Private Delivery With a Scowl!

She was late and Maeve looked the part.

Coiling smoke rose from an array of flasks that cooled at the edge of her work bench, waiting to be corked while Maevyth worked at distilling the last of her brews through her alembic, a rebellious curl sticking to her sweaty forehead, but her hands were too busy controlling valves and her dropper to care. She had deliveries to make before the beginning of the work week and she had taken on a heavier workload than she normally would. But there weren't many who would make dealings with the refugees outside the city, especially on their own coin. Yet who else but her would make sure there was lungwort elixir on deck when another bout of coughing swept the camps? Or enough balm of the ironleaf to treat every mysterious cut, bruise, and burn that appeared on their children that ran wild in search of whatever joy they could find in the close quarters of their makeshift shelters.

Maeve muttered a repeating incantation under her breath, trying to pace herself against her anxiety so she didn't mess up and have to start over— again.

Finally, a familiar tug in her mind pulled a golden thread from the shroud that she then fed into the flask. With intent focus, she added two more drops of blue essence from her pipette and the smoke turned a pleasant sage green and gave off a sweet smell that reminded her of spring, the dark elixir clearing to a faint pearl opalescence. Sighing with exaggerated relief, Maeve stood up from her stooped slouch with a groan, slipping her work goggles from her face and grimaced as she took in the chaotic disaster that was her workspace. After. She would clean up after.

The shroudstone powered clock that hung above her desk in her library alcove rang with a trio of crystal chimes. It was almost breakfast time.

"Shit! Shitshitshit." Late, very late. She should have been started on her delivery route before first light. "Xenovia!" Maeve yelled as she grabbed her potions bag, her customers would have to deal with their brews half-cooled. Where was her other boot? "Xeno! We're late! Let's go!" Finding her boots half tucked under her bed, she ignored the stoic dozing glare of her tabby slumbering on her duvet. "I will feed you when I get back, promise." A slow blink her only answer.

It wasn't until Maeve went to wrestle her gnarled curls into a functional ponytail that she realized she still had her work gloves on. Feeling completely fed up with herself; she threw them off with a huff and stood in the center of her shop, bags finally all packed at her feet. Her tail lashing as she tapped her foot, expression thunderous with impatience as she began counting down her bodyguard's arrival in her head before she truly had a tantrum.

@Xenovia

There was a storm brewing.

She could see it, off in the distance, growing closer with every minute that passed. Dark, foreboding, it promised a downpour to end all downpours. And we haven't even had breakfast yet. Sighing, Xenovia tied back the curtains through which she had been peering. Dressed in yesterday's breeches and little else, she gave the old man across the street quite the fright, among other things. 'Now, where's my armour?' Turning away, she surveyed the room -her room- with an eye accustomed to uncovering hidden treasures.

The wan daylight at her back cast a long shadow, and in those shadows metal gleamed, refracting the light of a lone candle as it burned ever onwards towards oblivion. Her battledress. Her weapons. The tools of her trade. Oh, how she longed to put them to use!

Binding her chest and throwing on a clean tunic, the Devahni made ready. She could hear Maevyth rushing around downstairs, cursing. Probably noticed the time. Huffing, an amused grin plastering her face, Xenovia made some last minute adjustments to her hair before grabbing up her raincape and heading for the stairs. Almost as an afterthought, she doubled back to Maeve's room to grab her coat, too.

So far as employer's went, she could be a right pain in the ass when things didn't go her way.

Ghosting downstairs, sword and belt in one hand, coat and cape in the other, she emerged to find Maevyth waiting for her, impatience writ clear in the way she scowled. 'Oh, don't give me that look!' Strolling over, the muscular Devahni smiled, held out the coat. 'Rain's coming,' she explained, belting up. 'You can thank me later.'

@Maevyth

"Oh." Her hand reached out almost hesitantly to take it from her guard; her snark stopped in its tracks.

Xeno had grabbed Maeve's favorite coat— the one with the interior that looked as if it was sewn from starlight thanks to a fair bit of interesting magic woven into it. Enchantments that catered to keeping its wearer warm. And pockets. So many clever pockets. It had cost her a pretty penny. But it was the first thing she had bought for herself with coin that she had earned from her shop. She slipped it on, and just like that, the last of her ire melted from her shoulders. Replacing her scowl with an apologetic smile, Maeve handed over the heaviest of her potion bags, hefting the last two satchel straps across her own chest, double checking that they weren't forgetting anything. Another warning chime from her clock had her bursting towards her front door. "I know, I know! For fuck's sake. Let's go before I rip it from the wall" She half-snarled under her breath.

Turning over the closed sign, Maeve locked the door behind them, her shop stoop now the only thing keeping the rain from dumping on them. Huffing deeply in an effort to clear her mind, she withdrew her itemized list for the week's deliveries in order of efficiency along the route she had planned. "Looks like we'll stop at Barton's bakery first. His wife is suffering those headaches again, this is the third time I've had to increase her dosage..." The Deva worried her bottom lip between her teeth, almost muttering that last bit to herself. Tucking her list back into her coat pocket, she pulled her wide hood up and over the peaks of her gold banded horns and trekked out with determined steps onto the cobblestone. Over her shoulder she called out to her friend, "C'mon! I'll even buy you those moon quiches you like so much. And mama needs a bracing cup of shitty bakery coffee."

@Xenovia

Xenovia knew better than to ask if she were doing something wrong. Still. 'Maybe it's time she saw the healers again. If your potions aren't working, perhaps it's a matter of finding the source, not treating the symptoms.' She was no sawbones. Helping people wasn't her business unless she was being paid to help. Like with the Serpent's Still. Like with Maevyth.

The promise of something to eat brought a smile to her face, and she nodded, happy to brave the rain if it led to food.

Shouldering the heavy pack, Xenovia adjusted her raincape's hood where it flared awkwardly around her horns. White-gold in the right light, today they looked pale and sickly. The overcast was doing her no favours. 'Lead on, then, mama.' Stepping out into the drizzle, the Deva glanced up and down the street. There was a rumble in the distance, thunderheads crashing, rolling into one another. The noise sent a jolt down her spine, made her skin tingle in anticipation. 'Best hurry!' Placing a guiding hand on Maeve's shoulder, Xenovia steered her in the right direction, her gear rattling as she walked in the smaller Devahni's shadow, like the faithful companion she claimed to be.

@Maevyth

Droplets sluiced off her hood as Maeve lowered it the moment they stepped into the warm air of the bakery, a chime herald their entry. The heavy air clinging to her bones and chasing away the dour weight of the weather.

A large orkin man turned to them from one of the great clay-baked ovens that heated the room, a filled hot pan in his hands, "Miss Maevyth! I was afear you'd been chased off by the rain!" His booming voice filled with delight as bright as the red tip of his nose.

Maeve laughed as she squeezed water from one edge of her satchel flap and began rummaging in it, "Oh Barton, it's going to take a helluva lot more than rain to stop me from getting a latte and a slice of that quiche I see on your tray. And see, I even came bearing gifts!" The sight of the corked pearlescent flask in her raised hand wilted the jovial mantle of Barton's shoulders, his expression strained with worry.

There was a beat filled with charged silence.

"Is Sisca... is she still in bed then?" She ventured in a voice laced with gentle concern.

"Aye, headache layed her up again and so I let her rest." A heavy sigh punctuated the tray he set on the dark wooden counter. "I won't lie and say I don't miss the mornings we'd spend together... rolling dough n' avoiding her scolding cause I didn't fold the butter right." Maeve tracked the hand he dropped to fiddle with the hem of a dishtowel that hung from his apron, a cursive letter S in red thread embroidered in the corner.

Chewing the inside of her cheek, she was unsure of the best way to comfort the orkin, it's not as if she would have been able to hug around his entire hulking frame.

She hesitated for but a moment more, flashing a look at Xeno before digging back in her satchel, the clinking of glass garnering Barton's curiosity.

"Here." She placed a second flask down on the counter with the first Maeve had grabbed, except this one was much smaller and gave off a swirling golden shimmer. "It won't fix what's happening, but it will help her feel more herself for a while. So, she can get back to scolding you properly." She offered a sad smile.

Barton seemed briefly overwhelmed, his big hand comically swallowing the small shape of the golden vial in his flour dusted fingers. His big eyes misty before clearing his throat with an embarrassed cough. "Right, well. That's mighty kind of ye, Miss Maevyth." He turned away from them and began cutting into the freshly baked moon quiche. "Now let me get you fixed up with some breakfast before you go on yer way. Hate to send you back out there empty-handed."

And it wasn't until after they left, when Barton was feeding the potions to his wife, that he realized the apothecary never collected payment from him.

@Xenovia

Standing by the door, Xenovia watched the deal unfold. She did not say anything; there was no need to. Maevyth paid her for protection, and, when she couldn't be bothered to do it herself, to lug the heavier packages across town. Simple tasks for a simple woman. The moon quiches were just an added bonus, a... reward for her loyalty. Or is it my integrity? She wondered, peering through the rain-smeared windows at the street outside. Everyone who was anyone knew of the tales surrounding her last live-in guard, a man going by the name of... of...

Shit, what was his name again?

Before long, they were back outside, hoods drawn, shoulders hunched as they marched onwards towards the next client on the list. Protecting her still-warm quiche, Xenovia did not bring up the fact that Maevyth had "forgotten" to accept payment. It wasn't her place to question, only to roll with it. 'How's the coffee?' Taking a bite of her breakfast, she glanced sidelong at the alchemist, her eyes burning beneath her hood. 'Shitty as always?' Smiling, she looked up in time to see lightning strike the conductors atop King's Spire, the structure half-hidden behind a curtain of low-hanging cloud. 'It was a kind thing you did back there.' Kind, yes, and stupid.

@Maevyth

Maeve curled a grin against the lip of her cup. "Mhm! Just the way I like it." But her quip was chased away by the meddling perceptive nature of her guard. Her eyes sliding away self-consciously, clearing her throat of the startled cough, suddenly thankful for the soft sheet of rain that obscured Xenovia's full scrutiny.

"Yes, well..." She tucked her cloak closer at the throat, embarrassed for how plainly her bleeding heart stitched red on her sleeve, "His wife has always been kind to us in turn. I see no reason to make him pay when times are as hard as they are."

They trekked in silence for a few blocks, ducking into sallow alleyways and under drenched eaves, the sagging buildings closing in until it felt like the tops would kiss and hold the other up. Their cloaks made them easy to spot amongst the ragabond troupe of people that dotted the pot-holed cobblestone, many watching them with starved glints, seeing the well-make of their wool and eager to sell flesh and goods alike. A taste of the privilege they coveted.

Maeve sidled closer to Xenovia's side, and she held her breath until they rounded the final corner, the faded painted sign of the Pink Pony greeting them. Shroudcrystals casting purple light in the gloomy street. They had arrived at the brothel.

@Xenovia

Maevyth’s steps slowed as they neared the Pink Pony, the bitter taste of her now lukewarm coffee settling in her mouth. She lifted the cup one last time and tipped the remainder down into the gutter, the cold rain washing away the last of the bitter dregs.

She never enjoyed coming here. Or any brothel in Crown’s Hold really. They were places of deep unease for her—too many memories. But the house mistresses paid well for her discretion and skill. Creams for rashes, soothing tonics for sore throats, poultices for bruises earned consensually or otherwise—and of course, the potions to keep unwanted babes from their breasts. It was work, but necessary nonetheless.

Xenovia’s voice broke through her thoughts as she went to open the heavy door and stepped inside the brothel’s foyer. “Davin? That racist elf? You know he’s an absolute cheat at cards, right? If he’s here, I’d be careful about playing him if you don’t want to walk with me while I make my rounds.”

The door then opened to a tired opulence. This brothel had seen richer days and richer fabrics, but an experienced madame knew how to hide the frayed curtains and the faded portraits, how to cast the candlelight so every woman who smiled at a guest seemed like it had been crafted just for them, their every pleasure ready for them, for only the price of a few coins.

A girl with a crooked nose greeted them almost immediately, the practiced pout of her trade falling away into a genuine smile upon seeing who darkened their doorway. “Well, if it isn’t the Still’s two best girls. Come in, come in! Let us take your cloaks.” Her voice was warm, and a handful of other women, lounging idly about as they waited for clients, clamored forward to offer their greetings to old friends.

@Xenovia