Day 10 Winter 516 AV Morning Zeltiva The soft shush of fabric sliding across flesh accompanies a slight crackle of electricity as blonde hair rises in a static style through the neck of Salara’s wool-fabric dress as she pushes her head through. Hands slide along damasked panels smoothing the seams and tucking everything where it needed to be. The copper and cream floral pattern wasn’t too formal or pretentious. The bodice’s cut wasn’t overly demure and seemed an appropriately respectful style for the perspective she wished to convey this day. It certainly represented a better lifestyle than she truly lived at the moment. Sitting upon her bed, bent kneed, arched foot and curled toes she rolls each stocking on and can’t help a grim chuckle at the image of a great cat trying to wriggle out of the constricting garments. This certainly would not be an easy task should she have to shift quickly. But oh, the finer fabric did feel good against neglected skin in reminiscence of better times. She truly didn’t expect she would be in a shifting situation as her time would be full of digging through decades’ old dry dusty books. Briefly she imagines what she will find in the name provided by the Inspector: Zachiel Eyvino. Had he been or was he still a dangerous criminal? An evasive enemy of the city? Someone steeped in intrigue and perhaps tucked safely away? Maybe he was a lost hero of the time or quite simply a missing person – cold case for Scarred Wolf Investigations. Just as likely he could be a Nobody as much as a Somebody. She figured there was little chance that she would find anything the Inspector didn’t already know – he seemed a capable sort; but how very satisfying it would be if she cracked a case or shed illumination on some great secret. They’d spoken of deception and evasion so she hoped, at least, that the Inspector felt there might be more to learn out there and wasn’t just sending her on to a tedious effort with no sustenance. As she slips her stocking feet into the slippers she had bought, quite the find - they were soft and felt almost natural, she reminds herself aloud, “Beggars can’t be choosers. If all I end up doing is ink-staining my fingertips, snorting paper lint and coughing up dust balls I asked for it.” With deft experienced fingers she twists long locks of hair behind her ears and settles the final piece of her ‘disguise’ into place – a lace coif pinning her hair under modest control, it’s wide-ribboned length draped like lapels upon her chest. Resting hands on hips and turning side to side, the bell of her skirts brush against her stocking calves while copper slippers peek out below the hem, she wished she had a looking glass. Clasping her bond-gift around her neck and - Viola - a proper lady of modest estate, possibly well educated, and worthy of respect in case she was related to Someone important. All dressed up… and then she reaches for her old cloak. It was poor to start with and had been taking recent beatings in the rain. Her pack wasn’t in much better shape but this dress wasn’t equipped to hide weapons and she wouldn’t go weaponless. Maybe all ragged coverings would be excused as victims of the weather. One of these days she hoped she could afford a closet of various costumes to properly grift any encounter. She felt it was a good sign when she opened her door to a lull in the rain as her walk was quickly hampered by folds of material twisting and trapping the winds that tried to blow her off course with each good gust. Further slow going in finding the clearest path to save what she could of her dainty footwear allowed her time to review a plan of action. For life longevity in this field the Inspector advised staying, not just one but, dozens of steps ahead of a situation and certainly not, she imagined, as a purely reactive response - as was her habit. With such in mind she approached her first destination - City Hall - and considered what she would find beyond the mousy horn-rimed secretary who shouldn’t appear nearly as impressive now. Patience and perseverance while digging into old public records - seasonal census and esteemed houses - seemed to be in order for this encounter. If she couldn’t find all she needed here perhaps a visit to the library would be next in order. Pushing her cloak back over her shoulders her slippers barely whisper upon the floor as she approached the secretary’s desk with quill, ink, parchment, and an attitude of belonging at the ready. |