Ilaria blinked slowly, quite forgetting to emote, to smile, to put anyone at ease. There were people staring. High House ladies did not accost unaccompanied foreigners out in the market street. Gradually, she remembered to make her mouth form the proper shape.
Looked for. That boded poorly. Some Tevene families still paid lip service to their old gods, when they felt it was fashionable to do so. Her own was rather more devoted and yet even still, Andoral remembered the slaying of the high priests. There were any number of potential enemies here in this crowd.
“You’re right dear, of course.” Ilaria set her trailing entourage into motion and picked a restaurant at random. Low tables, soft cushions, a handful of patrons enjoying an early lunch. She handed one of her attendants a purse of coins.
“See that everyone leaves and then wait outside. Oh, but leave the cook.” Her own appetite was deadened entirely by the way Andoral seemed to be thrashing beneath her lungs. But perhaps this Bethany might desire something. Ilaria spent a long, indecisive moment picking a table – torn between having her back to a wall and worry about being overheard. The one she finally settled on was in the middle of the restaurant, equidistance to everything.
“Ilaria of House Obsidian.” She settled into the cushions, folding her legs and fussing with the arrangement of her skirts. Finally, she returned to staring at Bethany with something like open hunger, perhaps from Andoral craving itself.
Perhaps for the curiosity of a puzzle she could not immediately solve.
“Was Garahel that weak? How did you get it – explain to me how there can be two.”
A ruddy faced man lingered in the kitchen doorway, to wait on their whims.
@Bethany Hawke
Looked for. That boded poorly. Some Tevene families still paid lip service to their old gods, when they felt it was fashionable to do so. Her own was rather more devoted and yet even still, Andoral remembered the slaying of the high priests. There were any number of potential enemies here in this crowd.
“You’re right dear, of course.” Ilaria set her trailing entourage into motion and picked a restaurant at random. Low tables, soft cushions, a handful of patrons enjoying an early lunch. She handed one of her attendants a purse of coins.
“See that everyone leaves and then wait outside. Oh, but leave the cook.” Her own appetite was deadened entirely by the way Andoral seemed to be thrashing beneath her lungs. But perhaps this Bethany might desire something. Ilaria spent a long, indecisive moment picking a table – torn between having her back to a wall and worry about being overheard. The one she finally settled on was in the middle of the restaurant, equidistance to everything.
“Ilaria of House Obsidian.” She settled into the cushions, folding her legs and fussing with the arrangement of her skirts. Finally, she returned to staring at Bethany with something like open hunger, perhaps from Andoral craving itself.
Perhaps for the curiosity of a puzzle she could not immediately solve.
“Was Garahel that weak? How did you get it – explain to me how there can be two.”
A ruddy faced man lingered in the kitchen doorway, to wait on their whims.
@Bethany Hawke
06-09-2024, 09:35 PM
