Helo

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Lord Leo Smithwood

Time: Evening
Location: Masquerade Ball: Damien Estate
Interactions: Charlotte @princess and definitely not Kazu ??? @samreaper
Daily Misfortune: An annoyingly high-pitched voice and random fits of laughter.
Predictable Costume: Leo the Lion

---

From beneath the golden visage of the lion mask, a pair of human eyes brightened at the sound of a familiar voice. “When walking into a lion’s den, dress accordingly.” A voice that was most unbecoming of a lion mused from beneath the mask.

“Charlotte,” Leo dropped into a graceful bow, as if in the presence of true royalty and not simply an equal dressed as fae royalty. “Or should I say Your Grace, I appear to be in the presence of a fairy queen?” He said it like a question but the wings were enough of a clue for the amateur detective. The unnatural pitch of his voice, a constant source of agitation throughout the day, caused him to pause and clear his throat despite knowing it cured nothing. “I also seem to have picked up an odd cold, maybe an allergy to Sorian’s climate.” He added with a shrug. It was nothing. It would be an awkward and somewhat humorous story in no time. Leo just had to keep reminding himself of that.

Before he could add anything else a servant approached and had the nerve to make an attempt to exchange pleasantries. The compliment toward his slippers was met with an obscured raise of an eyebrow. If a servant approved of his slippers, they were the wrong choice for tonight. Shit, should’ve tried to squeeze in a shopping trip. Leo mentally kicked himself for the mistake. He said nothing to the servant but took one of the offered glasses of bubbly wine.

“Offly chatty servant.” Leo noted once the man had gone. “Dreadful excuse for a mustache too. Here I thought it was only the palace that scrapped up servants from the bottom of the barrel.” He whispered it with a slight chuckle. “Ah, and look, now Count Hendrix is chatting up the servant.” There was obvious disapproval in his tone, mismatched with the cartoonishly squeaky voice.

His eyes moved to Count Damien as he entered the masquerade. “Speaking of mystery, I caught some strange observations at today’s tea party.” Leo, intended to pause, a comment on the ridiculous glasses Hendrix had taken to wearing caught in his throat, and instead the dreadful uncontrollable giggle fit manifested itself once again. The uproarious fit of laughter from a lion-masked guest quickly followed Count Damien’s entrance.

Avalia

Time: Morning’s are for rescuing Malachi!
Location: River Port; Liar of the Spiders
Interactions: Malachi@princess, Jun@JJ Doe, Kenia@Tae
Equipment: A halberd, (always with him) hunting knife, and half-plate armor (left in the room).

---

A flash of light burned his eyes. The scent of fresh blood wafted forward from the direction of the spider. Good, good, kill the spider. The two elves had this and they would make sure Jun and the child survived. That was what mattered. Malachi was shouting at him with disappointment; Zion had let the elven leader down. He tried to shout back but his apology came out as panicked snarls. More light flashed, it was too bright to see around him. Zion had to move, move or die; he had to get up and away from the spider. He tried, only to stumble back to the ground.

His arm didn’t work. It only hurt. Chew it off. Chew it off. Teeth gnashed at the air as the feral instincts fought to take over. Zion struggled to keep reminding himself not to bite at his arm, not to get the venom near his mouth.

The spider’s dying shrieks brought only a moment of satisfaction before Zion found himself jerked upwards. His useless arm dangled beneath him, the other arm flailed wildly, claws extended, as he tried to slash away at the webbing of the second spider. In his movements, he caught sight of the many-eyed monster tucked away in the forest’s canopy. Zion let loose a roar that transformed every bit of agony into fury. If the spider wished to make a meal of the lion, he would ensure the spider was biting off more than it could chew.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Lord Leo Smithwood

Time: Morning to Early Afternoon
Location: Guesthouse to Count Calbert's house/ballroom
Interactions: Here goes Leo with the shoes again...
Daily Misfortune: An annoyingly high-pitched voice and random fits of laughter.
Predictable Costume: Leo the Lion

---

A sharp intake of breath gave way to a long, exasperated sigh. Although Leo’s ruined shoes had, technically, been replaced with new shoes, none of them could be described as desirable. Much like a wine glass filled with nothing but a sip, Riona had done what was asked and yet, it would have been less irritating if she’d simply done nothing at all. Instead of exact replacements, or as close as possible, there was now a display of tacky footwear, nowhere near suitable for a future Duke. All manner of hideous colors and repulsive patterns assaulted his eyes. Some particular egregious sandals were adorned with jewels that even a drunk could pick out as being fake from across the street.

So handful by handful, Leo tossed the array of brightly colored high-heeled shoes and wooden clogs into the hallway. Each pair of shoes skipped and clattered across the hallway floor and it wasn’t long before the hallway right outside of his room looked like a tornado of ugly shoes had spun through and left an unsightly trail of debris in its wake. The mess that now sat outside his room was not Leo’s problem, but the shoe buyer’s, who lacked both sense and taste. Riona could deal with either the cleanup or the complaints of whoever might happen to trip over the mess. He could admit, if only to himself, that this was his mistake; to trust such a clearly incompetent servant, who was clearly a fan of malicious compliance, with even a simple task was an oversight.

The only thing that didn’t wind up tossed down the hallway was a pair of fuzzy lion slippers, which didn’t look expensive enough for Leo’s taste but they did fit his costume for the masquerade ball, sort of, and were by far the least unappealing option. A red and gold adorned suit paired with fuzzy lion slippers, a whimsical touch to show he did not take life too seriously. At least that’s what Leo told himself, and the slippers were far less concerning than the strange affliction that had affected his voice.

In addition to the suit and slippers was a large lion mask, complete with a golden mane that intermingled with his own red hair. At least from the ankles up, Leo’s outfit was a clear display of opulence. Once dressed and ready he headed out to Count Damien’s home for tonight’s masquerade ball, his tiny notebook with observations from the tea party tucked away in a pocket in case he ran into Charlotte there. As he walked through the hallway he occasionally kicked a few shoes further down the hallway, spreading the mess further with his delightfully comfortable fuzzy lion slippers.

Avalia

Time: Morning
Location: Southwest of Roshmi City
Interactions: Rue@Potter, Bardulf@Lava Alckon, Bridgette@Tae, Mister Luum@FunnyGuy, and Zeva@Pink Khione
Equipment:Sword, hunting knife, a backpack with supplies, and a stoat named Raze who naps in the pocket of his vest.

---

“Lose a wing huh? I think I’d rather lose a leg, flying beats running any day.” Bowyn teased as he walked alongside Rue. “But I guess we’ll have to settle for not losing Bardulf, wouldn’t to run out of limbs to gamble with too early.” He added with a small smile as he looked over the options at the small bakery. Honey toast was the cheapest option and that made his choice easy.

The peaceful break for a snack was soon broken by Mister Luum shouting about ears. Zeva’s ears. An outburst that seemed to come out of nowhere but considering the source it wasn’t surprising either. Bowyn looked at Luum, then at Zeva, and shrugged. “You do have big ears.” He said in a neutral tone, neither an insult nor a compliment. He wondered for a moment if large ears meant better hearing before it was his turn to order.

“Two honeyed toast.” He paused, his stomach growled; he was definitely hungrier than two slices of toast. “And an alaberry custard.” He added after another moment of thought. He thanked the baked and stepped aside so Bardulf could order.

Once he got his food, Bowyn held the small bowl of custard in one hand and cupped his other hand over the top. It was too hot in Roshmi, it was too hot just about anywhere south of home. As he thought about his village, about the crisp air and near-constant blanketing of snow, he felt the familiar chill of his frost magic. First, his hands and his fingers felt cold, then the bowl he held felt cold as well, until finally, the custard started to freeze. Now, far more satisfied with his order he grabbed the plate of honeyed toast off the counter. Honeyed toast and frozen alaberry custard, now that was a proper breakfast treat.

-6 amas for food

Avalia

Time: Morning
Location: Forest; Near Gaurav Village
Interactions: Viola@13org, Phia@princess, Darius@FunnyGuy, Dante@Alivefalling, Menzai@samreaper
Equipment: A pack with some supplies, seeds (in his pockets), a small knife, a mask that hangs from his belt, a weapon with a shifting charm that is either a sickle or a glaive, and a shield/drum with an unbreakable charm.

---

"...Sometimes it's a little nerve-wracking to let a stranger in for supper when you have a home full of your beloved family members."

It was strange to hear Phia refer to the wolfmen not only as her people but as her family. Stranger to hear Viola and himself be placed in the role of strangers rather than family. Cyrus’s face maintained a stoic expression, despite Phia’s simple words dealing a more damaging wound than the Roc.

He could hold no ill will towards the canine villagers, they had taken in his youngest sister and kept her safe, made her feel like a part of their family. He could hold no grudge against Phia for lost memories. He knew what it was to slowly loose the hope of seeing family again, to feel doubt slinking in, grapping hold of unanswered questions and filling the void with the worst possible outcomes. He did not wish that suffering for Phia, he tried to focus on being grateful that Phia had not spent her time feeling lonely or abandoned.

He thought over Phia’s words until they led him to something he could smile at, and then nodded his understanding. But his smile faded as they continued walking, and he wondered if telling Phia anything would only be cruel and selfish. Was there too much loss in the truth, if Phia’s mind was protecting her from the past who were they to override that? Without those past memories was Phia even still Ophelia or now simply someone new, someone whose family was a village of wolf-demihumans, who was happy and didn’t want strangers for family? Or was this doubt filling in the unknown. A weight far heavier than Dante’s tired frame bore down.

The greeting from the village was a sea of mistrusting stares. Eyes that followed as if they were a band of dark elf soldiers rather than friendly travelers. He wondered if they somehow knew, on instinct, that both Viola and he carried information that could hurt Phia. He noticed how fully integrated Phia was here, how she smiled at those she referred to as her people. Maybe this really was the best place for her. Maybe she already had more than enough family.

The restaurant Phia brought them too, once Dante had been cared for, was simplistic and held much of the comfort of the forest inside its walls. Cyrus took a seat shortly after Phia. “A hot meal, good company, and a lovely ambiance, what more could travelers ask for?” But as the words left him, he remembered countless family meals with not just two of his sisters present, but the rest of his family too, alive and together. Phia had lost those memories too, but were they still good memories when they came with the pain of knowing that times like those would never happen again?

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Noon Sola 23, 1739: Callum & Quack & Riona Part 3

Callum & Quack & Riona

---

Quack’s face had said it all, but that didn’t stop the tirade from coming anyway. Callum understood the point, if they failed, it looked like Cal only lost something he didn’t care about, his life. Either way, success or failure, he was already losing his family. Success, almost certainly, would end in the deaths of every Danrose; he and his siblings included. Callum wasn’t so delusional that he thought they’d all just be sent off to live normal lives. Did Quack not consider that a sacrifice either? No, Quack probably saw that as the reason he needed insurance. But the insurance he asked for, felt like giving up a piece of his humanity.

Each time Quack paused, Callum thought about saying something, then worried it would make things worse. And Quack kept on talking, except now he was only talking to Riona like Cal wasn’t even worth words. He glanced at Riona, and she almost looked like she was in pain. His fault, he was letting her down. She’d trusted him enough to bring him here and he was wasn’t going far enough. Now Quack was mad at both of them. Again. When she spoke he just nodded and addressed Quack.

“Because it’s not just insurance. You’re asking me to use someone’s life as a buy-in. To pick out a person I’m willing to use as a pawn, and I know that feels wrong. I cross that line, do I still get to say, I’m not Edin? Because it’s for a just cause? Or is that me taking one step closer to all the things I don’t want to be? You’re wrong about something, sir. Edin, Alibeth, most of my family; they’d all be quick to stab their closest friends in the back to get what they want.” He had to make it clear, that it wasn’t hard because he didn’t want to share the risk, or because he thought he could back out when things got dangerous. This was a line he could look at and say he wasn’t like the rest of them.

Whatever he did now, he was a bad friend either way. He was either going to refuse to give a name, of someone he carried about, to be used against him, and in turn let down Riona who had been there for him more than anyone else. Or he was going to offer up a friend, to a man who hated Callum, and seemed like he had a bad temper, like a piece of leverage. There was no good choice and no way around it. All duck or no dinner. Gods, let the day I become like Edin be the last day I draw breath.

He looked back at Riona again. “If I do this, tell me it won’t make me like Edin, and I will.”

Riona couldn’t quite explain the feeling she got when Cal said that. The trust was bittersweet, it both empowered her and weighed heavily on her. The pragmatic voice in her head argued it would be easier to just say that doing this wouldn’t make him like the King. Everything would move along faster and she’d be one step closer to reaching the end. His friend, however, didn’t want to give him a half-baked answer.

She turned to Sexton, whose steady gaze never left her. He kept watching… evaluating? Evaluating what? Her? Cal? A thought crossed her mind.

“This… interview has nothing to do with Sacrista, does it?” She braced herself for Sexton’s fury to resurface at the mention of her name. Instead there was sorrow, almost serene in its calmness. He gave a slow, somber nod.

Relief in her sigh, she folded her arms across her chest. “You keep talking about when you guys fail or when Callum betrays you. I think it’s only fair to tell us what your plans are for the nobles when you guys succeed.”

“They become commoners. That’s the whole point of gettin’ rid of the old system, innit?” He answered simply and without hesitation. “Some’ll stand trial fer crimes they got away with usin’ titles. Worse the crime, heavier the punishment, same as fer regular folk and how it shoulda always been fer nobs too.” His eyes focused on something that wasn’t Riona. “Bein’ noble-born ain’t a crime. Long as they’ve done nothin’ wrong and won’t be threatin’ the new ways, they’ll live like free citizens.” It was an ideal—one that might not be possible, but it was a dream that, at the very least, Sexton was working towards. And that made Riona decide to take a leap of faith.

Cal gave Quack a skeptical glance. It wasn’t worth the argument, especially since arguing with Quack would be like trying to milk a duck, but if Quack thought that was how this would all end, he was either lying or delusional. There wasn’t a house in Caesonia that was going to just give up power willingly, there were crimes that would be exposed that could only be answered with blood. Callum understood that; he wasn’t shortsighted enough to think this was going to end peacefully. Certainly not for Danroses, but they’d all more or less earned it with crimes that stretched back through generations.

Facing Cal, Riona said, “Paranoia and distrust define Edin and Alibeth. They don’t show anyone their vulnerabilities, because they wouldn’t think twice about exploiting others with theirs.” She looked back at Sexon as she continued to speak to Cal. “If you do this, you’ll be doing something that Edin and Alibeth are too afraid to do.” Her razor-sharp glare pierced Sexton with a silent warning. “And if these people betray your trust, then that’s on them, not you.”

If Riona was trying to assure Cal that he wasn’t like Edin or Alibeth, bringing up their paranoia and mistrust didn’t help. It just made him remember how quickly he believed Ana was a snitch and turned that into a whole public scene at a tavern. How close was he? Another later problem to sort out. Riona’s response meant he had to go for it and he could, at least, assure himself that no one in his family came down to the backroom in the servant's infirmary to discuss treason.

“Roman Ravenwood is a close friend, though he’d make for a difficult hostage. A Varian noble, different from what we have here in that he’s actually a noble person. Didn’t know they made nobles that nice until he saved my ass from a beating at the tavern. So when he’s around and we go out drinking, he’s always got stories of his big happy family to share and he just brings the warmth of the forge wherever he goes.” He didn’t forget the ‘why’ either.

And if there was any name he could give, and still be sure they weren’t going to be a pawn, it was Roman’s. The beloved bear of Varian could never be described as an easy target. If Quack only wanted the name of someone Callum cared about he got it, and if Quack had anything else in mind, may the gods have mercy on anyone who goes after Roman.

“So friendship is whatcha cherish more than yerself, eh?” Seeming satisfied with Cal’s answer (maybe because of how much he resisted), Sexton was about to go on to the second condition before Riona spoke up.

“Wait. You got your answer, tell us why you really asked that question.”

Sexton’s eyebrow arched. “Didn’t ya two decide it was fer a hostage? Cause ya ain’t wrong. I ain’t above gettin’ my hands dirty, not when dealin’ with the Danroses and their posse. l’ll gladly roll in a damn pigsty it means bringin’ ’em down. This is war. I know this won’t end without blood. In war, there’s nae such thin’ as honor and fairness. We do what we gotta do with all that we can get our hands on.”

Based on what limited interaction she had with the other anarchists, Riona knew how many of them would gladly spill noble blood and believed that the revolution wouldn’t be complete until they exterminated every last noble from Caesonia. No matter who they were; even children and commoner-turned-noble “traitors.”

“There might not be enough nobs left to be tried when we win. Probably only the ones that surrendered early, allies, and wee yins.” His eyes drifted to the woman on the table. “The last two deserve a chance.”

It didn’t take much to piece together that the anarchists already had support from a few nobles already, but Riona refrained from pointing that out. “... You still haven’t told us why.”

Sexton clucked his tongue then positioned himself so that the three of them were properly facing each other. “Me, bein’ a pessimist, have a hobby in imaginin’ the worst. In one scenario, the lad joins us and then his parents catch wind of it. Whatta be one of the first thin’s they’ll try to do to ya, lad?”

“They’d question me, interrogate me, maybe torture me. But, as you’ve said I don’t care much for my life, and I hate them more than I care about me.” Cal was confident about that, so if Quack just needed someone to go after in the event that Callum squealed, it was never going to be an issue. But when he paused to add to that, something else Quack had said made him question it.

“That’s not the real problem, though. If someone else in my family is using magic, I might not have much of a choice.” He tilted his head, absentmindedly scratching at the long straight scab down his palm. Magically compelled to lead the enemy back to Quack’s nest…, the idea was unsettling but possible.

“And I am often followed.” He nodded slowly, he could see the concern there, he’d have to fix that. “I could work on that, a curse to keep me from saying anything, lest I never speak again. Would you be satisfied with that?”

“Ah, I see ya drink my brand of pessimism in the morn. Cheers.” Sexton lifted an imaginary cup in Cal’s direction. “If ya can pull that off, it would set some minds at rest… and stir up other troubles, but we’ll blether ’bout that after. There’s one more thin’ yer forgettin’ and they don’t need magic fer this.”

“May our glasses always be half empty.” Cal took the opportunity to mock a toast with Quack. The guy was about as hard-boiled as they come, Cal wasn’t going to let the chance to try and score a few points pass him by. His hands went right back to searching for something to pick over until they were stopped.

Frowning, Riona gently pulled Cal’s hand away from the scab. “They’ll use what you cherish as hostage,” she said as she assessed the damage. Callum nodded, he didn’t need to be warned about his family’s most played-out move.

“On the nail.” Sexton said, clapping as he strode closer. “Now, I might not fully trust ya and I have my reasons fer not likin’ ya very much. But as long as yer our ally, yer one of us, lad.” He scratched the back of his neck, averting his gaze from Cal awkwardly, as if he was about to break into hives for saying all this. “We protect our own and our insurances.”

As Sexton talked, Riona mentally went down the list of people King Edin and Queen Alibeth could and would use against Cal. Lord Roman, Shehzadi Farim, and Lady Ariella immediately came to mind. Their nobility—and for the former two, their foreigner status—offered some protection, but she also knew that that wouldn’t be enough. Not when the Crowns had people like Kalliope or Lady Morrigan to do the deeds they couldn’t publicly condone. Riona worried most for Lady Ariella. Sorian being her home made her the easiest target out of three. Then there was that guy who hosted the parties Cal and Princess Anastisia loved so much. What about him?

That wasn’t what Cal expect to hear. Not by a long shot. He replayed Quack’s words in his head, looking for the hidden meaning, a contingency, and only felt more confused.. “I dont,” don't want help? Need help? Expect help? Was he supposed to offer to help protect whatever Quack held dear? “I don’t know what you want me to say to that. I wouldn’t ask you for extra favors, and not one that seems to sit so uncomfortably with you. My friends have protection, what do you need from me to know I’m not going to harm yours?” He asked, he didn’t know what else he really had to offer up, might as well just ask what Quack wanted.

“Yer ain’t askin’ fer a favor. That's what bein’ on the same team supposed to mean. We have yer back, ya have our backs. If we protect what yer care ’bout, ya protect what we care ’bout. If ya betray us, we betray ya. Simple and honest.” Sexton shifted his weight as he crossed his arms. “Unless ya wanna do this posh? Let’s make it overly convoluted and shady. We can smile, shake hands, and pretend that everythin’s rainbows and butterflies. We’ll manipulate each other usin’ every trick in the book and when the time comes, we push each other under the carriage. How’s that sound? More to yer style?”

“That’s a-uh novel concept for me. People I’m most used to dealing with, don’t do their dealings that way. Your way’s better, it just might take some getting used to from me.” Cal admitted, it wasn’t easy to trust someone who felt more like a judge than a friend. He wasn’t used to uncomplicated honesty. He was more used to people looking like ducks, quacking like ducks, and turning out to be snakes. Maybe Quack was the real deal, the same duck he claimed to be, gods with his nickname, it did fit.

He paused, and since they were all very close together and he didn’t even want the dead to overhear this, Callum whispered the next part. “Who do you think Edin would send after rebellious thorns in his side and the people they care about? If he wants it done stealthily, kept out of the eyes of the public and all these foreign dignitaries around? That person might be a friend of mine as well. I could see if they’d give me a heads-up if they get any orders for anyone here in Sorian. To help watch your back.” He didn’t offer a name, but it wasn’t a tough inference either. Kalliope Arden, the hidden blade herself, was no loyalist to the crown.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Noon Sola 23, 1739: Callum & Quack & Riona Part 1

Callum & Quack & Riona

---

Callum managed to sneak unnoticed from the tea party and back inside the palace without an unwanted entourage. Not that it helped him shake that constant surveillance feeling any. He reminded himself that today, right now, was the best time for a secretive and dangerous meeting. Today, he was a lucky duck, the tea party had all gone better than he expected, and he was going to ride his luck out. He frequently checked his surroundings, never quite sure he wasn’t being followed. He heard his heartbeat thumping away and wondered if anyone else could hear it too.

Cal knew the palace, knew all the twisting and meandering routes to get to places he didn’t belong. Knew all quiet corridors and tucked away rooms where it was desolate enough to know when one was not alone. As he walked, he practiced his excuse for being down in the servant’s infirmary, just in case he got caught. I felt lightheaded and confused and went to the wrong doctor. That was believable, right?

Once he finally got to the servant’s infirmary, Cal paused just outside the door. Double-checked over his shoulder once more to make sure he was alone. Then he knocked on the door. Doctors always seemed busy and he didn’t want to interrupt if Quack was busy, but a quick peak through the narrow window built into the door suggested the doctor had some downtime. Was Quack trying on shoes? It wasn’t quite the sight Cal had been expecting and he awkwardly waved through the small window to try and get the man’s attention and an invite into the room.

After pacing around in what had once been Lordling Smithwood’s shoes, Quack plopped down on the bed and yanked them off his feet. “I’ll be takin’ these.”

Riona arched an eyebrow at the polished dress shoes. “And wear them where, exactly?”

“Ya ken? One of ’em fancy soirees. Can’t rightly show up wearin’ those,” he gestured flippantly at the only pair of shoes he owned, crusted with the remnants of his work—bodily fluids and cemetery soil alike—“can I?”

Riona fished the last pair from the sack and held them up to Quack. “Do you even own any fancy clothes to match?”

“Eh,” and a shrug was his answer. As soon as he saw the embroidered slip-on shoes, he wrinkled his nose in distaste and waved them away. “Even if I don’t ever wear ’em, quality shoes fetch a pretty coin.”

“If you’re selling, why not take them all?” She shoved the slip-ons back in the sack and cinched it.
“And wind up dancin’ at the end of a rope fer peddlin’ piles of shoes? I prefer my neck unstretched, thank ya very much.”
“I told you, they aren’t stolen. That sanctimonious a**-hat Smithwood wanted me to throw them out because they got ruined.”

Quack looked genuinely confused, even disgusted, that anyone would discard well-made footwear over superficial, nonexistent flaws. Then a thought lit up his features. “But they ain’t.”

“They aren’t. So, instead of wasting perfectly good shoes, I’m handing them out.”
He eyed the stuffed sack. “Let me guess. Staff ain’t too keen on takin’ ‘em off yer hands cause they’re scared of bein’ accused of pinch’ ’em off some rag-splawger?”
Riona nodded with a sigh. “I’ll drop them off at a sanctuary.”

The mention of a sanctuary reminded her of a friend who could really use one. “Have you seen or heard from Darryn?” At his head shake, her heart sank. Darryn vanished without a trace after that day. She feared the worst, but without any clues about his whereabouts or fate, she could only hope he was okay.

“Look, lass—” Quack’s voice pulled her mind away from Darryn. Before he could complete the thought, a rapid rapping sounded at the door. He jerked to his feet, glowering past her.

She followed his gaze to the door and saw Cal peeking through the window, waiting. He came! Excitedly, Riona rushed over to let him in. “What are you doing out here? Come in, stranger.”

Callum entered the infirmary with one last glance behind him. There was only the empty hallway, the door closed behind him, and he made sure to step out of view from the door’s window. “Oh, I didn’t want to intrude, if this was a private conversation.” He looked from Riona to the man he assumed was Quack. He tried to relax some, at least he had a friend here, which made this space feel a little less lonely.

The doctor not only looked unfriendly but outright annoyed by Callum’s presence; a familiar look on an unfamiliar face. A new problem arose; how was he supposed to address Quack? Because Quack felt the sort of nickname that was for friends, not for everyone, certainly not for people the doctor disliked. Was Doc too casual? Maybe he should let Riona handle most of the talking.

No, he could do this, he’d done mostly the same thing this morning. Be polite, smile, introduce yourself, and don’t sound stupid. If he could spend the morning convincing new people that he had a plan worth backing he could keep it going through the afternoon and try and convince Quack he was no dead duck, he could be helpful, useful.

“Physician Cryer, good afternoon, nice to officially meet you. I’m Callum.” A mostly automated, way too formal, greeting came out. At least he didn’t bow but he wasn’t sure if he smiled. So he looked at the only person in the room who was happy to see him, smiled from the warmth of that, and kept it as he looked at Quack once again.

Riona could tell Cal was nervous, a fine thread of tension weaved through every gesture and word. His eyes flickered with uncertainty, his attempt to smile contorted his lips into a rigid curve, and the subtle twitch in his fingertips hinted at a silent battle waged against his harshest critic: himself.

Just as she wondered if she should step in, his eyes settled on her. All at once, the knots of tension that tangled themselves into his facial muscles unraveled; the strained smile softened into something more genuine. She returned his smile, silently reassuring him, and felt a spark of joy knowing her presence brought him comfort.

“The best of the afternoon to ya, Prince Callum,” Quack bowed, bending low as protocol demanded for a man of his station. But there was no mistaking the shards of icy resentment when he regarded the son of the man responsible for ruining his sister’s life. “What brings the divine son of the exalted crown to a place like this?”

A cold chill blew through the less-than-sterile room with the doctor’s words. It wasn’t so much what Quack said but the way he said it, the way hate seeped into words like prince and crown, that just blew the need to put on an act away. This was a trial; his title would earn him no leeway, it had to be just Callum and whether he could be deemed worthy of Quack’s flock. Be bold, no one respects a coward. If he could convince Riona that he could be useful, he had a shot at convincing the doctor. Cal just hoped it wouldn’t involve any attempted strangling.

“Divine son?” He almost laughed at that one, but instead just shook his head. “I’d say you’ve got me confused with one of my brothers, but I think everyone here knows there is nothing divine about any Danrose. But I’m not here to talk blasphemy.” Callum approached Quack as he spoke, and once close enough that the other man would be able to hear a hushed voice, he continued.

“I’m here to talk treason. I want to see an end to crowns, titles, and everything else that serves the nobility and never the people. Heard a rumor we might be birds of a feather on that.” He kept his answer short and straight to the point, doctors generally liked direct answers, and no one liked listening to long speeches given by people they already disliked.

What followed happened in the span of a heartbeat, but felt like an eternity. The icy glare meant for Cal froze Quack instead, sapping the color from him before the primal instinct for survival ignited in full force. Riona didn’t think. She lunged forward and grabbed Cal, wrenching him out of reach just as Quack’s hands came crashing down. When he tried to grab for Cal again, she slipped herself between the two. Quack’s ferocity redirected itself to the obstacle in his way. He seized Riona, bringing their faces inches apart.

“Ya told him!?” he thundered, betrayal and fear underpinning the anger in his voice. If the Prince knew of the anarchists’ plot to overthrow the aristocracy, everything was in jeopardy. “Have ya lost yer bloody mind!?” His grip on her arms tightened further.

Riona flinched but held her ground while her heart hammered in her chest. “Sexton. Get a grip. Pay attention. Think. He wouldn’t be the one here if the Crowns knew.”
“Unless it’s a trap.”
“Then harming him now won’t improve the situation.”

Bold, was a mistake. Was Callum’s first thought as Quack went from ice cold to exploding forth with the fury of a drake. What was it about him that made people suddenly want to strangle him? That thought floated through his head as Riona flung him backward just out of Quack’s grip. Cal stumbled into a mayo stand, knocking it, and the few instruments on it, onto the floor with an echoing clatter. Shit, this much noise was going to draw attention. His eyes flickered to the door, praying it didn’t swing open, as Riona tried to calm the doctor down.

“If you’re going to kill me, at least do it quietly, or you’ll have bigger problems.” None of his pre-thought-out excuses for being down here would explain away what was going on now. He looked back at Riona and Quack, once he felt sure no one was coming through the door.

“I wouldn’t lift a finger, or waste a breath, to protect Edin. I’d give you my word, but I don’t think that would foot the bill here. But I can give you a secret, seems fair, I got one of yours, you should have one of mine. One that can ensure my death.” He offered, keeping his eyes locked on Quack as he spoke to him.

“All in or nothing right?” He looked at Riona for confirmation that he could say it. “It’s a big ask for him, even to trust me a little, gotta offer something big in return.” An equivalent sacrifice, a fundamental law of magic, it just made sense.

A weighted silence filled the room. No one moved; all caught in a standoff, waiting for someone else to break the stillness. Even the air seemed to be holding its breath. Finally, Quack released Riona and marched to the door, bolting it shut. He then slid the privacy cover into place to prevent anyone from looking through the vision panel. “Backroom, now. The both of ya,” Quack commanded. Without waiting for a reply, he disappeared into the backroom.

While rubbing the lingering ache in her arms, Riona gave Cal a quick once-over. “Are you okay?” He didn’t look hurt, but the question wasn’t limited to the physical.

“Are you?” Callum returned the question as Riona rubbed her arms.

She nodded, “Yeah.” She almost added that she’d had worse. Luckily, she was quick enough to stop herself. He didn't need to know that.

“Sorry. I messed that up. I think I’m bad at first impressions. Anyway, thank you. Again. Guess you’re stuck adding another tally to the Riona did a good deed board.” There wasn’t much else he could do besides try to make the situation a little lighter. But a darker thought slipped in. Maybe she doesn’t count this as a good deed. He didn’t like how much sense that thought made either. Was that why Riona seemed so convinced she was a bad person? Hanging around him, helping him, saving him; a Danrose, the enemy. Cal wouldn’t ask that, no, that thought was staying locked up in his head.

Instead, he answered her question, “I’m fine,” with a smile because it was true enough. He was just shaken up, and clammy, and his heart still raced. Petty complaints, there was nothing worth voicing there. The backroom Quack had disappeared into loomed up ahead and Callum couldn’t see into it. It just sounded ominous. “Am I fine?” And by that he meant is the backroom code for the place people get murdered? Or is the backroom more of an amicable meeting in a secret liar?

He glanced at the now locked door, then back toward the room Quack had disappeared through. He reached into his jacket pocket. “Guess I’m going either way.” He pulled out his flask and unscrewed the lid before taking a long drink. Just a sip. To wet his beak. He tipped it towards Riona, “for nerves?” He offered as he started to walk.

Riona accepted the flask and raised it as if to make a toast. “For luck,” she said, bringing the flask to her lips. The liquor burned as it slid down her throat, leaving a fiery trail that ended in her stomach. Lowering the flask, she let out a small breath, savoring the way it warmed her from the inside. With her nerves settled, she handed the flask back to its owner.

He glanced around the room, paused, and then struggled to hide a smirk. He glanced at her, “Are we about to get Quacked” He whispered as quietly as he could, and prayed to all the gods Quack lacked a hawk’s hearing. But he couldn’t, not say it.

Just as much as she couldn’t, not laugh. Riona did her best to stifle it and ended up snorting for her efforts. “Gods that’s so bad… Keep it up and he will,” she playfully jabbed his side. “Do you want your epitaph to say ‘Here lies Callum, he who told one too many duck puns and died quacking for it?’”

“That’s exactly what I want. How did you know?”

Recollections: Who Is Eleanor Black [CANCELLED]

-

Recollections: Who Is Eleanor Black [CANCELLED]

_{Location: Swamp Cabin
Interactions: Neko @Atrophy, Olivia, Jordan, & Nori @NoriWasHere, Blake/Maggy @Punished GN}

---

Even though Maggy shot down his attempt to separate her and Blake, Neko’s honesty worked anyway. Whether it was wise to ask these questions around prying ears, well the time to worry about that had passed. Blake’s answer contained a whole lot more things to worry about; everyone who’s turned up looking for Eleanor Black was dead. Or missing and presumed dead which wasn’t much better. Weird. It wasn’t much better to realize the whole town was likely aware of this and just pretended that a whole lot of dead tourists weren’t worth investigating. Suddenly this felt a lot less Scooby-Doo and a lot more Wicker Man.

“Got many families here in Quintin named Black? Cause, otherwise, would be strange for so many people to come down here looking for an Eleanor Black in the middle of a swamp. Almost as strange as having such a small town with so many people going missing. A well-connected man like yourself must have some guess about all that.” Wyatt asked, looking at Blake, and everything about the butler seemed to say he wasn’t hiding much. Not in that robe at least.

“And these missing folks, all out-of-towners? No trouble here for any locals?” He looked only at Maggy as he asked that one. If anyone was going to have the details on dark going-ons in town a working gal with no filter was a good place to start. “Any creepy characters lurking around dark alleys?” He asked.

Recollections: Who Is Eleanor Black [CANCELLED]

_{Location: Swamp Cabin
Interactions: Neko @Atrophy, Olivia, Jordan, & Nori @NoriWasHere}

---

“She really wasn’t kiddin’ about the hospitality. This is the warmest welcome we’ve had in Quintin so far. And I sware we’ve done nothing to ril’ up the locals.” Wyatt took the opportunity to peek inside the cabin. Nothing looked suspicious, neither Blake nor his company felt threatening, but Wyatt still felt like he was watching some scary movie, just waiting for the jump scare to happen. But nothing happened, and tension just kept solidifying.

Wyatt glanced at Neko, who wore that same tragic expression as mothers on the nightly news asking for the safe return of a missing kid. A look like that was almost enough to break a fella’s heart, and it’d probably work wonders on a kindly old butler, but maybe not on a jaded hooker.

“I gotta pass on the water, just came from a little coffee shop up the road, stuff’ll run right through ya. Think I could use your bathroom?” Wyatt asked Blake, before turning his attention to Thornton’s paid company. “Maybe you could show me where that’s at? I’m Wyatt. I think I missed your name.” He almost offered his hand out as he introduced himself, but thought better of it and tapped his chest instead. It seemed like a good plan, to separate the two, and maybe make Blake easier to question.