[Bardona]Fox in the Henhouse

[Nim Leone de Heloise]

Frost 14, 4621♔♔♔

Taking a short drag from her cigarette in its long holder Nim blew the smoke away from the patrons and towards the door which was propped open despite the cold. It would seem, though, that with potions of tea brewing hot behind the bar marking teller from patron her domicile and workplace was heated well enough. People were coming in from the cold kicking the sleet off their boots and replacing their shoes at the door, some opting to only wear socks while others wore intricate slippers to beat the cold on her hardwood floor. She sat on a chair behind the bar in her true form, smoking while lazily mixing a brew. She yawned.
"What day was it?"
In truth, the night life was all she lived for. Few people knew about her true trade but she loved crafting poisons for the Entente. Some prolonged stomach pain here and there... It was enough to keep the right people around at soirees, but so few knew how to do her craft. She had dirt on quite a few people and it was her fuel for rising to the top of the social ladder.

It was surprisingly slow there that day because of the first onslaught of cold breaching Bardona's streets with harsh rains of sleet and hail. It was enough to keep most people indoors, not pursuing shops. Nim was about to head to the basement and tell Dimitri to come head the shop when the door swung open. A young human Entente pair came through the door, letting in the hail and rain, before quickly heading inside. One had covered the other with their jacket and shook it off when they got in the door.
"Excuse me. Two extra strength black tea?"
Came one of them after they stepped up and greeted Nim. A boring request but she obliged. After serving them she went downstairs to the brewery and gathered Dimitri.
"Well aren't you looking feral."
He quipped, commenting on her true form.
"My patrons find it charming. You know it's true."
Rolling his eyes he jumped down from the barrel of wine he was sitting on and headed upstairs. Thankful for her respite she sagged and tore off her hat, waving it on her face. The humdrum of the day was getting to her. She was ready to take her shoes off but didn't dare undo the straps which held everything together.

As the morning rolled on she served few people and not many would come and go through her store. It was why her next blunder, so unlike her, would cross her for the entire week coming. Scratching behind her tall ears with slender fingers her tail twitched at the end as she recomposed herself, carefully adjusting each strand of stray hair under the hat as she readied herself to go back out. Dimitri wouldn't stand "guard" duty for long, he was bored and frustrated even on the busiest of days. Adjusting her shoes anyway she made her way upstairs back to the first floor. Unfortunately, when she hit the final step she tripped, careening out of the door and into someone who was standing near the door way. It was the two people she had just served, her wild abandon had spilled a cup of tea all over the white jacket they were wearing.
"Excuse me?!"
They yelped, wiping the great stain on their front. The other grabbed them by the arm and started dragging their friend back out the door into the freezing cold, sneering at Nim all the way. Plenty of patrons saw and began filing out as well, clearly second hand embarrassed for Nim and her blunder. Only a few patrons remained sequestered from the violence in the library nook Nim kept of her records and tales. Not just her own but other's works as well, it was a nesting ground of free nonfiction with a few fiction books written by Nim's favorite authors here and there. Quite a few of the books were centered around herbalism and folk healing techniques for certain ailments. It was where she learned all she knew. Some people thought she was a witch, of the worst degree. Though it was said in more of a cruel jest she couldn't help but deep down feel like the bullies at soirees were somehow right. How couldn't they be? They all knew of her afterlife and secret dealings, if they were anyone. As long as no one piped up she wouldn't care what they said about her in private.

Dimitri said nothing to her, just merely shook his head in disappointment. He returned to his brewery downstairs. Nim waved a hand through her tail and considered grabbing a book herself when the door swung open again, through the sleet and rain it was hard at first to make out their form.

[Sabriel]

She wore not her armor on that venture; the heavy chain would only encumber her more, she figured. It was a long journey, too. Such was the only way she could be certain she was away from the invasive glares of her sisters and brothers.
Her secrecy? Born of shame, she couldn't let others know that she'd stoop to substances just so that she could pass the most basic of all prerequisites, but she'd sworn an oath to the Returning King that she would succeed by the end of the year, and training by itself wasn't enough to get her there.
She needed an edge, something to help her grow stronger faster. What better place to look for such a thing than an alchemist's shop? An apothecary? it had to be far from White Rock, only so that she wouldn't be recognized, but towering almost three feet above the head of every man she passed on the journey, there was no way she couldn't be recalled by anyone that asked.
Low profile, she chose. No armor, just her clothes. Her long beige cloak covered her broken wings and deflected the harsh sun of the savannah that made up most of Bardona's surrounding wilderness. The hood that covered her head hid her features well, so well, in fact, that a turn of her head was all it took to shield her visage from those she passed on the road.

All was well on her journey, she was a master of camouflage in her own mind.

It began to rain as she passed the city gates, but at least she'd made it before sundown. All she had to do, then, was find an apothecary. In gentaverse, she quizzed various citizens on the whereabouts of an Apothecary, but she seemed to startle the far majority of them, and they refused to speak with her. Some even begged mercy and shielded their heads, as though she was about to strike them. She wasn't, why would she raise a hand against Ulen's faithful? She wouldn't.
Wishing those that cowered a pleasant day in the Returning king's grace, she traveled on in search of aid. There weren't many out and about due to the pouring rain, but she eventually found the likes of a blind beggar, a man who directed her to the tired quill. "The Tired Quill?" She quizzed with a furrow of her brow. "That sounds like a Tavern, I'm looking for an alchemist," she explained again with a nod of her head.
"Oui!" The homeless man spoke with the aid of his few teeth. "Zat is where ze Practicer of l'alchemy worchs, La Tired Quill."
"....You're certain?" She spoke, accent most proper in stark contrast to the commoner.
"Oui Mademoiselle, Nim she is nommée, very good at her job, non?" Sabriel smiled. That was what she wanted to hear. She placed a few coins in the man's soaking hat, then followed the given directions

She'd been on what she thought was the right path for some time, passing by the bright stone columns that lined the streets, admiring the architecture of the city's homes and the bright, well-kept tiles that lined the roads, when she found a scene most grim. Two women, utterly covered by their clothes and donning masks appeared in distress. No skin showed at all beneath their expensive attires, now ruined by the rain and... Some sort of stain.
The stained one was most upset, while the other was furious. Briefly, Sabriel made eye contact with the angry one, and the Entente spoke loudly "Avoid the Tired Quill! The mutt there will curse you and ruin your outfit!"
Sabriel watched in bewilderment as they hurried by. "...Curse?!" She asked, voice higher than she might have otherwise liked.
"She's a witch!" Called the angry one back "she will hex you! mark my words...!" ...before the two disappeared around the corner of the street. Sabriel swallowed, stomach tied in knots. She didn't want to be cursed; her luck was bad enough as it was.
Was the supposed mutt a bane mage of some sort? Sabriel couldn't be sure. She did think that the term mutt was just an exaggeration, used by the likes of nobility to cast scorn on the lower class. She did not often face such words, as she was considered prestigious in her own right; an agent of the faith. But that didn't mean she was unfamiliar with such treatment.

Eventually, she arrived at the Tired Quill and looked upon her hip to find the pommel of her sword. She would not allow herself to be cursed, her health already struggled. She curled her nose a little while she gathered her nerves, then seized the handle of the tiny door, and opened it. She let it swing open and shielded the interior with her larger form. Her light breeches and riding boots made up most of the figure in the doorway, with some of her pale brown tunic and beige cloak filling up much of the empty space behind her, blocking the view of the street beyond.
A sigh escaped her as she lowered to one knee, ducked her head, and carefully maneuvered her shoulders through the door. She briefly prayed for a tall ceiling as she pulled one leg inside, then dragged the other shortly behind it. Carefully, she lifted her head with a sort of hesitation that reflected her fear of banging it against the ceiling. When she did bump the boards there, she promptly stopped, turned on the spot and pulled her enormous cloak in through the door, and closed it behind her.
She was inside, comically oversized for the setting, and she couldn't fully straighten her legs or stand up straight, so she looked about the room and found a few sets of eyes upon her, silence on the lips of men and women alike. Did the inquisition not often stray this far from White Rock? It made sense, it was quite out of the way.

Patrons of the Tired Quill resumed their conversations when they realized they were staring down one of the faith's most elite soldiers, and gazes averted from hers. her disguise, she realized, wasn't all that effective. So, she lowered her hood, then looked to the fox at the desk. She blinked, then brushed her hair from her eyes. She hadn't imagined it, there was a black fox in people's clothing at the bar.
Oh no. Was that the mutt? Her eyes widened in shock and horror, for the fox did not look pleased. Did they? it was hard to tell on such animalistic features. What did a fox's smile even look like?
"...Tidings," Sabriel offered with a smile when she composed herself. "I'm looking for Nim, the potion master in this establishment," she declared, not stepping another foot closer to the supposed witch.

Image source.