05-11-2015, 02:17 AM
“I’ve fetched the girl,” Wyatt announced to the man at the front counter. “Is Charles ready?”
The man, an older gentleman sporting a swirly dark mustache flecked with gray, an honest-to-Kami top hat and matching vested suit, leaned forward, his gaze moving from Wyatt to Violet. His brows rose quizzically as he took her in. “These primes are getting stranger and stranger,” he observed, completely dismissing Wyatt’s question. “But at least she’s human.”
“As far as we know, yes.”
“The fuck you mean by that?” Violet snapped, her arms crossing over her chest, face set in an angry grimace. “I’m human enough.”
Fuzzylips behind the desk didn’t look one bit perturbed by her outburst. How hard was it to sort humans from not-humans? This was a real worry seeing as Wyatt was so concerned about whether or not she was safe to be around. Was this a common problem?
“Meant nothin’ by it, ma’am.” Fuzzy stood, stretching the full length of his lanky form. It must have been uncomfortable as hell being stuck in that small space for someone so tall. She let the ‘ma’am’ go, for now.
“Of course not.” She looked to Wyatt. “What does being human have to do with anything, anyway?”
“We get a lot of rabble here,” his hands went to his sides, thumbs smoothing over the hilts of his weapons. “The humans are not very keen on anything that isn’t like them, and the others feel the same about the humans. There’ve been attempts to make peace, but our ambassadors have only had spotty luck.”
“What are your feelings towards the human thing?” Violet leaned against the polished wood of the reception desk.
“As long as they don’t drag the fights into town, I don’t much care about it.”
“That doesn’t really answer my question.”
“We’ve all been victimized at one point or another by the others. I don’t much care for them.”
Her eye twitched. “They’re that bothersome? Is it because they’re just assholes or because they’re not human?”
Wyatt considered her question for several moments. “A little bit of both, probably.”
It was the best answer she was going to get, but prodding wasn’t likely to get her any more of a solid answer, so she dropped the conversation. Perhaps her purpose here was to help bring some kind of peace between the factions. She had her ways of bringing peace if it was necessary, and she doubted any of them would be keen about her techniques. They struck her as the fancypants law-abiding kind, where violence wasn’t something practiced, even if a situation necessitated its use. Sometimes, you just gotta smack a bitch to get things done, and maybe she was that smacker. If that was her job here, she could live with that for a little while, she supposed.
“So, who’s Charles?”
“One of the king’s advisors,” the mustachioed man replied. “He roams between the capital and Dalaran. Doesn’t get around to these parts very often.”
“Dalaran’s another city, I take it?”
“One of the bigger ones, aye.”
“Sounds fancy,” she flicked a small wadded ball someone had previously abandoned across the surface of the desk. “So, what’s Charles going to do?”
“He’ll be the one who will be evaluating you. Bill here will get you in the logs and start the processing.” Wyatt nodded towards Bill, a.k.a. FancyPants.
“Take a seat over there, ma’am,” Bill pointed towards a rather uncomfortable wooden seat at the other end of the desk. Taking the seat, she crossed her legs and tried to get as cozy as she could. It wasn’t easy.
“Name?”
“Violet Uzumaki.”
He scribbled the name in his book. “Good, age?”
“Old enough.”
Bill looked up from his log, brows furrowing momentarily. “It’s not the most polite thing to ask a lady her age, but if you could…”
Leaning forward, Violet placed her crossed arms on the desk, her face unmoved. “I don’t really give two shits about niceties. You have my name, and that’s all you need to know. My age is irrelevant.”
“I don’t care for your attitude, Ms. Uzumaki.”
“I don’t care about this place, Billy.”
Oh, say it, say it! She wanted him to explode, something, anything. It was there, whatever he was feeling at that moment, and none of it was nice. He didn’t feel right to her the moment she walked through the door, and the only thing keeping her here was that she kind of half-assed a promise to try.
“We’ll come back to the question later, then.”
“Sure, Billy.” Vi reclined in the chair, propping her booted feet on the desk.
“What is your intent in Camelot?”
Shrugging, Violet replied, “Hell if I know. Your buddy convinced me to come. I use ‘convince’ loosely, because I don’t much trust anyone that just pops up out of nowhere and invites me to their place.”
“Wyatt?”
“Charles asked for her specifically.”
“Ooh, I must be special. I still don’t know who this dude is.”
“Charles can be trusted,” Wyatt began, pulling a silver box from one of the pockets at his hips. From it, he withdrew a narrow brown object and placed it to his lips. With a flick of his wrist, a flame emerged from a fingertip and he lit the end, a plume of smoke rising from the glowing ember. “What you do not reveal on your own, he’ll find out for himself.”
“So, he’s a telepath?”
“Aye.”
“Fantastic.” Violet bolted to her feet, shoving the chair under the desk. “Nothing like a little mind rape to convince me of my safety!”
“Psh,” Billy smacked the book closed and pushed out of his chair. He was pissed, and she was glad for it. The tension between the three was palpable, and it was a nice reprieve from the dullness that embodied the ride here. Billy suddenly stiffened, his eyes darting towards a door in the far corner of the corridor. “He’s coming.”
“Finally,” Violet grumbled, a sliver of hope illuminating her eyes. “I’m pretty tired, and just want to get this shit over with so I can go to sleep.”
“Soon enough, my dear.” The door opened, and a man came through, except she wasn’t expecting him to be…so small. No, small wasn’t the word; he was in a wheelchair that for all she could determine, was moved by its own power. Then she felt it…his energy. It prickled along her skin, marching upwards like a pack of ants. She responded with her own burst of energy, a slight illumination just beneath her skin, tinging her pale flesh with an undercurrent of red. It was very brief, but enough to capture the crippled man’s attention. “Come, Ms. Uzumaki, let us talk in private. I have supper laid out and other refreshments. I’m sure you’re quite tired from your journey.”
Something about him made her want to trust him. His eyes were a gentle blue, and where they should have been frigid and unwelcoming, all she felt was warmth. Everything within her began to mellow, and she stepped toward him. “That sounds great, Charles.”
“Good to hear, right this way.”
The man, an older gentleman sporting a swirly dark mustache flecked with gray, an honest-to-Kami top hat and matching vested suit, leaned forward, his gaze moving from Wyatt to Violet. His brows rose quizzically as he took her in. “These primes are getting stranger and stranger,” he observed, completely dismissing Wyatt’s question. “But at least she’s human.”
“As far as we know, yes.”
“The fuck you mean by that?” Violet snapped, her arms crossing over her chest, face set in an angry grimace. “I’m human enough.”
Fuzzylips behind the desk didn’t look one bit perturbed by her outburst. How hard was it to sort humans from not-humans? This was a real worry seeing as Wyatt was so concerned about whether or not she was safe to be around. Was this a common problem?
“Meant nothin’ by it, ma’am.” Fuzzy stood, stretching the full length of his lanky form. It must have been uncomfortable as hell being stuck in that small space for someone so tall. She let the ‘ma’am’ go, for now.
“Of course not.” She looked to Wyatt. “What does being human have to do with anything, anyway?”
“We get a lot of rabble here,” his hands went to his sides, thumbs smoothing over the hilts of his weapons. “The humans are not very keen on anything that isn’t like them, and the others feel the same about the humans. There’ve been attempts to make peace, but our ambassadors have only had spotty luck.”
“What are your feelings towards the human thing?” Violet leaned against the polished wood of the reception desk.
“As long as they don’t drag the fights into town, I don’t much care about it.”
“That doesn’t really answer my question.”
“We’ve all been victimized at one point or another by the others. I don’t much care for them.”
Her eye twitched. “They’re that bothersome? Is it because they’re just assholes or because they’re not human?”
Wyatt considered her question for several moments. “A little bit of both, probably.”
It was the best answer she was going to get, but prodding wasn’t likely to get her any more of a solid answer, so she dropped the conversation. Perhaps her purpose here was to help bring some kind of peace between the factions. She had her ways of bringing peace if it was necessary, and she doubted any of them would be keen about her techniques. They struck her as the fancypants law-abiding kind, where violence wasn’t something practiced, even if a situation necessitated its use. Sometimes, you just gotta smack a bitch to get things done, and maybe she was that smacker. If that was her job here, she could live with that for a little while, she supposed.
“So, who’s Charles?”
“One of the king’s advisors,” the mustachioed man replied. “He roams between the capital and Dalaran. Doesn’t get around to these parts very often.”
“Dalaran’s another city, I take it?”
“One of the bigger ones, aye.”
“Sounds fancy,” she flicked a small wadded ball someone had previously abandoned across the surface of the desk. “So, what’s Charles going to do?”
“He’ll be the one who will be evaluating you. Bill here will get you in the logs and start the processing.” Wyatt nodded towards Bill, a.k.a. FancyPants.
“Take a seat over there, ma’am,” Bill pointed towards a rather uncomfortable wooden seat at the other end of the desk. Taking the seat, she crossed her legs and tried to get as cozy as she could. It wasn’t easy.
“Name?”
“Violet Uzumaki.”
He scribbled the name in his book. “Good, age?”
“Old enough.”
Bill looked up from his log, brows furrowing momentarily. “It’s not the most polite thing to ask a lady her age, but if you could…”
Leaning forward, Violet placed her crossed arms on the desk, her face unmoved. “I don’t really give two shits about niceties. You have my name, and that’s all you need to know. My age is irrelevant.”
“I don’t care for your attitude, Ms. Uzumaki.”
“I don’t care about this place, Billy.”
Oh, say it, say it! She wanted him to explode, something, anything. It was there, whatever he was feeling at that moment, and none of it was nice. He didn’t feel right to her the moment she walked through the door, and the only thing keeping her here was that she kind of half-assed a promise to try.
“We’ll come back to the question later, then.”
“Sure, Billy.” Vi reclined in the chair, propping her booted feet on the desk.
“What is your intent in Camelot?”
Shrugging, Violet replied, “Hell if I know. Your buddy convinced me to come. I use ‘convince’ loosely, because I don’t much trust anyone that just pops up out of nowhere and invites me to their place.”
“Wyatt?”
“Charles asked for her specifically.”
“Ooh, I must be special. I still don’t know who this dude is.”
“Charles can be trusted,” Wyatt began, pulling a silver box from one of the pockets at his hips. From it, he withdrew a narrow brown object and placed it to his lips. With a flick of his wrist, a flame emerged from a fingertip and he lit the end, a plume of smoke rising from the glowing ember. “What you do not reveal on your own, he’ll find out for himself.”
“So, he’s a telepath?”
“Aye.”
“Fantastic.” Violet bolted to her feet, shoving the chair under the desk. “Nothing like a little mind rape to convince me of my safety!”
“Psh,” Billy smacked the book closed and pushed out of his chair. He was pissed, and she was glad for it. The tension between the three was palpable, and it was a nice reprieve from the dullness that embodied the ride here. Billy suddenly stiffened, his eyes darting towards a door in the far corner of the corridor. “He’s coming.”
“Finally,” Violet grumbled, a sliver of hope illuminating her eyes. “I’m pretty tired, and just want to get this shit over with so I can go to sleep.”
“Soon enough, my dear.” The door opened, and a man came through, except she wasn’t expecting him to be…so small. No, small wasn’t the word; he was in a wheelchair that for all she could determine, was moved by its own power. Then she felt it…his energy. It prickled along her skin, marching upwards like a pack of ants. She responded with her own burst of energy, a slight illumination just beneath her skin, tinging her pale flesh with an undercurrent of red. It was very brief, but enough to capture the crippled man’s attention. “Come, Ms. Uzumaki, let us talk in private. I have supper laid out and other refreshments. I’m sure you’re quite tired from your journey.”
Something about him made her want to trust him. His eyes were a gentle blue, and where they should have been frigid and unwelcoming, all she felt was warmth. Everything within her began to mellow, and she stepped toward him. “That sounds great, Charles.”
“Good to hear, right this way.”
![[Image: visig2018.png]](http://epiqz.com/mysigs/visig2018.png)