56th of Summer, 519 AV
Calla was so sick of weather. Not good weather or bad weather. She could deal with either of those. But both? That was the shyke she wasn’t a fan of. Lately, the weather seemed like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to be pleasant or not. This season started dry, and now it was raining. And we aren’t talking about a lazy day kind of rain--no. It was pouring.
Calla stood inside the threshold of Priskil’s Spire, watching the rain drop from the sky. She leaned against the doorway, her feet and arms crossed. Every now and again, a drop would stray and land on her nose. Those were exciting times.
”Calla, the doves won’t go out.” A scribe called from inside the lobby.
”So you want me to throw them or something?” Calla joked over her shoulder.
”What?” Calla heard the confusion in his voice. He obviously hadn’t heard her over the sound of the rain pounding against the spire.
”Nevermind. The birds aren't going?” Calla crossed the lobby and returned to a leaning position next to the scribe. Calla was almost always at a slant; the woman took every moment she could get off of one or both of her feet. The scribe shook his head.
”Besides, the package is too heavy for them to carry.” He added, spiking Calla’s annoyance. The scribe placed a box on the desk for her to take.
”Why would you lead with the dove thing then?” Calla’s jacket had previously been resting on the desk. It was way too warm for the weather, but it was all she had besides a petchin’ tent to keep her dry. She flung it on, then tucked the package underneath it.
”To give you hope.” The scribe motioned to the spire as a whole, smirking as he did so.
”Ha. Ha.” As Calla crossed backwards through the lobby, she called out to the scribe. ”So clever. So, so clever.” The scribe replied, but Calla was already in the rain and out of earshot.
She picked her pace up to a jog. The courier didn’t have to go too far--just to West Street. It was the same quarter, so Calla counted her blessings. Although, anything would have been preferable on a dull day like today. It was the days where she had few deliveries and nothing to do--days like this, that is--that made her mouth water for a popper,
Within a few chimes, the woman was at her destination: World’s End Grotto. She stepped inside and wasn’t surprised by the number of people seeking shelter in the inn. It was getting nastier out, and not everyone had to trudge through the rain for money. Bringing the package out from under her arm, Calla read the specifics on the label.
”Anja Nightwatcher.” Calla muttered. She liked to play a game with her deliveries: she’d read the name and guess what the person would look like. She scanned faces as she made her way to Anja’s room. Nobody looked like what she thought a Nightwatcher would look like. Tall, brooding, probably had dark hair. Definitely an axe kind of guy. Probably a two-handed, double-bladed axe kind of guy. Calla thought more on the kind of large, muscular man that would carry that kind of weapon as she tapped three times on the door. Please don’t be wearing a shirt.