did he lock you in the Throne?" She raises a hand for the barmaid.
Florrick does not want to remember the thralls marched past her cell in a flurry of firelight, hollow-eyed and silent. Her wrist is still scraped from pushing past broken wood to pick a stubborn lock.
"Yes," Lasairfhíona says to herself, without a trace of the catlike grin, and puts her hand away in her lap. "A tot of the Mermaid's finest, then."
"I must refuse you," Florrick says, though she finds herself reluctantly warmed, being fussed over by an unfussy woman.
"Another time," Lasairfhíona agrees. Her eyes twinkle in the lamplight- not quite gentian, not quite lavender. The little mole beneath her left eye looks painted on. A concession to vanity, or a kiss from Fate? Either way, she's far too charming for her own good.
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