Post by Deleted on Mar 29, 2017 21:06:29 GMT -5
It was not the most despicable tavern in the city. And it was not the most spotless. The Lost Farthing lay somewhere in between; clean tables but dirty floors. Behavior of ill repute upstairs, but relative peace down. Low lights, but clear exits. It was, in a better sense, mundane. Run of the mill.
To the open eye. That's what made it the most dangerous.
There, at a side booth -- not too close, not too far from the entrance -- sat a young woman, whose dark hair was wrapped in a shawl; green eyes bright and focused. She, and the man accompanying her, had been sitting in this booth for the greater part of ten minutes.
Their conversation, to the timid observer, was brief but cordial; both keeping their facial expressions mild and changed, when necessary. It seemed it was just concluding.
"My master counts on your discretion. My master says --" and here her voice stalled briefly, willing herself to remain looking forward, " -- says -- that you know what to do if the path... becomes unclear." Marie's voice was gentle but stern; trying to stave off the tremor she felt even uttering such words. She knew how this plan would play out -- had employed this part many a time -- but still; there was always a chance.
The man in question did not smile. He was a man of specific means. He knew the eyes were everywhere. "Not a word, for the payment. As always. And tell -- your master -- that I am aware of our arrangement."
From the darkest corner of the room, a tendril of smoke escaped from beneath a pulled hood; face hidden.
Slender hands in slender gloves.
To the open eye. That's what made it the most dangerous.
There, at a side booth -- not too close, not too far from the entrance -- sat a young woman, whose dark hair was wrapped in a shawl; green eyes bright and focused. She, and the man accompanying her, had been sitting in this booth for the greater part of ten minutes.
Their conversation, to the timid observer, was brief but cordial; both keeping their facial expressions mild and changed, when necessary. It seemed it was just concluding.
"My master counts on your discretion. My master says --" and here her voice stalled briefly, willing herself to remain looking forward, " -- says -- that you know what to do if the path... becomes unclear." Marie's voice was gentle but stern; trying to stave off the tremor she felt even uttering such words. She knew how this plan would play out -- had employed this part many a time -- but still; there was always a chance.
The man in question did not smile. He was a man of specific means. He knew the eyes were everywhere. "Not a word, for the payment. As always. And tell -- your master -- that I am aware of our arrangement."
From the darkest corner of the room, a tendril of smoke escaped from beneath a pulled hood; face hidden.
Slender hands in slender gloves.