Fantasy The Little Things (IC)

[Dovinique]

Seafolk

Elsie Avonlea

Azure Current

Somewhere in Tubero

Knock, knock, knock.

The sound reverberated through the house for the fifth time, each knock growing more insistent as Elsie’s father's patience wore thin. His knuckles rapped against the door with increasing urgency, “Elsie, you better open this door now,” he called, his voice low and simmering with barely-contained anger.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock!

“You better not be up to something funny again, young fish.”

Silence. The stillness inside the room only fueled his frustration. Anger seethed within the old seafolk, and with a surge of his power, he forced the door open. Although he had the ability to do this from the start, he had wanted to respect his daughter's privacy, holding off until his patience was completely depleted. The door swung open to reveal an immaculate bedroom, everything neatly in its place. But Elsie was gone.

Taking a deep, long breath, Elsie’s father screamed, “ELSIEEEEEEE!!!!” His voice echoed through the water, a roar that sent all the nearby fish darting away in a frantic, shimmering flurry.

Meanwhile, the blue-haired seafolk was already on her way to the land. Her father's concerns echoed in her mind, a stream of warnings and worries, quite understandable. With a murder case lurking in the land and sour gossip swirling about her whereabouts that night, the shore was the last place she should be. Yet, her insatiable curiosity and deep love for the Piscadoris overpowered the fear that made her skin crawl. She had to do something.

After nearly half an hour of swimming, Elsie broke through the surface. Clad in her usual loose attire, she emerged into the world of men. The sun welcomed her with its golden embrace, its warm light gently touching her wet skin. Though the familiar warmth wrapped around her, it felt different, lacking the pure delight it once brought. The bitterness of Alessi’s death lingered, casting a shadow over the brightness. Still, Elsie embraced the sun's warmth.

With the days of lamentation firmly behind her, Elsie now radiated the same boundless energy she had always possessed. Positivity was her armor in the quest to unravel the mystery, and she knew she had to share this optimism with Irene. Placing her hands confidently on her hips, she adorned her face with a bright smile, her eyes shimmering with determination, “Let’s do this!!!”

With careful tiptoes, Elsie navigated her way past the beach and onto the bustling main street. She executed a series of light hops and deft ducks, slipping through the throngs of people crowding the dock. Despite obviously disobeying her father's order to avoid the land after Alessi’s death, she remained cautious, wary of drawing too much attention to herself. Every movement was calculated, every step taken with the stealth of a seasoned detective pursuing a case, just like in the movie she watched with Irene.

Oh Irene… Thoughts of Irene weighed on Elsie's mind as she traversed the streets. She longed to visit her friend, to offer comfort and support. Yet, she sensed that Irene needed time alone to process her grief. Today's agenda was clear, to find a job. Money was essential for Elsie to integrate into human society, to carve out a place for herself beyond the sea.

As a bird flew close to her and landed on her outstretched forefinger, Elsie's face lit up with a smile. She brought her finger close to her face, whistling softly before speaking, “Hi, little one! Good day, good morning, good to see you.” She gently patted the bird's head with another finger, feeling its tiny form squirming beneath her soft touch.

“Do you happen to know where I could find a job that suits me?” she asked, her eyes wide with anticipation. “I'm good at organizing things, and I love to chat, but my reading skills are very limited.” The bird cocked its head, chirping in response, “A storekeeper? I remember there's a seafolk who opened a shop here, but I don’t remember who.”

Elsie pondered, rubbing her chin thoughtfully, “Maybe I'll ask around... Thank you, birdie. Have fun flying!” With a gentle flick, she propelled the bird into the air, watching it soar away. She waved goodbye until it vanished into the vast expanse of the clear blue sky.

Then, Elsie moved through Tubero with the utmost stealth, sticking to the edges of pathways and blending with crowds whenever possible. She avoided walking in the middle of the street, instead darting between barrels and walls, attempting to remain unseen. Despite her efforts, her behavior might have seemed odd to some keen observers. One particular area she made sure to steer clear of was the street near Ambrosia Cafe, as the roses there would tickle her nose, setting off a chain of nonstop sneezes.

As Elsie inquired and searched for the seafolk shop, she suddenly spotted a towering figure that instantly captured her attention. He was gorgeous, with silky, beautiful black hair that nearly rivaled Elsie’s own. She was certain he was the Relic Guardian, though she couldn't quite recall his name—Raneli? Rineri? Rinri? She wasn't sure. Seeing him up close was a rare occurrence, she couldn't recall ever having the chance before. Her curiosity piqued, and with a playful smile and squinted eyes, she muttered to herself, “Suspicious.”

Elsie pulled a pair of black sunglasses from her satchel and put them on with unshakeable confidence. With them on, she felt completely “invisible.” She resumed her stealthy strategy, trailing Ranieri around Tubero. She hid behind walls, barrels, or anything large enough to conceal her, blended into crowds, and even pretended to chat with strangers to avoid suspicion. Her pursuit came to a halt when Ranieri met another seafolk, a boy younger than her.

Stretching her ears to catch their conversation, Elsie hid behind a tree, her eyes fixed on the two seafolks. She strained to eavesdrop, her heart pounding as she realized the conversation was about her. Mouthing “Me?” with a confused expression, she watched as they spoke. When their discussion ended, Elsie quickly turned and pressed her back against the tree, her heart racing. Sweat, as big as pearls, trickled down her neck and back as panic set in. Why would someone like him be looking for an ordinary girl like her? Maybe following him had been a bad choice after all.

As she prepared to leave and run away, her bare foot unfortunately stepped on a branch, producing a sharp “crack.”

“Oops…” she whispered, freezing in her position.

Interaction: Silvercurrent (Ranieri)
Mention: lucenti (Amadeo)

Code by Serobliss

 

[Silvercurrent]

Seafolk

Elsie Avonlea

Azure Current

Somewhere in Tubero

Knock, knock, knock.

The sound reverberated through the house for the fifth time, each knock growing more insistent as Elsie’s father's patience wore thin. His knuckles rapped against the door with increasing urgency, “Elsie, you better open this door now,” he called, his voice low and simmering with barely-contained anger.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock!

“You better not be up to something funny again, young fish.”

Silence. The stillness inside the room only fueled his frustration. Anger seethed within the old seafolk, and with a surge of his power, he forced the door open. Although he had the ability to do this from the start, he had wanted to respect his daughter's privacy, holding off until his patience was completely depleted. The door swung open to reveal an immaculate bedroom, everything neatly in its place. But Elsie was gone.

Taking a deep, long breath, Elsie’s father screamed, “ELSIEEEEEEE!!!!” His voice echoed through the water, a roar that sent all the nearby fish darting away in a frantic, shimmering flurry.

Meanwhile, the blue-haired seafolk was already on her way to the land. Her father's concerns echoed in her mind, a stream of warnings and worries, quite understandable. With a murder case lurking in the land and sour gossip swirling about her whereabouts that night, the shore was the last place she should be. Yet, her insatiable curiosity and deep love for the Piscadoris overpowered the fear that made her skin crawl. She had to do something.

After nearly half an hour of swimming, Elsie broke through the surface. Clad in her usual loose attire, she emerged into the world of men. The sun welcomed her with its golden embrace, its warm light gently touching her wet skin. Though the familiar warmth wrapped around her, it felt different, lacking the pure delight it once brought. The bitterness of Alessi’s death lingered, casting a shadow over the brightness. Still, Elsie embraced the sun's warmth.

With the days of lamentation firmly behind her, Elsie now radiated the same boundless energy she had always possessed. Positivity was her armor in the quest to unravel the mystery, and she knew she had to share this optimism with Irene. Placing her hands confidently on her hips, she adorned her face with a bright smile, her eyes shimmering with determination, “Let’s do this!!!”

With careful tiptoes, Elsie navigated her way past the beach and onto the bustling main street. She executed a series of light hops and deft ducks, slipping through the throngs of people crowding the dock. Despite obviously disobeying her father's order to avoid the land after Alessi’s death, she remained cautious, wary of drawing too much attention to herself. Every movement was calculated, every step taken with the stealth of a seasoned detective pursuing a case, just like in the movie she watched with Irene.

Oh Irene… Thoughts of Irene weighed on Elsie's mind as she traversed the streets. She longed to visit her friend, to offer comfort and support. Yet, she sensed that Irene needed time alone to process her grief. Today's agenda was clear, to find a job. Money was essential for Elsie to integrate into human society, to carve out a place for herself beyond the sea.

As a bird flew close to her and landed on her outstretched forefinger, Elsie's face lit up with a smile. She brought her finger close to her face, whistling softly before speaking, “Hi, little one! Good day, good morning, good to see you.” She gently patted the bird's head with another finger, feeling its tiny form squirming beneath her soft touch.

“Do you happen to know where I could find a job that suits me?” she asked, her eyes wide with anticipation. “I'm good at organizing things, and I love to chat, but my reading skills are very limited.” The bird cocked its head, chirping in response, “A storekeeper? I remember there's a seafolk who opened a shop here, but I don’t remember who.”

Elsie pondered, rubbing her chin thoughtfully, “Maybe I'll ask around... Thank you, birdie. Have fun flying!” With a gentle flick, she propelled the bird into the air, watching it soar away. She waved goodbye until it vanished into the vast expanse of the clear blue sky.

Then, Elsie moved through Tubero with the utmost stealth, sticking to the edges of pathways and blending with crowds whenever possible. She avoided walking in the middle of the street, instead darting between barrels and walls, attempting to remain unseen. Despite her efforts, her behavior might have seemed odd to some keen observers. One particular area she made sure to steer clear of was the street near Ambrosia Cafe, as the roses there would tickle her nose, setting off a chain of nonstop sneezes.

As Elsie inquired and searched for the seafolk shop, she suddenly spotted a towering figure that instantly captured her attention. He was gorgeous, with silky, beautiful black hair that nearly rivaled Elsie’s own. She was certain he was the Relic Guardian, though she couldn't quite recall his name—Raneli? Rineri? Rinri? She wasn't sure. Seeing him up close was a rare occurrence, she couldn't recall ever having the chance before. Her curiosity piqued, and with a playful smile and squinted eyes, she muttered to herself, “Suspicious.”

Elsie pulled a pair of black sunglasses from her satchel and put them on with unshakeable confidence. With them on, she felt completely “invisible.” She resumed her stealthy strategy, trailing Ranieri around Tubero. She hid behind walls, barrels, or anything large enough to conceal her, blended into crowds, and even pretended to chat with strangers to avoid suspicion. Her pursuit came to a halt when Ranieri met another seafolk, a boy younger than her.

Stretching her ears to catch their conversation, Elsie hid behind a tree, her eyes fixed on the two seafolks. She strained to eavesdrop, her heart pounding as she realized the conversation was about her. Mouthing “Me?” with a confused expression, she watched as they spoke. When their discussion ended, Elsie quickly turned and pressed her back against the tree, her heart racing. Sweat, as big as pearls, trickled down her neck and back as panic set in. Why would someone like him be looking for an ordinary girl like her? Maybe following him had been a bad choice after all.

As she prepared to leave and run away, her bare foot unfortunately stepped on a branch, producing a sharp “crack.”

“Oops…” she whispered, freezing in her position.

Interaction: Silvercurrent (Ranieri)
Mention: lucenti (Amadeo)

Code by Serobliss

Shiny brown leather shoes came to a halt, followed by the soft tap of a silver cane into the cobblestone. Ranieri’s hand tightened around the handle of his brief case, eyes widening a bit.

Oh, I forgot to pack my hat… He frowned, having actually liked the one hat he owned. Should I try making one? Oh, no… The last time I did try, it got all floppy and evaporated on one side. How embarrassing—


CRACK.


Ranieri flinched slightly, his knuckles going pale as he tightened his grip around his cane. He was a tall man, with a very proud and sharp look about him. His long black hair was like the mane of a strong horse flowing in the wind, and his eyes were icy and piercing.

But he was totally spooked. A shadow could make him jump, or the touch of a spider web could leave him feeling jumpy for hours. His expression stayed calm but his stiff gait as he tried to keep walking away was a bit… obvious.

Is it the soap ladies? Please, I told them I’d buy their soaps one day. I tried to let them know politely that their soap makes me break out into hives and it’s not suitable for sea people skin and I’m sorry– it smells really good but also kind of like old goat milk? They were fast for little old ladies in their 90’s that barely reached his bottom button. Dear god, please don’t be the soap ladies.

He didn’t make it far before he turned his head to actually see what made the snapping sound, and seeing the sun glimmer across streaks of sapphire tresses, his eyes widened.


~“Elsie?”~ He inquired gently in both sign and spoken word, setting down his briefcase. He didn’t move with the same swiftness the girl did- he seemed like he needed the cane just to keep his equilibrium in check.

“I-I’m-” turning his eyes at her, the sun was fighting him, nearly swallowing Elsie’s image in bright beaming light that made him dizzy. “I’m Ranieri, i’m from the Bureau of Relic guardians– may I please have a word–” he sounded like someone’s school principal, shuffling her way with an outstretched hand for a handshake.


As he took a few steps, the toe of his shoe hit a crack between a sunken hole in the road and he stumbled a bit, his tall figure wobbling sideways until he found himself dangerously close to a cactus with little pink flowers that contrasted the long needles it had… He heard a small ‘rip!’ and felt his pant leg tug a bit, and when he cracked his eyes open, he glanced down at his nice suit and frowned, seeing the cloth dripping onto his shoe. The thorns of the cactus tore a little gash into his threads of the sea, but thankfully missed his skin.


Ranieri glanced back to Elsie, then gave her tired but reassuring smile. “Well, my land legs aren’t very good. Too much time spent in the water i’m afraid.” he pushed open a smooth lid on the top of his cane, and from it a dancing light of turquoise water slithered out, weaving through the air before snaking down to his pant leg to begin repairing the fabric. The water swung and twirled, moving as if an invisible seamstress were sewing it by hand. When he was done, he looked back to Elsie.

“With that out of the way… may I please speak to you? I promise I won’t keep you.” he assured with a kind smile, closing the silvery lid of his cane with a gentle shine of the jewel below it.

 

[mocca]

A gruelling thirst kicked into Idalia’s body before it even had the chance to stir. A dry, shivering sensation that reeled from the hollow of her stomach, up to her parted lips. Often, Idalia found herself trading in her days for nights. Today, was one such day. The mild scent of liquor filtered through the air around her, intermingling curiously with the heady rose perfume that clung to her skin. Tucked snugly in her bed, Idalia rolled over to face the length of her room, and wearily lifted her cheek, baring with it the imprint of a crumpled pillowcase. A large bow window outstretched across the furthest wall, with velvet curtains trailing down to the white, flaking skirting. Though her eyelashes remained welded shut with the tacky remnants of yesterday's mascara, the biting sunlight illuminating the reds of her eyelids was unmistakable. The sun was streaming through her window in wide, horizontal rays. It was early morning, far earlier than her body could ever naturally rise to motion. Something had disturbed her shallow slumber.

As she held herself up in this position, bathing for a moment in the warmth of the light, her ears tuned into the sounds of life coming from beyond her window, a panel of which had swung wide open on its rusted hinge. The tailor shop seemed to be a hit once again today, with heavy footsteps and conversation too quiet to decipher, but too loud to rest through. She had decided, no doubt, that its popularity today could be blamed purely on sartorial reasons. Ha. “Mmgmggnhhh..” She made a soft and somnolent grumble of protest, before sinking back into the layers of white linen, her rosy curls splaying out like a crown across her pillowcase. The sunlight remained warm on her skin, as she slowly gathered her first thought of the day. Since the Blue Flamingo had closed, Idalia found herself burdened with an excess of empty, listless time. The world looked unkind and dangerous to her, following the late happenings, and so she had become monastically devoted to her four-poster bed. A man had been lost, one who had shown her great benevolence, and though she hadn’t had the fortune of ever meeting the other ‘Piscadori’, a second life lost was enough to make her wilt. It had driven her to a state of particularly boozy isolation, with only the muffled blarings of her phonograph churning out jazz ensembles to keep her company. Yesterday, in an uncharacteristic turn of prudence, she had even denied an invitation to dinner, turning away her suitor with a gentle chastising for his frivolousness. Grief muted the young singer, if only momentarily, and so she was left here, a Rapunzel in her self-made tower.

Idalia took her time rolling in these thoughts of darkened morbidity and uncertainty, before finally arousing herself. She sat, slipping a thin kimono across her shoulders and pressed her feet against the smooth grain of the hardwood floor, still cold and untouched by the morning light. She stepped into the bathroom, a small, shaded box lined with glazed, baby-blue tiles up to the ceiling, and three fixtures of glistening, worn in porcelain. With a hard crank of the brass faucet, water began to spill into the sink. Here, she dutifully cleansed her face, repainting its sickened pallor with creams and powders and rouge until she once more bore the softness and vividity of an oil painting. Today, she must break the cycle. If she could not rend from her troubles, then perhaps she could set herself upon somebody else’s. A misleadingly selfish endeavour, perhaps - but she quickly tried to quieten this thought. She readied herself in a straight-cut dress, before slipping through her apartment door, her heels clicking down the steps towards the pavement.

The tailor’s was a familiar scene, beaten only by the Blue Flamingo and her abode. What struck her as unfamiliar, however, was the frequency of clientele that visited today. Pressing a hand against the wood panelling of the door, she leant into the shop, dropping her head to one side as she announced, “Mr. Mannu,” with a tender smile. She appeared like a phantom: a languid, slender frame draped in pale fabrics, and an inextricably distant gaze. “If the commotion is wearing on me, then…” Her voice faltered for a moment, trailing idly. “Then, it must be wearing on you. Please, is there anything I may help you with? Perhaps - any errands you have been unable to run? I have not heard the shop with a moment of quiet to spare in days.” Despite the grand efforts she had made to conceal her dishevelment of these past few days, there remained a worn look upon her delicate features. Her brows were fixed in a position of wistful concern.

 

[lucenti]

Seafolk

Amadeo Rubellite

Between Currents

Tubero's Tailor

A stray ray of sunlight reflected off the gem-like surface of the doll's vacant eyes, temporarily blinding Amadeo while he was carefully handling the fragile ends of its hair. As if waking from a trance, he slowly turned his head to look out of the round window of the attic, surprised to see the morning sun greeting him in his stiff dwelling. His neck complained at the movement, cracking loudly and eliciting a small wince from Amadeo. Sitting still for a whole night hadn't been one of the best ideas the seaman had had in the last few days. A disconcerting thought, considering that he was also the same person who had suggested that balancing drunk on a ship's railing was the most appropriate way to end a party. He was still waiting for Thomas to forgive him for the broken port window and the ruined paintings.

But seeing the results of his sleepless efforts resting gently in his palms, Amadeo's mood couldn't help but brighten despite the glaring lack of caffeine in his system. Such a simple doll; frilly dress, curly hair, from the looks of its original stitches older than the current child who played with it, yet, undeniably, still filled with so much innocent love. Marks and notes on its worn body that told stories of its experiences; recent stains of chamomile tea suggesting a sweet tea party, little heart stickers replacing the stitched pupils, or the name written in fine marker on the foot of its heel. 'Miss Therea', how lovely.

It was these little things that made repairing the toy such a joy for Amadeo, erasing all sorts of exhaustion as he tackled the delicate and detailed parts of its clothing for the first time last night. However, having his neglected bodily needs pounding against the inside of his skull and making their complaints loudly heard through the constant rumbling of his stomach was no joke. So the toy maker abided, amicably deciding to take a short break as he was already ripped out of his flow. Gently, he leaned the unfinished product against a basket filled with wool, a stark contrast to his subsequent careless placement of his tools amidst a pile of other equipment. A loud yawn rippled through the stale air of his improvised workspace as Amadeo stretched and twisted in an attempt to restore some semblance of feeling to his numb limbs.

Stumbling down the stairs leading to his shop, he was immediately greeted by more clusters of chaotic and disorganised objects, some of which reached up to the wooden ceiling. Amadeo could already hear a familiar voice nagging at the back of his mind, telling him to finally hire someone to do all the organisational work that the seaman had deliberately put off until there was no way to salvage the situation. First of all, rude!, and secondly, Amadeo always thought that chaos had a certain charm, like greasy fingers after too much fast food, so no, thank you, Vittorio. He would die on this hill; even now, after having stumbled over the same fallen coat-rack more than twice in his tired haze.

Arriving at the locked front door, Amadeo fished a set of pink key rings from his pocket, shuffling them around to find the right one. Considering that he had only recently got rid of all the unnecessary and broken keys, it didn't take long for the lock to fall open and for Amadeo to step out into the busy morning street of Tubero.

Despite the glorious spring weather, which invited the townsfolk to enjoy a quiet and peaceful morning, the sour atmosphere of recent events lay like a heavy blanket, visibly dampening everyone's spirits. Even as he walked aimlessly through the streets, whispers of theories and conspiracies reached his open ears. Amadeo couldn't even blame them for their misguided curiosity, for he wasn't entirely blameless himself. At least he hadn't gone so far as to be personally asked to leave his spot by a guard, like a certain individual with a grey cap. A stone's throw away from his current location, on the opposite side of the street, it was hard for Amadeo not to overhear their heated conversation. Good thing he hadn't even tried. Curiously, he watched as the suspicious man disappeared into an alley, and although the man had no desire to follow him just yet, he noted the location down in his memory anyway. Never know when it might come in handy.

First, Amadeo needed to get some energy back into his body, and when he saw where most of the current crowd was heading, he knew just the man to visit on this bright morning. For a moment, his conviction faltered when he saw an unfamiliar figure blocking the entrance to the shop, but that concern quickly vanished as he decided to simply squeeze past her. It took a lot more than that to keep Amadeo from entering his desired destination. Looking around, his eyes searched for the stern but secretly bubbly presence that was a single Bubore Mannu. He found the man just in time to see the cautious look that briefly flickered across his features and a concerned gesture that further revealed his troubled mood. With a beaming smile, Amadeo approached the tailor and offered his hand in a friendly manner. "What's got your yarn twisted so early on this lovely morning? You look as if the ghost of Ramene has been haunting your establishment," he paused, his thoughts wandering to the entourage of guards and informants he had passed on his way here, "quite literally, actually."

Amadeo shrugged, brushing off any potential looks his insensitive remark might have attracted, before continuing, "Do your worries have anything to do with all the vultures swirling around out there? One newspaper and everyone comes running as if Eddy is on their trail. Doesn't feel like something that's good for mind or customers."

Only when he had finished the sentence did Amadeo turn to the person he had to rudely shove aside to enter the shop. Her rosy hair was the first thing that caught his attention, as he couldn't help but approve of its colour. He had always had a weakness for that shade of pink. On closer inspection, however, her features seemed to be haunted by the same deep worry that plagued Bubore. "And if I may ask, who are you? I didn't know that old Mannu was in cahoots with a fair lady like you." A playful grin curled the corners of his lips.

interaction: bubore mannu ( Headphones ) ; idalia ( mocca )
mention: //

Code by Serobliss

 

[Not Char Aznable]

Mauro listened to Enzo, leaning one elbow on the counter and listening to the seagulls in the far distance. “Babysit the other jeans? No.” he said simply. “She made a big show of that newspaper. Makes me think she doesn’t want us focusing too hard on other people. Or things.” Mauro lowered his tone, then downed the remaining expresso.


“Alessi began as a Jean like us. As he got more work elsewhere, he only became part-time. His success put us in a good light here, gave the guild more legitimacy. When the old Guild master died, Catinca began applying her own style to this place, and how we run things. She wants us to operate like privateers now–” Mauro scoffed, combing back his wind-tossed locks.

“Alessi wasn’t a celebrity. He was just one Jean that made a good life for himself. None of us are fancy types; we aren’t heroes or even proper sailors. We’re people who want a life where we can eat well and have a moment to relax. Not be asked questions. For her to make a declaration like this…” Mauro shrugged, eye staring far off and beyond the wall he was facing. “Alessi’s death the other day, followed by his name in the paper and all the rumors going around with him and Remene… Anyone affiliated with our guild will be given a hard time. They may act rashly and break the rules, and a lot of chaos would come of it. I think she only asked us because she knows what kind of past we have.” His jaw clenched a bit, but his eye remained focused on the blurry nothing before him. “Thinks the other Jeans will respect us for it. Thinks they’ll be too afraid to break the rules if the Landlocked enforces it.”

He had the stare of a man desperately trying not to backslide into a memory.

“As for Andrea, he was in your position before you got here. He’d been with the guild for years, planting seeds into the minds of other young jeans that stealing Relics from the old temples under sea would be remunerative-” Mauro paused, as if he’d smelled something bad. The curl of his lip, the way his body shifted; clearly the usual frosty veneer he had was flaking off a bit, but not so much that he couldn’t recover. He wasn’t enjoying retelling this story, but he felt it was important.

“By the time I caught him in the act, the damage was too great.” Mauro inhaled deeply, cracking his knuckles to shake off some of the tension and ease his muscles.


“He broke at least 5 rules within the creed. He was handed over, along with the rest of my crew. The ones you don’t see here.” Mauro took one more draw from his cigar, letting it rest between his lips. “Dead weight, the lot of them. I’m better off with less men, than I am with lesser men.” he plucked a slice of cheese off the wooden tray laying near them, as well as a piece of shredded lamb. He squinted, thinking about how he was going to do as Catinca asked. Though Mauro still seemed reticent about pinning her motives.

A woman like Catinca would only learn the names of people she spoke to minutes before speaking to them, and the only way to build rapport with her was to actually get an audience. Alessi was an odd reason to call a meeting.

He thought, chewing. He wasn’t a hero amongst jeans, he was replaceable, even. After being hired by Mr. Remene, he practically disappeared from the guild. Catinca liked keeping a reputation of honor about the guild, but making a show of it to Mauro, and not Tamara the Witch-jean or an even bigger Captain… Was she afraid of the jeans becoming disorganized and doing something stupid, or was she directing the focus away from herself, or… someone else?


“Don’t worry much about it.” He finally told Enzo, stretching a bit. “Jeans will do whatever they want in the end. We’ll keep an eye out, like we’re told. But once this place is flooded with guards… We won’t have control over anything. Catinca’s on her own.” Mauro chuckled a little smugly at that, slipping from his bar stool. “I’m hungry. I’m going for lunch– go where you please and take the day off.”


Mauro didn’t rush off, in fact his movement was quite lazy and sluggish. A man happier on a ship making clumsy strides on land, passing by the other large Tapestry hanging from the wall by the entrance to the guild. It had the crest of a serpent with its body coiling around a treasure chest, and a hawk-like creature swooping down to claw its body- at least that’s what the depiction symbolized in embroidered thread. Down the fabric, the Jean’s creed hung, keeping a silent vigil on the wall.

Any brawls or arguments shall be settled on shore.
I shall take good care of my ship.
I shall not wake my crew mates in the middle of the night unless it is of urgency.
I will not kill any innocents.
I will never, under any circumstance, rob a person of their virtue by forcing them to do something vile they would never do of their free will.
I will follow the code, and encourage my crew mates to do so also.
I will not venture to rob a Relic of the Sea people unless I am willing to face due punishment.
I will aid Sea people if they ask.
I shall offer atonement for any transgressions to Sea people.
I shall be loyal to my Crew.
I Cross a Line, I accept to pay the tithe.
If I am hexed, cursed or damned by a Witch, I will serve them for life.
I shall defend children of ill upbringing and poverty.
I will provide service to those who can pay.
I shall preserve myself by any means but those that conflict with the oaths above.
I shall do nothing to provoke ill relations with the Land-sea treaty.

If I dishonor this code, I am nothing but a Pirate. So Cross my heart! I am a Jean of code, of freedom, of the sun in the sky!​

Spelless Human

Enzo Santini

Clerk of the Landlocked

Jeans' Guild Hall

Enzo listened intently as Mauro answered, explained, and recounted. It was clear that Andrea was an uncomfortable subject for one reason or another, he turned to his espresso to relieve the Captain from his gaze and restrained himself from probing further.
A silence fell between them. Maybe Mauro blamed himself for Andrea's crime, for not noticing the signs sooner, for failing to stop it, for what became of the whole crew. Enzo considered those possibilities, bit his tongue, and contemplated whether to say anything. But what did he know? He had only a surface-level summary, no understanding of the finer details and contexts. There were no substantial comforting words he could provide, just the same hollow phrases he had heard in the past: "You couldn't have known," or "It's not your fault" — those never helped.
Mauro spoke first. "Don't worry about it," he said, "Jeans will do whatever they want in the end. We’ll keep an eye out, like we’re told. But once this place is flooded with guards… We won’t have control over anything. Catinca’s on her own."
Enzo turned his eyes to the Captain and nodded.
"I'm hungry," Mauro stated. "I'm going for lunch — go where you please and take the day off." Then, he left.
A background hum of conversations, laughter, and complaints grew louder; the guild hall had filled up as they spoke. Enzo scanned the various faces scattered around: men, women, old, young. It dawned on him that he hardly knew anyone other than his crewmates, and he didn't know them very well either. He didn't know how to bridge the gap anymore, how to reach out, how to connect.

"You're all alone," hissed a voice from the depths of his mind.

"I know," Enzo muttered. He stood up from the counter, leaving behind a half-empty espresso, made his way to the main entrance, passing the tapestry displaying the Jeans' creed, and stepped out into the street.
Outside, Enzo pulled on his shoddy fiddler's cap. He drew a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, flicked it open, and brought it close to snatch one between his teeth. Then, he swapped the pack for a matchbook, nudged a match out, struck it aflame with his thumbnail, and lit the cigarette.
With each passing second, Enzo became increasingly aware of an unnatural weight in his other pocket—the packet of cash Mauro had given him. The thought of it left a taste more bitter than the tobacco or its acrid smoke: it was a reward he didn't deserve, yet one so necessary for life.

I need to go home and get rid of this.

Code by Serobliss

 

[Laraes]

Matia

mood.

hopeful

location.

Inside Matia's apartment

mentions.

Nifty

coded by.

uxie!

Mood Indigo --- Duke Ellington

Duke Ellington

The door to the uppermost apartment flew open and in stormed an elated and slightly out-of-breath Matia, sending her two cats scurrying. She was accompanied by a gust of fresh morning air and the childlike excitement and naive hope that still seemed to cling to her after the conversation downstairs.
Before the door could fall back into its hinges Matia had already flown into her office room and yanked a cast-iron letter opener out of one of the jammed drawers. She promptly used it to open the source of her new-found enthusiasm: the letter left to her by — so she hoped — whoever would become her newest lead.
Hungrily, her hands moved to unfold the heavy stationery and she began to read. Her eyes eagerly skimmed over the words and — with each letter her face darkened and she sank into herself. Finally, with a loud groan, she dropped onto the couch in her small living room.
She sat there for a moment in silence, then — "Babbu in bocca!" — spat out a spirited curse and slammed down her fists on the sofa, crumpling the letter in the process.

The letter's contents were not what she had hoped for, but a polite and neatly written application in response to an announcement she had placed in the Custas Vegadas about a week ago and forgotten about completely. Defeated, she reached for an edition of the newspaper she had bought by way of exception and that still laid on the coffee table. She read over her advert again, mockingly commenting on it in her mind.

"Independent journalist, 28, rather unwillingly seeks housemate to share rent of a cozy, central apartment with lots of sunlight and accordingly stuffy room temperature. Must appreciate two very quirky cats, nocturnal and probably heated discussions and occasional bouts of rebellion well, mostly rants against the mundane. Rent is shared equally which is not very fair, no dullards or pedants really, I don't do very well with those. Please bring trouble and don't be boring. And please don't have problems with me bringing in weird pieces of evidence or coming home way past the curfew".

She raised her eyes and glanced around her apartment; the mess from her late-night investigations, scattered papers, and unwashed dishes weighing down on her. She hated to admit it, but she could see why there weren't many of the few applicants that met her standards and were invited to a showing left. Especially in the state that the apartment had been in the last few days, after the murder.

She glared at the yellow letter in her hand with a furrowed brow. Zarina Corsentino. So was the sender's far too euphonious name. Matia had only gotten a few lines in, but she had read enough. Prim and proper Zarina, working for the Guard of all things, was not what she had imagined her roommate to be. And there was no doubt in her mind, that Zarina likewise wouldn't be particularly happy about the state of the apartment, nor its occupant.

With an annoyed gesture, she waved her notebook and fountain pen over to her, which had hovered awkwardly in the hallway while their temperamental master was having her little tantrum. She held out the now crumpled letter to her notebook, which readily gobbled it up and tucked it between its pages for safekeeping.

"Thank you both. I'll look at that later. Now shoo and back in the bag."

She motioned towards her handbag, which she had carelessly thrown next to the small vintage sofa on which she was slumped.

With a sigh, she then set off to look for her cats. She had probably startled them out of the morning nap they liked to take on the windowsill in the kitchen, before following the sun to the office window in the afternoon. Matia half-heartedly picked up a few dishes on her way to the kitchen, while peaking into the cat's usual hiding spots.
She had no luck in the usual places, on the hall wardrobe, in the shoe cupboard, under her bed and even under the old gas stove, so with a sigh she opened the larder in the kitchen and stood on tiptoe.

"Aha!"

She dug out a small tin can from the far corner of the top shelf and shook its contents a little. The sound of their favorite treats paired with Matia's enticing whistles finally managed to lure the two visibly miffed cats out of their hiding place.

"There you are!"

She knelt down and bribed them with a handful of the treats. As soon as the cats got close enough, she scooped them up and gave them an apologetic pat on their little heads.

"I'm sorry you always catch me at my most unflattering moments."

With a cat under each arm, she kicked off her high-heeled sandals and headed for the sofa again. There, not unlike her furry roommates, she curled up and pulled the old woolen blanket over her body that she had received as a gift from her Nonna.

Vita didn't seem to like the forced time-out and squirmed out of her owner's arms, but Dolce had apparently been appeased and remained lying next to Matia. She began to stroke him gently, whether for her reassurance or his. As she slowly drifted off to a less restful sleep, she murmured to the softly purring cat her plans for the day:

"Do you know what I need today? A good coffee at Tzia Bistra's. It's been far too long since I've blessed her with my presence."

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Cosmos]

“Nyx.”



Basilia repeated, the words leaving her lips like the parting of clouds in the sky with no haste or care. She didn’t seem to mind this interaction, in fact, she had changed her tune pretty quickly from a marble statue to a conversing social butterfly. Yet, just saying the name of someone who had such a unique title made her pause and smile subtly.


“I applaud you for serving the process,” she said in regards to the paperwork Nyx mentioned. “If you think it’s bad up here, you should see the protocol below.” She mused, then finished cleaning up her features. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I like your skin.. Paintings.” she gestured, taking a step closer to peel Nyx’s collar away to better see them.

“Land people can withstand a lot of pain. It’s amazing what you can do.” She chuckled, then went back to holding her purse at her side. “Thank you for collaborating with me there. It’s true; residents of Tubero tend to find any crack in the sidewalk and… judge it.” Basilia smirked, shifting her stance to look down the road they were on. The pale stone stretched on, weeping with different kinds of flowers and drooping leaves. She took her dark, messy hair and went about pinning it up into a bun as she spoke.


“But they’re mostly talk. Get to know them and they have redeeming qualities.” She told Nyx, glancing back to her through thick, veiling lashes. “Provided they aren’t bored.” she joked, mostly. Then finally, she sighed and leaned back on the wall, letting a few petals shade her from the harsh sun rays. “I’m Basilia,” she signed as well, and the hand movement was that of four fingernails clawing down her palm, and her thumb curling around the other. It was quick to the unfamiliar, but it resembled the sign for “Lobster” closely in the ocean language. “Us strange anomalies must look out for each other. Let me thank you for making my walk less stressful, hm? Perhaps you’d like something from Sweetrose, or Farmacia Garibaldi. I've a few errands to run, and if you'd like to join me I will buy you something." Basilia wasn't shy with her offer.

It wasn't as though Nyx would have a peaceful day following her, but this woman looked as though she could afford a good meal for two and access to medical items. She donned a dark dress, though it was clear in the sunlight that it was actually dark green. The layer beneath was sheer and light weight, made of materials likely used with "threads of the sea"-- spelless could tell this as well, though Witches were more likely to sense the element of water seeping from it, or maybe catch the distinct glint coming from the fabric. And with expensive jewelry inlaid with glossy stones and shells within delicate silver, she certainly wasn't going to hurt from sharing her wealth.

"Perhaps I can learn where you've come from. I always like a good story from someone who's traveled from far away." Basilia smiled, tilting her head back the way they came.

NYX ATÉRIS
location: //unspecified
interaction: Silvercurrent
----

Nyx was caught fairly off-guard, yet didn't flinch as the woman stepped forward and gently tugged her collar exposing a little of her shoulder to better view the ink inlaid upon it. She was used to a handful of unique interactions towards it, but this had to be a first. A light pink burst of color flushed her cheeks briefly at the pain comment, pushing aside any further thoughts on the matter as the subject swiftly moved onwards to the 'getaway' staged only minutes before. Finding herself able to do little more than a nod at the statement of the residents as the other fixed her hair.

"I'll take your word for it." She chuckled and joined her in leaning against the wall, "It's not the people I moved here for regardless, though the idea of a few friendly faces around the place wouldn't be bad." She said staring up at the leaves above their heads, sunlight glistening through the gaps between, a look of soft yearning on her face. Glancing back over she watched the other's hands as her name was stated, she knew some sea-sign, though she wouldn't win any awards for it. Staring for a moment as though committing it to memory before mimicking it as best she could when giving a spoken reply, "Basilia. I'll be sure to remember it." She said, speaking slower as she clearly had to focus on what she was trying to say.

A slight gleam filled her eyes at the mention of a gift, as much as she liked to work her own way in the world, a free meal wasn't something she'd turn down with her current job situation. Not to mention stopping by these places was pretty much her own days plan regardless. Smiling she nodded, "It would be my honor." She said in a playful tone. Her eyes cast over Basilia briefly as she took in the full form of the other, finding herself caught up briefly observing the outfit. She knew of the 'threads of the sea' of course, but to see it this close-up was somewhat of a curiosity regardless.

Beginning to walk after the woman her words of delving into Nyx's origins gave way to a short pause, her smile wavering for a second before reassuring herself. She had to stop being so touchy surrounding it. Especially here so far away, there was very little likelihood of any issues -in fact- it would be more suspicious to keep as tight-lipped as she had been in her travels. After all, she planned to stick around here, and the faster she could dissuade any rumors about the 'mysterious newcomer' the better all the more so given the news she'd heard spread through the island like wildfire after the murder or some big shot. Others digging into things could make it complicated. After all, she'd worked hard to make sure that chapter of her life stayed as far away as possible.

"It's not nearly as beautiful as Sardinia, I can tell ya' that much for sure." She let out a moment later, catching up and matching the other's pace with relative ease, rubbing once again at the back of her neck a little and staring off to the side. "Or at least the part I'm from ain't. I didn't even see the ocean till I was nearly eighteen, let's just say it was hard to turn back after that." She flashed a grin toward Basilia. It wasn't a complete lie. She truly hadn't seen the ocean till that age, whereas her reason for leaving in quite the way she did was a different story.​

 

[fulloftricks]

Anna soaked in the atmosphere of Cafe Ambrosia. The pleasant smell of pastries and coffee mingled with flowers, obscuring any trace of smoke and grime from the busier streets. She thanked the waiter, flashing him a genuine smile for his kindness. Savouring her cappuccino with small sips, Anna absorbed the warmth and pleasant low sounds of the cafe.

As guilty as she felt at the thought, it was nice to be out of the house and away for her family. Not too guilty though - she knew Camilla and Beatrice appreciated time away also. It was a delicate balance, living in close quarters with neurotic, noisy people like her family, but she was walking that tight rope better than she had as a teenager.

When her cappuccino had dwindled down to an over-sugared millimetre at the bottom of the cup, Anna looked up. Her contentment had led her to ignore the finer details of her surroundings; the sounds of a tapping cane and new conversation had gone under her notice. Not wanting to outstay her welcome, Anna stood up, tidied up her table to the best of her abilities, and went for the exit. As she passed Costa she offered him a polite, murmured ‘thank you’, quiet so as not to disturb him with new customers. She offered, also, a polite nod to the young nun seated at the table. Her mother was the in-name-only sort of Orthodox, but she had taught her to be respectful.

Passing through the streets of Tubero, Anna took the time to window-shop. It was nice to see the town thriving, the bells above store doors ringing out. Anna slowed down to watch the thin crowds, observing the well-known eddying of their currents. The caffeine and tranquility had sharpened her mind, leaving her to enjoy the bustle of people. It left her, also, aware that there was nobody to whisper about too high prices or beautiful patterns too. Sometime, Anna assured herself, she would ask Beatrice to take Elia for the day and bring Camilla out. Her sister was getting too used to their house and her workroom.

Wanting to shake the loneliness from her shoulders, Anna went into the next store she passed. The bell tinkled to signal her entrance into the fabric house. Clear-and-Cute was familiar to her already, a place for Anna to trace her hands along beautiful fabrics she couldn’t justify buying. She was familiar too with the things people (that is to say, her mother’s friends) said about Maria Mura. That she was vapid, frivolous, disrespectful of the dead and solemn. Anna couldn’t help but think that made her just the sort of girl she wanted to be around.

The must of fabric, and the nicer scents deliberately overlaid to obscure it, soothed her. Idle chatter, and faint traces of women’s perfume, filled the aisles as Anna fingered a blue bolt she could imagine making into a dress for Elia. With slow, considering steps, she moved onto a nice soft yellow linen that make a lovely light jacket for herself. Maybe she could ask her mother to teach her to sew above the rudimentary basics she’d been taught at high school. It would be another way to pull her weight around the house.

 

[Silvercurrent]

NYX ATÉRIS
location: //unspecified
interaction: Silvercurrent
----
View attachment 1163818
Nyx was caught fairly off-guard, yet didn't flinch as the woman stepped forward and gently tugged her collar exposing a little of her shoulder to better view the ink inlaid upon it. She was used to a handful of unique interactions towards it, but this had to be a first. A light pink burst of color flushed her cheeks briefly at the pain comment, pushing aside any further thoughts on the matter as the subject swiftly moved onwards to the 'getaway' staged only minutes before. Finding herself able to do little more than a nod at the statement of the residents as the other fixed her hair.

"I'll take your word for it." She chuckled and joined her in leaning against the wall, "It's not the people I moved here for regardless, though the idea of a few friendly faces around the place wouldn't be bad." She said staring up at the leaves above their heads, sunlight glistening through the gaps between, a look of soft yearning on her face. Glancing back over she watched the other's hands as her name was stated, she knew some sea-sign, though she wouldn't win any awards for it. Staring for a moment as though committing it to memory before mimicking it as best she could when giving a spoken reply, "Basilia. I'll be sure to remember it." She said, speaking slower as she clearly had to focus on what she was trying to say.

A slight gleam filled her eyes at the mention of a gift, as much as she liked to work her own way in the world, a free meal wasn't something she'd turn down with her current job situation. Not to mention stopping by these places was pretty much her own days plan regardless. Smiling she nodded, "It would be my honor." She said in a playful tone. Her eyes cast over Basilia briefly as she took in the full form of the other, finding herself caught up briefly observing the outfit. She knew of the 'threads of the sea' of course, but to see it this close-up was somewhat of a curiosity regardless.

Beginning to walk after the woman her words of delving into Nyx's origins gave way to a short pause, her smile wavering for a second before reassuring herself. She had to stop being so touchy surrounding it. Especially here so far away, there was very little likelihood of any issues -in fact- it would be more suspicious to keep as tight-lipped as she had been in her travels. After all, she planned to stick around here, and the faster she could dissuade any rumors about the 'mysterious newcomer' the better all the more so given the news she'd heard spread through the island like wildfire after the murder or some big shot. Others digging into things could make it complicated. After all, she'd worked hard to make sure that chapter of her life stayed as far away as possible.

"It's not nearly as beautiful as Sardinia, I can tell ya' that much for sure." She let out a moment later, catching up and matching the other's pace with relative ease, rubbing once again at the back of her neck a little and staring off to the side. "Or at least the part I'm from ain't. I didn't even see the ocean till I was nearly eighteen, let's just say it was hard to turn back after that." She flashed a grin toward Basilia. It wasn't a complete lie. She truly hadn't seen the ocean till that age, whereas her reason for leaving in quite the way she did was a different story.​

“Didn’t see the ocean for that long…” Basilia hummed, heels hitting each stone step they took that curved around the corner and back down the road they came.

“Sounds nice.”


The words didn’t sound like they were said to be heard, easily blending in with the buzz of the town. Basilia reached into her purse and produced a compact mirror, examining her own face. Her purse was filled to the brim with product; if Nyx looked close enough, even for ‘fancy ladies’, it was a bit much. Basilia even seemed to have a system for not spewing all of the cosmetics mid-walk, careful to only pluck out what she needed.

A dab of lipstick there, where it’d smudged slightly. A bit of base, something to paint over the mildly greenish tint and dry-patches.

Although this woman used threads of the sea to produce fabric for her dress, her tights and shoes were all certainly land-bought. Not too unusual, as some from the Sanguine current often strutted around in land-folk clothes from head to two, heat or rashes be damned.

“So, your paintings look familiar to me.” Basilia mentioned. “We’ve had a few people visit here who came from japan. Some had simply traveled there and showed off some souvenirs. A few pods even swam by those who'd traveled from as far as the East sea.” she continued, slinging her purse back over her shoulder.


They soon rounded a particularly steep decline, giving them a clear shot and view of the turquoise sea, Basilia stopped to regard the scenery with a pointed, eerie silence.


“I suppose it makes sense to come here, quite out of the way of things.” , Basilia said after a rare breeze hit them, sending her stray fringe up in the air to reveal just how much dry skin she had. Her left ear looked like it’d been scorched by something, like an eternal sunburn. When the wind settled and the wild black strands fell back in place, they returned to hiding what might have been a flower tattoo, if not for the lack of artful uniformity. Rather, they’d dotted her skin crudely, no larger than the tail end of a cigarette.


“Why did you leave? Sardinia is lovely, but i’ve heard of how lovely other places are. Surely it must be upsetting to come all this way just to be stared at and made to listen to our shock over a murder case.” She paused, creating a shield with her hand to protect her eyes from the sun. “Sorry, I haven’t even fed you yet and i’m asking such intrusive questions.” she put on a half smile, spotting a little hole in the wall eatery with a curtain of lush vines draping over the windows.

“Say, did you know… we have tiny horses here?”

 

[Headphones]

Costa the Italian

"What would the two ladies like? A cappuccino, tea or honey milk perhaps? We currently have cornetto for breakfast, either pure butter or with custard."

“A coffee, nothing in it.” the nun's companion ordered first, her voice trailing off for a bit before finishing. “And . . . I’ll just have whatever food she’s having.”

Despite the large flat cap that enveloped the top of her head, Rado recognised this woman all too well as Vivianna Amato. About 10 months ago the owner of pub Leon, Antoni, had introduced her as his new barback and would, on occasion, rant about her blatant reckless disregard for her own health, be it in private or in public. Indeed, she was one year younger than Rado, yet her deep dark eyes had matching bags bellow them and her face, distinct as its were with subtle foreign features, was pale and dry. When they had first met, these signs of profound listlessness which greyed her youth had sparked a feeling of kinship within the man. It had almost been a year since the time when he too had not looked any better and would have still been as such had it not been for his own boss's unyielding determination to bring colour back into his life. Whenever they met at the pub, he and Vivianna would exchange a few words and, since both were not so keen to prattle, had formed a sensible acquaintanceship. Or, rather, that was as far as she was aware of. The black tomcat that had been petted by her gentle hand and sometimes walked beside her in the alleys could tell you otherwise, if it were present.

'You were out last night again, weren't you, little lady?' he thought, but as soon as he did, his green eyes quickly changed focus to the nearest table, where two men and a woman were seated.

The group of three were switching between glancing at the new arrivals and one another, the woman leaning in to whisper something to one of the men. Casting his gaze further, Rado noticed that each and every one of his customers was looking over at their direction, some even slowing down the speed with which they stirred their coffee.

'Nothing. They're just curious because we have a blind nun at the café.' he told himself so that any other thought may be snipped at the bud.

Alas, whilst words may not arise within the mind, one's senses can speak without them. Vivanna had a rather unpleasant smell come off her, as if she had worn the same clothes after closing the pub for the day, which had hit the waiter's nostrils the moment she had neared and continued to dig within his sinuses as he stood by the table. Coupled with her unkempt appearance, she was a stark contrast not just to the saintly nun in the other chair, but also to the rest of the guests, even the simply dressed elderly Mr. and Mrs. Fanu. Surely, they had noticed as well? Surely, that had been the reason for the slight lowering of people's voices?

"I would like an Earl Grey tea, if you don't mind, with a touch of honey, if it happens to be available."

the nun's clear measured voice beckoned his attention to her figure, dispelling the hint of unease like a warm breeze carrying off a few fallen rose petals.
'Honey. How typical.' he noted and nodded at her. Many of the municipality's priests were distinguished beekeepers, after all, and even those who were based in Tubero could ofttimes be seen heading north to the fields and forests to tend to the little colourful houses they had made for their hives. 'I think she'll want something more. Hm?'
In the brief pause during which the nun pondered over the choice presented to her, Ms. Anna Ricci walked past the table, mumbling a "thank you" and nodding politely at Rado and the holy maiden.
'She must've been in a hurry. No wonder she paid immediately.' he concluded, but at the back of his mind there was an objection from that ever-present inspector who would subject any quick verdict to scrutiny.

Would a woman, who had recently joined a household with a small child and the absence of a man after having lived a bachelorette life in the capital, be so hasty to leave a café where she finally had a moment to herself? She could have had an appointment. It was early in the day, almost 8 o'clock in the morning to be exact, so perhaps she was looking for a boost before rushing off to be the first at wherever she was heading? But her walk was leisurely. No one noteworthy had come by to prompt her to leave. Except the nun and Vivianna? Surely, she had noticed as well. Surely, that had been the reason.

"If it's not too much trouble, could I possibly ask if you have any slices of focaccia?"

with a kind voice the priestess inquired.

"I thought it might complement our beverages nicely. If not, we’ll be happy to take the buttered cornetto."

"Alright."

Rado nodded and began repeating the order calmly.

"One espresso and one Earl Grey tea. I'll check if we have any focaccia left. If we don't, I'll bring you two buttered cornetti."

"May I ask for your name?"

the nun said with a warm and inquisitive inflection. The question, although common, came so unexpectedly that Rado's eyebrows rose slightly and his eyelids opened up a bit more in genuine surprise.

"It's occurred to me that despite your consistent helpfulness during my visits, I've yet to learn it."

Leaning slightly forward with a small smile, she continued.

"And while we're on the subject, how have you been faring lately? Has the café experienced a surge in activity?"

'... Who are you? What do you know?'

To dear Sybilla, someone who talked to a plethora of people about things close and far on a regular basis, to be interested in one's well-being was simply second nature. But to someone like Costa, no, someone like Rado Costov, who bore a curse, the filthy remnant of wrathful magic, to hear the words "how have you been faring lately" from a complete stranger was akin to a threat. His eyebrows and eyes returned to their natural state, while his expression was drained of emotion, becoming unreadable, much like a stone wall.

It was as if the blood in his extremities stilled and grew cold for a moment, whilst a needle pricked the centre of his chest. Should a witch with the necessary capabilities be focused on his presence, they would sense a small change in his frequency and his aura colours becoming duller and muddied.

"You may just call me Costa."

he replied. There was no hostility in his voice, nor a subdued warning of any kind, yet the light pleasantness from his initial greeting had also vanished.

"I appreciate the compliment, but it's only natural for a waiter to be cordial with his guests."

he glanced at Vivianna, then back at the nun.

"It's been the same as ever here. Even after the death of Mr. Ramene, the same people come to drink coffee and enjoy their day. If anything has seen a surge in activity, it's the News Wall. So long as they don't open a café, we'll be fine."

With that, he nodded at Vivianna and said

"I'll be with your order shortly."

To the unsuspecting crowd, there had been nothing unusual in the exchange of words between the server and his clients, nor in the way he turned and walked, as he always did, with a swift and steady pace into the building. Yet with each step he took Rado felt the chill he had experienced a few seconds ago be replaced by an unsettling warmth.

'Still your heart, soldier.' he berated himself as he first went to fulfil the request he was given. 'Vivianna came to Tubero 10 months ago. Toni said he did a background check. But who knows how reliable his sources actually are.' As expected, none of the focaccia from yesterday had survived, which was why he had planned on making some for the lunch hours. 'Why would she, of all people, bring a nun here? If she's even a nun. No, that nun has been here before. So, she is one. Right?' He placed a round wooden platter on top of the long dark green counter. 'Everyone was looking at them. Why did she ask me that?' Two ceramic saucers, one a simple white and the other - with abstract art deco, were laid to rest within it. 'What does she know? Nigola has never said anything about the clergy being involved in any way.' While the kettle was set to boil and the machine turned the new roasted beans into fragrant coffee, he filled one small glass with water and took out two spoons, all of which he added to the assembly. 'Who sent her? Why poke around here when a bigger fish has washed ashore?' He took a clean plate form beside the sink and went to the tray with rows of fresh pastries. Though cooled, their appetising smell still lingered in the air. 'Stop yourself. This is ridiculous. It's been a year. Why would they send a nun?' as he put two buttered cornetti on the plate, the man paused. '. . . Ciro Vittozzi is also a priest.'

The sharp whistle of the kettle snapped Rado back into reality. He had acted through force of habit and it was only now that it dawned upon him that his breathing had quickened and that he had been clenching his jaw during the entire process. Letting out a sigh, he pulled the kettle away and poured the tea into a modest teacup with a golden stool and handle. Both it and the cup of espresso were put onto their respective saucers. The final little touches to the modest order were the honey he added into the tea and the complimentary ginger biscuit he rested beside its cup.

'Curses. I can't turn into a cat now to blow off some steam. Bistra isn't here to take over for me.' Rado let out a long exhale as he walked around to the other side of the long counter. 'Eugeniu's going to come back any time now. And he might ask. I don't want him to ask me how I am.' With his back to the front door, he leaned forward, arms outstretched so that he may grasp the edges of the counter.

The sensation of having his chest pricked by a needle occurred once more. His body was warm from the tension that had bubbled within him, yet not to the point of causing his face to flush. Should there have been someone inside to see him, even if they were spelless, they would have noticed his wariness.

Rado closed his eyes and thought to himself:
'I want to ask them to leave. But with what eyes? How can I chase away God's messenger? Do I have to add another sin just so I can get away from a spectre? How pathetic.'
Once more, he let out a loud exhale and pinched the bridge between his eyes before straightening up.
'I was worse for ware not long ago. It would be cruel, both to Viv and to the sister. All she did was ask for my name since she couldn't read it on my tag. . . Which I happen to not even be wearing. Great. Terrific.'
That last realisation provoked the escape of a 'tisk' from behind his teeth as he brushed through his hair from front to back with one hand.
'I need to smoke. But first, there are customers waiting.'

Not much time had passed by before the waiter appeared at the open double-door entrance of the café and made his way over to the two women, carrying in his right hand a round platter with their order. Without a word, he carefully put a cup of espresso and a small glass of water in front of Vivianna and a teacup of Earl Grey and honey with a ginger biscuit on the side in front of Sybilla, whilst the plate with two butter cornetti was left at an equal distance between them.

To the average spectator, nothing had changed, but should there be someone among them with heightened perception, they would notice hints of tiredness and loss of colour in his visage, whilst a witch could detect further worsening of his inner state. With enough concentration and experience, the latter could also pinpoint that an energy block had formed at the level of his chest.

"Ladies, your order."

Rado announced. Unlike the end of their previous interaction, his voice had softened back to the serene rumble of a waterfall.

"Unfortunately, we have no focaccia left, which is why I brought you two cornetti. Would there be anything else?"

Risk Mode imminent.

CODE BY SEROBLISS

At the tables of Café Ambrosia

the customers were busy chatting among themselves or enjoying their drinks in silence, paying no mind to anything beyond their respective circles.

Then, with the warm spring breeze, a young refined nun and her friend arrived and each took a seat at the edge of the area. One after the other, the people at the café cast brief curious looks over in their direction, but dared not allow themselves to linger for long each time. A sudden self-awareness had struck many of them, as they realised that, perhaps, they had raised their voices a bit too much when there were people living in the buildings around them or that they had been shuffling around without much regard for the café's property. Thus, the overall atmosphere gradually went down to a simmer, becoming an even more laidback mellow flow of conversations than before.

The whispers about the saintly sister's beauty and her friend's good choice of company were but a few and were quickly replaced with other interesting topics. No one found the other woman at the table to be distasteful, as she was an unfamiliar face to the visitors at this hour and, most certainly, nobody had caught an unpleasant smell of any kind.

If a witch were to observe this place in detail, they would easily sense that the colours of the seated were soft or bright and that their vibrations were gentle, all signifying the pleasantness they all felt whilst being at this small yet exceptional café.

 

[Frownist]

Vivianna Amato

Cafe Ambrosia

MENTIONS | Headphones Printer

Her fingers tapped nonchalantly against the surface of the table as Sybilla listed her drink of choice, an earl grey tea with a tinge of honey. Vivianna eyes briefly flickered to the waiter diligently recording the nun’s trailing words. Although the thought of a cold beer began to dance around her mind instead, Vivianna somewhat appreciated the attempt to pick a meal they’d both find enjoyment in. She exhaled, the quiet clicking of her nails against the wood stopped as she laid back in the chair.

She still really wanted that beer. Because god knows it’s been ages.

Even in the honeyed smell of the Cafe, her mind began to race. The now restless young woman dragged her gaze back up to Sybilla, who had began inquiring for the waiter’s name.. Wasn’t he just that, a lost man from across the sea? Costa the Italian? The two had shared words at the pub during his visits, usually because of Antoni’s incessant pushing, and those scarce conversations were just that, pleasantries. Nothing out of the ordinary. He seemed to be the sensible but avoiding type, and the way people prattled on about him in his absence made the young woman think they viewed him as some sort of mysterious hero. This man who was a waiter.. At a cafe?

Perhaps she was missing something. Still, even with Vivianna’s observant eye she never made an effort to form a deeper connection or even look into him, aside from rumors she’d occasionally pick up and Antoni’s endless blabber.

After Sybilla finished her inquiry, her dark eyes traced up to Costa. His face reflecting subtle surprised at her question, which invoked a raised eyebrow from Vivianna.“You may just call me Costa.” Though his expression quickly returned to normal, he still seemed as stiff as a statue. Vivianna glanced away for a moment, her face returning to its normal position. There were whispers from the surrounding tables, Vivianna suspected that was what made him so uneasy, either that or just the simple prospect of having to share his name. Was it the fact that Vivianna was visiting the Cafe for the first time in forever, and with this nun of all people? She didn’t blame him. Total opposites, sitting here and having breakfast together, it was unusual.

But a combo like that really wouldn’t phase a man like Costa, would it? That sudden uneasiness was not there when the two interacted at the pub. She looked back at the woman in front of her.

Is it the nun? No, that’s crazy.

A blind, talkative nun who always has a smile plastered on her face? Seemed too far fetched. Besides her words was only simple small talk, which she seemed to do a lot of with anyone she meets. She is kind, always has a welcoming aura to her, and always seemed to be enjoy the company of others. How could someone like her pose any threat to the waiter? It simply was beyond her.

As the waiter finished off, he swiftly walked away, seemingly unbothered by the stares. Vivianna moved her gaze back to Sybilla, a short silence passing between them before initiating. “Costa,” Followed by the sound of her cracked leather shoes tapping gently against the floor, she finished. “…Seems like a nice man.” Other words remained on her tongue, but she decided to hold back. Maybe it was really nothing. Whatever the nun replied with afterwards were promptly tuned out, with only nods and hums given in response.

A few moments passed before the sound of the Cafe’s doors opening alerted Vivianna of the waiter’s presence. He approached their table, setting down the drink and food. Looking directly at him, he looked like a ghost, and his expression was had hints of tiredness in it.

“…Thanks.” There was a hint of hesitation in Vivianna’s voice. Staring down at the slight ripples in the expresso as it was set down, she spoke again. “Is there something the matter?”

Is there something that I’m missing? About the nun?

She quietly exhaled. There was another momentary silence before she finally added on, “..You look pale.” She didn’t move her gaze, instead continuing to focus on the cup of coffee and the untouched cornetti that laid in front of her. Despite her raging thoughts, her facial expression remain stoic in the moment. Her voice stayed calm and unchanged, not showing much sign of genuine concern.

Maybe she made a mistake by asking directly, but there was something weighing on his mind.

 

[Printer]

Sybilla De Luce

Sybilla didn’t get a moment to respond before Costa departed hastily, leaving behind an air filled with tension. Her brows knitted together in concentration as she focused on the fading trace of his presence, his aura now marked by an increased agitated and troubled energy. She sensed this shift distinctly, until he disappeared indoors, beyond her perceptive reach. There was unease within Costa, a negativity that had surfaced abruptly in the midst of their interaction, its cause unknown to her.

For a moment, Sybilla remained silent, her thoughts whirling as she attempted to discern what might have triggered his sudden demeanor; after all, Costa had seemed perfectly composed and steady only moments before. Could it have been the mention of Ramene? A cherished figure, Ramene's name often stirred strong emotions, and perhaps it was an equally important topic for Costa, as it was for many in Tubero.

“Costa,” Vivianna began, the sound of her cracked leather shoes tapping against the floor, “...seems like a nice man.”

Sybilla nodded in agreement. “A nice man,” she echoed, then hesitated, her fingers tracing the edge of the table in a beat of quiet contemplation. “And yet…” Her voice trailed off into a whisper, more a reflection for herself than a direct response to Vivianna. “...troubled,” she murmured, sensing a heaviness in his spirit. He’s kind and diligent, she thought, yet there’s an underlying anxiety, as if he’s shouldering a burden he’s reluctant to reveal.

After a thoughtful pause, Sybilla chose not to dwell on Costa’s demeanor, preferring to keep their conversation light. She shifted to idle chatter, commenting on the charm of the café, and reminiscing about her visits to other favorite spots like The Little Sweet Shop. Her face brightened as she spoke of the exquisite care and quality evident in the sweets and pastries of both establishments, her appreciation adding a warm, pleasant note to the atmosphere.

Sybilla’s senses sharpened as Costa's return was marked by the swing of the door and the crescendo of his footsteps signaling his approach. Lifting her head, she fixed her face toward his emerging figure, her brows arching slightly in surprise as she took in the surge of negative energy enveloping him, its intensity magnified exponentially in the brief span of his absence. The revelation of such a reserved waiter harboring a turmoil of this magnitude was startling.

Her focus narrowed to the immediate vicinity of their table, her attention honing in on Costa and the tension emanating from him, with even a faint hint of it detectable in Vivianna. She tuned out the ambient hum of the café around them, the murmurs of other patrons fading into mere white noise against the backdrop of her concern for the troubled waiter before her.

“Ah, thank you, Mister Costa,” she greeted warmly as he set the tea and cornetti on the table. “Everything smells wonderful.” Despite her outward composure, her thoughts lingered on the concentrated knot of energy she sensed within him, weighing the situation before her.

Vivianna seemed to notice the change as well. "Is there something the matter?" she inquired, "...You look pale."

"Running a cafe must be quite demanding, especially early in the morning..." Sybilla followed with a remark, her voice carrying a gentle concern. "Please," she continued with an encouraging tone, "do take a moment for yourself - we're just fine here." She raised the delicate porcelain cup to her lips, taking a sip of the fragrant Earl Grey infused with honey, letting its soothing warmth calm her own nerves as she monitored the unmistakable distress casting from Costa's aura.

coded by: @s e v e n​

​

 

[Dovinique]

Seafolk

Elsie Avonlea

Azure Current

Somewhere in Tubero

"Elsie?” The voice from the man froze her even harder, her body stiffening into an awkward pose. Her head hunched over, both hands pressed under her chin, fingers pointing downward like a thief caught in the act. She didn’t dare turn her head.

“...may I please have a word…”

It really was Ranieri. Not that she had doubted, but his introduction made it clear. Elsie remained frozen, feeling like she had been caught ditching school. But this time, she braved herself to turn her head a little. The sight before her was almost comical, Ranieri’s struggle to approach her dispelled the cold tension. Seeing his vulnerability made Elsie relax her body slowly. She returned to a normal pose and turned fully to face him. The final “rip” from his pants made Elsie giggle, dissolving all the remaining tension. When Ranieri used his power to repair his pants, her lips formed a perfectly round “O” as she watched him in amazement.

“With that out of the way… may I please speak to you? I promise I won’t keep you.”

Elsie nodded and took two steps forward, closing the distance. She tilted her head, craning her neck slightly, attempting to maintain eye contact with the tall man before her. Her big, puppy eyes blinked in confusion as she asked, “Yes, yes, yes, but I’m not sure why you want to talk to me?”

She scratched her head and tilted it slightly to the other side, a frown appearing on her face. “...am I in trouble?” Despite Ranieri's kind smile, it didn't erase the fact that someone as important as him was seeking her out.

Interaction: Silvercurrent (Ranieri)
Mention: None

Code by Serobliss

 

[Silvercurrent]

Seafolk

Elsie Avonlea

Azure Current

Somewhere in Tubero

"Elsie?” The voice from the man froze her even harder, her body stiffening into an awkward pose. Her head hunched over, both hands pressed under her chin, fingers pointing downward like a thief caught in the act. She didn’t dare turn her head.

“...may I please have a word…”

It really was Ranieri. Not that she had doubted, but his introduction made it clear. Elsie remained frozen, feeling like she had been caught ditching school. But this time, she braved herself to turn her head a little. The sight before her was almost comical, Ranieri’s struggle to approach her dispelled the cold tension. Seeing his vulnerability made Elsie relax her body slowly. She returned to a normal pose and turned fully to face him. The final “rip” from his pants made Elsie giggle, dissolving all the remaining tension. When Ranieri used his power to repair his pants, her lips formed a perfectly round “O” as she watched him in amazement.

“With that out of the way… may I please speak to you? I promise I won’t keep you.”

Elsie nodded and took two steps forward, closing the distance. She tilted her head, craning her neck slightly, attempting to maintain eye contact with the tall man before her. Her big, puppy eyes blinked in confusion as she asked, “Yes, yes, yes, but I’m not sure why you want to talk to me?”

She scratched her head and tilted it slightly to the other side, a frown appearing on her face. “...am I in trouble?” Despite Ranieri's kind smile, it didn't erase the fact that someone as important as him was seeking her out.

Interaction: Silvercurrent (Ranieri)
Mention: None

Code by Serobliss

Ranieri was relieved when she didn’t dart off– he hated it when that happened on land. He couldn’t help that he looked like an escaped chicken, zig-zagging this way and that. It was undignified, and also his ankles were weak and he’d already sprained one of them recently. If their meeting had been underwater, he’d have been able to speed after her, but that was also ungentlemanly.


Thankfully, she only questioned him. Oh, good. She doesn’t radiate guilt. Poor thing, she must have been tricked into carrying it… or maybe she doesn’t realize it’s importance?


“Not in trouble,” he told her, using spoken words rather than sign as to keep grip on his cane. “I simply need to examine the article in question. It’s been brought to my attention by Su Corde’s archivists that you’re in possession of a Lesser relic of high grade–” He began routinely, adjusting the glasses on his nose. “The Azure Current’s head has sanctioned a check-in, where I, as an active Relic guard are to be sent to find you and temporarily observe you over a 24 hour period and examine your Relic,” He took a breath, realizing the dry air was getting to his throat. He hadn’t even had time for an iced water, or tea… He cleared his throat, sending a delicate finger into his breast pocket and produced a letter, which had an odd wax texture. Of course Elsie would know this as just the recent fancy “water proof” paper that was made by Land witches some years ago, but as old as she was now, she’d likely known it well since she was a child.

On it was written a formal letter in magic ink, which only appeared after Rainieri drizzled a bit of water over it.

It was very official and mind-numbing. It could have said “um it’s a little upsetting that an ordinary girl like you has a sharp pokey thing with power in it, you could like, hurt someone and yourself… please like, don’t do that!” or somesuch. But no, it was a slog of a read and at the bottom there were a handful of signatures, some from the Bureau of the Administrators, some from the representatives of Su Corde, and the only one that didn’t seem to be hand-waved with a routine stamp was from the Azure Current’s head.


After delivering the letter to her and letting her look it over, she’d be met with his smile again upon looking up. “It’s a lot.” he admitted calmly, and motioned for her to put the letter away. “Formalities aside– I want you to know that this isn’t as scary as it sounds.” he took a seat on a bench near one of the trees and cactus plants, letting the weight of his briefcase thud to the ground. “What you’re carrying may be a family heirloom with much love and investment within it over time, especially if you’d lived below surface most of your life. Really no one cares all too much if you have it; really the archivists are particular and have a tool that locates any Relics that emit ‘sea god’s essence’. The likes of which yours carries is equivalent to a family Relic in their home’s shrine. Nothing of note when it stays in one place,” Ranieri explained to her, giving a slight shrug.


“But you carry it, and so it moves, and so… it looks odd.” he chuckled. “To them. You see,” He tilted his head to his own cane. “This tool of mine had to be jot down in the books, too. It can be used as a weapon, especially in the hands of someone from the Relic guardians. I’ve never needed to use it that way, and yet it needed to be judged and approved.”

His eyes drooped a bit and he leaned back on the bench.

“I’m not going to follow you as was instructed. I think such a deed is only warranted if the Relic has been used for foul actions. I sense nothing of the sort on you. The essence I feel is nothing more than a strong hum, and with purity of heart.” He smiled, tapping the top of his cane. “Besides, it’d be rude to intrude on your daily life and frankly you look faster than me.” he smirked.


“So, let’s make a deal. I’ll ask you three questions, and you let me examine the weapon. And after that, I will write up a report stating you’re of no threat to anyone and that I’ve secured the needed information to document the Relic in the books. All squared. and you won’t be bothered by pod or Current.”


He normally wouldn’t waste his favorite 3 question deal on something like this. That was reserved for people who had done something wrong. But he was certain she’d be honest when he mentioned the name “Piscadori.”

 

[Cosmos]

" NYX ATÉRIS "

location: Streets of Tubero
interaction: Silvercurrent
----​

Nyx heard the quiet words that left Basilia's mouth, however judging by her expression it wasn't something meant for a response. Instead opting to keep smiling softly and gazing ahead as they walked, keen to not stray far from the others side lest she get herself lost, even in the not-all-that-chaotic crowds of the streets of the town.

Upon hearing her rustling through her purse Nyx glanced over with evident curiosity, a little caught aback mentally at the contents of it, 'wow- makeup seems even more complicated than I thought.' she mused to herself internally. Making sure to make her brief staring not too obvious. She had noted the evidently land-based clothing pieces and made a note to possibly ask if she knew of a good place to grab some decent clothes for herself, normally it would be an odd question to ask seafolk, but in this case, it seemed to be a fairly safe choice.

Basilia's bringing up her tattoos again led her to look back over politely, nodding subtly at the mention of her home country, carefully clinging to each word in case something was brought up she should be wary of, however as it remained unrelated to anything troublesome she chuckled a little. "I mean- there are a couple of places back there with some nice stuff. As for the 'paintings' they're not too common, I'm just glad you don't find them offputting." She said with a softened face, resting her hands back into her pants pockets.

At the turn of the road, Nyx paused of her own accord as a small but welcome gust of wind hit the pair, the ocean's seemingly endless reach cast out not all that far ahead of them. Nyx could all but look over at her companion with an odd sense of familiarity upon the wind revealing the hidden scar, eyes catching what she could only assume to be some sort of tattoo of her own.

“Why did you leave? Sardinia is lovely, but I’ve heard of how lovely other places are. Surely it must be upsetting to come all this way just to be stared at and made to listen to our shock over a murder case.”

The mention of the murder case quite so blatantly wasn't something Nyx had expected, most locals had dodged those exact words very carefully... Murder, after all, was something almost as foreign as Nyx herself to such a peaceful place.

“Sorry, I haven’t even fed you yet and I’m asking such intrusive questions.”

Nyx shook her head slightly and raised a hand up slightly in a dismissive motion, "No need for apologies, though I'm afraid it might be a lot less interesting than you may have imagined." Her usual smirk returned but with a strangely somber look in her eyes. "Someone important used to tell me all about Sardinia. And I think I owed it to her to come see it for myself." She finished quaintly.

Preparing to start their stroll again Nyx was stopped dead in her tracks at the following comment, "Did you just say- tiny... horses?" Her expression a mix of sheer confusion as her brows furrowed, you could practically see the cogs turning in her head as she processed that she had indeed heard that correctly. Suddenly blinking a few times and glancing around quickly as though she expected to see one of the creatures nearby, "How do I find one? Can I touch them? Just how tiny are we talkin' here?" The barrage of questions was said with such a genuine look of childlike wonder on her face that it would be hard not to crack a smile.​

​

 

[Headphones]

CODE BY SEROBLISS

At the front door of the tailor on Freesia street

came a young woman by the name of Idalia Milingiana. Her delicate hand, pale like the pearls she wore around her neck, pressed against the wooden frame as she leaned in, pink wavy locks swinging softly with the motion and brushing against a face adorned with a tender smile. Some could compare her to a phantom of a forgotten beauty, others - to a winter fairy, but to Mr. Bubore Mannu she was simply the sweet neighbour who lived on the floor above the shop and, like every other day, a pleasant guest to have.

Seeing her outside, at his door no less, made the old man happy. Since the Blue Flamingo had been closed for the past few days, Ms. Milingiana had been met with an unexpected vacation and, judging by the stomps and abrupt sounds of something being dropped or put down from above during working hours, by day 2 Bubore had made a guess that she probably wasn't going out to catch some much needed sunshine. Had his wife been at the shop, she would have immediately started fussing, asking Idalia to sit down and have some tea but also nag her about not spending her paid time off to walk around for her heart's sake. Fortunately, the tailor wasn't that sort, especially since the dear girl looked worn out from just walking down the stairs.

“Mr. Mannu,” Idalia greeted gently. “If the commotion is wearing on me, then…” her voice faltered for a moment, trailing idly. “Then, it must be wearing on you. Please, is there anything I may help you with? Perhaps - any errands you have been unable to run? I have not heard the shop with a moment of quiet to spare in days.”

"My lady." Mr. Mannu placed a wide hand on his chest and bowed slightly in greeting. "I'm sorry to have troubled you with the noise." he offered sincerely, then straightened up and continued with a smile. "I have tried to keep it to a minimum, but as you know, we Sards can get a bit passionate. As for me, you needn't worry yourself. Work has been going well. My notebook is full of orders and even have some hat requests for the Mrs." Yet seriousness flattened the smile once more. The man folded his arms and, with his right thumb and pointer finger, stroked down each side of his beard. "But I suppose the guards can be a bit much, can't they? Our safety is a priority, of course, but to pull people aside so often is no small pebble tossed into the pond."

"What's got your yarn twisted so early on this lovely morning?" a silvery voice chimed from a young man who effortlessly slid past Idalia "You look as if the ghost of Ramene has been haunting your establishment," he paused, glancing at the window where the subjects of his thoughts likely lingered, before finishing with "quite literally, actually."

This was "Amadeo", "Amadeo Rubellite" as his full sea name went, Bubore's eccentric mischievous former student with whom he kept a lively acquaintanceship and close colleagueship to this day. While the tailor didn't bat an eye at the youth's brash commentary, it had been enough for the customer in the other room to take a peek through the open door at the source of such haunting words. As soon as the latter saw the crests of yellow, purple and pink mingling within the long black hair of a man, however, they quickly turned heel and walked deeper in, away from the entrance's earshot. "Amadeo" likely noticed this reaction, since he followed with a shrug, which in turn provoked a brief rise of his teacher's eyebrows.

"Do your worries have anything to do with all the vultures swirling around out there?" the young man asked. "One newspaper and everyone comes running as if Eddy is on their trail. Doesn't feel like something that's good for mind or customers."
Staying true to his character, "Amadeo" had been wandering the room with his eyes from the beginning, yet it appeared that only now did he come to appreciate the woman whom he had gone by previously, as though he had been a fast train passing a small village station.
"And if I may ask, who are you? I didn't know that old Mannu was in cahoots with a fair lady like you." he grinned, playful as ever when he saw a new ball of wool he could felt.

Until this point, Bubore's arms had rested above one another in front of his chest. but now one was lifted so that he may point his index finger up and shake it slowly left to right.
"Young man." Bubore spoke calmly, yet without a hint of sternness, and played along. "You know better than to accuse a lady of anything, especially of being in 'cahoots' with an old man such as myself. If anything, she's more of a siren than you." The same hand that had been raised was bent to open his palm upwards and moved in her direction. A smile appeared from underneath his white moustache once again. "This is Ms. Idalia Milingiana, my neighbour. She's a talented songstress at the Blue Flamingo." The direction of his hand changed to point at the man and he continued. "Idalia, this is "Amadeo", a former student of mine who came to practice at the shop before he went out to strike on his own. He's the owner of 'Gilded Memories', an antique shop."

Despite the two of them having the tailor shop as a common stop, it quickly came to mind to Bubore that it hadn't been probable for them to cross paths. Idalia was a persona of the night and a dreamer during the day, while "Amadeo" went about town during the day and spent his nights, against everyone's advice, tinkering away at his shop, at home or wherever he could sit and call it a working table. Such chance encounters were often fleeting yet profound blessings and of the three of them it was no wonder that first to catch wind of it was the one with the most experience.

"Those vultures you mentioned." Bubore looked at "Amadeo" and made a small swing with his hand, as if he was trying to toss the 'vultures' out the window. "They've been circling me since the paper came out. Even Ms. Idalia noticed." he then rested his thick arm back onto his left one, but every so often made little gestures by moving his right hand. "I've told them again and again that there's nothing to add. Mr. Ramene came in to request a new full suit. I had his measurements from before, so we just did those that often change a little. Then we went on as usual with the details. We didn't talk about anything other than that." The old tailor sighed at the end of the sentence. In the brief pause that followed, he lifted his right arm again so that he may press his fist gently against his lifts. "I have to say." he resumed in a quieter tone and lowered his hand to the level of his chin. "It would have been one of my finest works. He was a tactful man, but you could see how much joy he felt when discussing the outfit. The last time I saw a man that happy, he'd heard he was about to be father."

Then, Bubore clapped his right hand loudly against his left biceps and gave a polite smile to his guests.
"Enough of that. The day is sunny and warm. I have work, but you can go and enjoy it or- " he looked at the woman in the pale dress. "Idalia, I might have to trouble you and take you up on your offer. Could you, please, go tell Danilo Lodde that his coat has been mended? He's a barber at Ghisoni barbiere. If he's not there, you can tell his brother, Pietro. He also works there." Mr. Mannu then looked at "Amadeo" and continued. "I don't know if you've ever been to that part of town, but I'm sure "Amadeo" here can escort you there. And bring you back-" There was a faint twitch of his left moustache as he finished with, "in one piece, eventually."

 

[Headphones]

CODE BY SEROBLISS

In the sky, not too far above the rooftops,

the three students who had tried to escape the pursuit of the law-enforcer were evading eye contact as much as possible, glancing down in any direction they could so that they wouldn't face the knowing forest green eyes of Ms. Zarina Cosentino. She had cut off their escape route at the moment they had gained some speed and now all of them were floating on their brooms, dreading whatever the one behind them was going to do.

“A rather exciting morning for you, huh, Eugeniu?” the young woman jested.
"Exciting? Gaah, more like raising my blood pressure!" Eugeniu huffed in annoyance. Thankfully, his glasses were chained around his neck and only dangled haphazardly, rather than becoming innocent casualties in the chase. "They made me take flight without paying at the café! Now I need to write them up AND go back!" He then looked at the trio and chided. "You brats! Are you stupid in your hearts?! Did a gull gobble your brains?! Now go down on that roof and show me your documents! Officer Cosentino will serve as witness."

Following his instructions, the group landed and he proceeded with noting down the names, addresses and school of the students in his notepad, all the while grumbling about how he couldn't have one cup of cappuccino in the morning before an empty clam-head made trouble. Taking his and his colleague's duties into consideration, not to mention the hour, Eugeniu made the call to let the students go to school on their own while the Guard observed from the roof. The news made the students loosen their tight jaws with relief, until the man reminded them that he'd be informing their teachers, who would then report the matter to their parents. With much despondency, they mumbled their goodbyes and wishes of a good day and left on their brooms, making sure to fly slowly and glance behind their shoulders from time to time.

"Seriously. Just when we're low on manpower." Eugeniu complained quietly, his frustration dissipated and was replaced by resignation. He took out a little piece of cloth and began wiping his glasses. The students were far enough to still be visible, but not near enough to hear the rambling. "I heard Manuele and Glauco whining about a meeting in the morning. Guess they've been recruited for the hunt. How do they expect me to cover more ground like this? It's already an extra third added to what I had before. If they make us go do shifts at the docks too, I swear, I'll be flying to Barbagia." Looking up, even without his aids, he could see the children descending. Another huff escaped the short man's nose whilst he put his glasses back on and looked at Zarina. "I've kept you. But we can write it off as unexpected duty. It's not like we're short on that these days. How about I reimburse you with a coffee? I need to go back to Café Ambrosia anyway. We can head to the station from there."

 

[Nifty]

Zarina Corsentino

Medic of The Guard

location

Cafe Ambrosia

attire

This outfit but with a navy blue ribbon that pulls her hair back.

tags

Eugeniu (Past) Headphones and Matia (Current) Laraes

Zarina, a woman with umber hair adorned by a navy blue ribbon, sat on her broom above the roofs of Sardinia. Her sage green eyes, filled with a sense of wonder, scanned the distant horizon, taking in the beauty of the Mediterranean’s natural splendour. However, her reverie was interrupted by the commotion caused by a group of unruly students and the stern reprimand of her colleague.

Zarina couldn't help but stifle a laugh, and a smile as she observed the guilty puppy eyes and mischievous looks the students were directed at her violet-eyed associate. Zarina, with a heart full of empathy, can admit that she was once a rebellious teenager, and for once, she was thankful she hadn’t encountered an ‘Eugeniu’ in her earlier and defiant days. The young girl in her would’ve bawled her eyes out if she were met with the same venomous tone. There was a part of her that admitted a strong reprimand was a much better incentive than a coddling and polite persona.

Once her name was mentioned, Zarina nodded, agreeing to be their witness. Despite the small bit of sympathy she could offer the youngsters, it still wasn’t enough to persuade her to be on their side. As much as she feels sorry for how Eugeniu has treated them, a small part of her wishes for them to be truly careful, a caution born out of concern. She wouldn’t want any more patients than she needs to. Zarina noticed the student’s tense aura as the witches descended themselves above the roofs.

The fact that they fear a Guard member more than their own safety speaks volumes to the youth of Sardinia. As they flew away, Zarina witnessed straight backs and arms, the proper riding posture. That’s more like it, and the medic cheered internally.

“Fly safely this time, kids.” Zarina spoke gently, a stark contrast to Eugeniu’s scolding. As the two parties divided and said their goodbyes, Zarina and Eugeniu took off again.

Zarina’s eyes remained far on the horizon; swiftly glancing back, she caught a glimpse of the students flying at a much safer pace. When she turned forward, her attention was shifted to Eugeniu and the troubling issues that plagued his mind. If the Guards are truly lacking the workforce, this could bring some extremely unsettling issues not only for the orginisation itself but also for the people. Without the Guards and the order and law they bring, chaos and disorder can ensue. A bothersome feeling sat deep in the pit of her stomach.

The umber-haired woman nodded, and her eyes shone with genuine concern for her colleague. Perhaps she too can take some more shifts to help out. “Let it out, honey. Sounds like you’ve taken such a heavy load of unwanted inconvenience. Let me know when I can be of any help to you.” Zarina gently murmured as he kept going.

When Eugeniu finally offered the prospect of coffee, Zarina’s eyes excitedly widened, and she enthusiastically smiled at the possibility. “Oh! That would be lovely! I would typically wait until lunch to fetch my coffee, but I can’t refuse a free coffee.” Zarina tucked her skirt carefully underneath her and located a proper empty space for landing. “I’ve been craving some good ol’ caramel cappuccino lately.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

4:00 pm

After handing in her request for more patrol shifts, Zarina sprinted to her locker. Her slippers clicked with urgency to simply leave. She ripped her doctor’s uniform off and gently placed it in the steel compartment. She then effectively changed from her work clothes to civilian clothes, including the leather boots that were more suited for broom riding.

Zarina waved goodbye to her fellow medics as she walked past them, wishing them a peaceful evening. She swiftly made her way out of the clinics, locating her broom with ease. Her hands grappled it while instinctively taking more steps out of the clinic and towards the courtyard for an undisturbed broom take-off. She automatically tucked her skirt with muscle memory and rode it towards Cafe Ambrosia once more.

Earlier, she received a call from Ms. Matia Astori. If all goes well, the woman is to be Zarina’s future roommate, a freeing step she has taken towards adulthood and freedom. As much as she adores her dear father, Zarina craves the type of independence that she could only attain by moving out.

The afternoon sky was painted with breathtaking hues of orange and violets—a sight Zarina would never get tired of. She truly wished she could have a small machine that could efficiently capture the beautiful and colourful beauty of Sardinia.

Zarina descended towards the cafe at a slow and safe speed. From her slight altitude, her nose was enveloped by the delightful scent of coffee and pastries. The scent was stronger in the morning, while the afternoon coffee scent was somewhat mellow. Since it was slowly approaching their closing time, Zarina couldn’t help but wonder if she and Ms. Astori would be of any inconvenience. Her leather boots clicked as she landed on the cobblestone path, just outside the door.

She stalked inside with her broom in hand; she stepped cautiously and delivered a question, “Hello? Is the cafe still open?”

code by @Nano

 

[Headphones]

Costa the Italian

First Luck roll: 2+4 = 6 Since the result is ≤6, nothing happens. No more rolls necessary.

"Ladies, your order."

Rado announced, his voice having softened back to the serene rumble of a waterfall.

"Unfortunately, we have no focaccia left, which is why I brought you two cornetti. Would there be anything else?"

"Ah, thank you, Mister Costa,"

Sybilla greeted warmly as he set the tea and cornetti on the table.

"Everything smells wonderful."

“…Thanks.” Vivianna said with a hint of hesitation whilst staring down at the slight ripples that had appeared in the espresso when it had been placed before her. “Is there something the matter?" she asked and then let out a quiet exhale. Another brief moment of silence followed before she calmly noted, “You look pale.”

During this exchange her gaze did not lift to meet him or her companion, instead continuing to focus on the cup of coffee and the untouched cornetti, and her facial expression remained stoic, showing neither signs of worry, nor intimidation. Should they have truly been strangers, her demeanour might have seemed strange. Some would have even thought it insulting. But for Rado it only helped with 'sobering up' from his previous state.

"Running a cafe must be quite demanding, especially early in the morning..."

Sybilla followed with a remark, her voice carrying a gentle concern.

"Please,"

she continued with an encouraging tone,

"do take a moment for yourself - we're just fine here."

then raised the delicate porcelain cup to her lips and took a sip of the fragrant Earl Grey infused with honey.

The thoughtfulness of the two women was quite touching. They wished to offer a word in aid, yet remained respectful of the invisible line he had drawn around himself, instead of barging in and demanding that he sit down and talk about whatever was eating him alive. This kindness, light as the scent of the roses, soothed the man's restlessness. Now calmed both outwardly and inwardly, his resolve to grant his customers peace of mind and a pleasant stay solidified once more.

"Thank you, ladies. I'm alright."

Rado assured them calmly, the corners of his mouth curling slightly upwards.

"Maybe the weather has finally gotten to me. What with it being cold early in the morning and then suddenly getting warm by noon. If you need anything, call me anytime. I'll be over there."

With that, Rado turned around and went inside so that he may leave the tray at the counter. When he came back out, he was already holding his lighter and pulling out a cigarette from the small metal case he kept inside his pocket. Leaning back against the wall by the double doors, he lit it and began his short relaxing break, looking like a content cat that had just lied down in its favourite sunny spot.

 

[Dovinique]

Seafolk

Elsie Avonlea

Azure Current

Somewhere in Tubero

The mer’s azure eyes followed each of Ranieri's gestures with rapt fascination, as if his presence alone held her in awe. The relic he mentioned was a mystery to Elsie, she wasn't familiar with it and was unsure why it had caught the attention of her current head. She scratched her head in confusion, uncertain of how to respond. However, she did notice that Ranieri seemed to be struggling—perhaps the heat was getting to him, or maybe he was thirsty. Should she offer her water? Elsie shook her head a bit to dismiss the thought, he might reject her. Who would accept water from a stranger anyway?

Ranieri then pulled out a letter from his pocket. The familiar magic imbued in the paper made Elsie go "wow" for the second time that day. She knew about "waterproof" magic but had never seen it directly until now. When he handed the letter to Elsie, she opened it and was met with a slew of words that made her head spin. Embarrassingly, Elsie wasn’t adept at reading. She could decipher simple words like “you,” “use,” and “we,” but the rest were like ancient words to her. She tilted the letter right and left, trying to make sense of it like a map, but to no avail. Thankfully, Ranieri kindly enough to explain the contents, saving her from the embarrassment of admitting her illiteracy.

As he continued to speak about things unfamiliar to her, her face remained blank and confused. His explanations seemed to go in one ear and out the other until he finally arrived at the solution he could offer. Finally! Though still puzzled about the relic Ranieri was referring to, Elsie pulled out the only item she had that might match the description from her satchel—a dagger given to her by her father. She had never used it, except once when she needed to cut a large piece of beef.

"Are we talking about this dagger, sir?" she asked, showing the shell dagger to Ranieri. "This was given by my father. Pretty, right?"

Despite her hesitation, Elsie handed the dagger over to Ranieri. It didn't seem like she had much choice. Once he took the dagger, she brought her hands to her lap and clenched her dress to suppress her nervousness. The anxiety she felt now surpassed even that of being interrogated by her father. She knew she couldn't dodge any of Ranieri’s questions like she did with her father. What questions would he ask?

"Sure, I am ready for your questions," she said, bracing herself for whatever questions were to come.

Interaction: Silvercurrent (Ranieri)
Mention: None

Code by Serobliss

 

[mocca]

After Bubore’s kindly explanation, Idalia’s head shook lightly, sending small, quivering ripples down her hair. She had not intended to be accusatory in her visit; after all, Bubore had always been most gracious towards her.. “Mmm…” Unfurling her bottom lip, which had been pinned back with a gentle bite, she began “It is of no fault of your own, Mr. Mannu. This shop of yours, it seems to have attracted…” A white hand lifted from the door and gesticulated smoothly in the air as she cautiously deciphered her next words. Concurrently, her mind was caught by the word ‘vultures’, but she dismissed it as too conspicuous a reflection of her own harshness. She loosely asserted her frame back against the weight of the door, propping up her delicate balance. ”Ah, it's as though-” but before she could seal off her sentence, she felt herself pushed past by an unfamiliar other.

"What's got your yarn twisted so early on this lovely morning? You look as if the ghost of Ramene has been haunting your establishment . . .quite literally, actually. Do your worries have anything to do with all the vultures swirling around out there? One newspaper and everyone comes running as if Eddy is on their trail. Doesn't feel like something that's good for mind or customers."

Like the nimble dartings of a hummingbird, her eyes now fluttered upon this new figure, quietly measuring him. How brazen. The remark had blindsided Idalia, and judging from the fleeting intrusion of the customer from the adjoining room, it seemed she was not alone. The deliberate blitheness of his manner piqued in her equal measures of curiosity and offence. Sinister. Well, I suppose I couldn’t have said it better myself. . .

"And if I may ask, who are you? I didn't know that old Mannu was in cahoots with a fair lady like you."

Engrossed in her reverie, Idalia had unwittingly reverted to the role of bystander, a habit retained from her years of domestic service, and thus felt rather jolsted by his sudden acknowledgement. Flattered though she may have been, she was a changed woman as of today and would not slip so easily into her old weaknesses. Or at least, not yet. Following Bubore’s courteous introduction, she instead met him with a curt shyness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Amadeo.” She spoke breathlessly, without a last name to address.

“Those vultures you mentioned.” Bubore pressed on, "They've been circling me since the paper came out. Even Ms. Idalia noticed. I've told them again and again that there's nothing to add. Mr. Ramene came in to request a new full suit. I had his measurements from before, so we just did those that often change a little. Then we went on as usual with the details. We didn't talk about anything other than that." After a momentary lull, he resumed in a softer tone, "It would have been one of my finest works. He was a tactful man, but you could see how much joy he felt when discussing the outfit. The last time I saw a man that happy, he'd heard he was about to be father."

In spite of herself, Idalia found herself clinging to each word retold by Bubore, vividly picturing the scene. Although, she could not discern if it was to prolong Ramene’s memory, or to dissect the story for any plausible hints towards his demise. Grief was a bruise she found hard not to press; she was a vulture in her own right.

“Idalia, I might have to trouble you and take you up on your offer.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Could you, please, go tell Danilo Lodde that his coat has been mended? He's a barber at Ghisoni barbiere. If he's not there, you can tell his brother, Pietro. He also works there. . .I don't know if you've ever been to that part of town, but I'm sure "Amadeo" here can escort you there. And bring you back- in one piece, eventually."

“Danilo Lodde…” She repeated quietly, sounding out the syllables to herself. It had a familiar ring to it. Her expression softened towards Bubore, "It would be my pleasure, though I’m not sure I should like to impose on your time, Amadeo,' Idalia added with a small turn.

 

[Silvercurrent]

View attachment 1164505
" NYX ATÉRIS "

location: Streets of Tubero
interaction: Silvercurrent
----​

Nyx heard the quiet words that left Basilia's mouth, however judging by her expression it wasn't something meant for a response. Instead opting to keep smiling softly and gazing ahead as they walked, keen to not stray far from the others side lest she get herself lost, even in the not-all-that-chaotic crowds of the streets of the town.

Upon hearing her rustling through her purse Nyx glanced over with evident curiosity, a little caught aback mentally at the contents of it, 'wow- makeup seems even more complicated than I thought.' she mused to herself internally. Making sure to make her brief staring not too obvious. She had noted the evidently land-based clothing pieces and made a note to possibly ask if she knew of a good place to grab some decent clothes for herself, normally it would be an odd question to ask seafolk, but in this case, it seemed to be a fairly safe choice.

Basilia's bringing up her tattoos again led her to look back over politely, nodding subtly at the mention of her home country, carefully clinging to each word in case something was brought up she should be wary of, however as it remained unrelated to anything troublesome she chuckled a little. "I mean- there are a couple of places back there with some nice stuff. As for the 'paintings' they're not too common, I'm just glad you don't find them offputting." She said with a softened face, resting her hands back into her pants pockets.

At the turn of the road, Nyx paused of her own accord as a small but welcome gust of wind hit the pair, the ocean's seemingly endless reach cast out not all that far ahead of them. Nyx could all but look over at her companion with an odd sense of familiarity upon the wind revealing the hidden scar, eyes catching what she could only assume to be some sort of tattoo of her own.

“Why did you leave? Sardinia is lovely, but I’ve heard of how lovely other places are. Surely it must be upsetting to come all this way just to be stared at and made to listen to our shock over a murder case.”

The mention of the murder case quite so blatantly wasn't something Nyx had expected, most locals had dodged those exact words very carefully... Murder, after all, was something almost as foreign as Nyx herself to such a peaceful place.

“Sorry, I haven’t even fed you yet and I’m asking such intrusive questions.”

Nyx shook her head slightly and raised a hand up slightly in a dismissive motion, "No need for apologies, though I'm afraid it might be a lot less interesting than you may have imagined." Her usual smirk returned but with a strangely somber look in her eyes. "Someone important used to tell me all about Sardinia. And I think I owed it to her to come see it for myself." She finished quaintly.

Preparing to start their stroll again Nyx was stopped dead in her tracks at the following comment, "Did you just say- tiny... horses?" Her expression a mix of sheer confusion as her brows furrowed, you could practically see the cogs turning in her head as she processed that she had indeed heard that correctly. Suddenly blinking a few times and glancing around quickly as though she expected to see one of the creatures nearby, "How do I find one? Can I touch them? Just how tiny are we talkin' here?" The barrage of questions was said with such a genuine look of childlike wonder on her face that it would be hard not to crack a smile.​

​

Basilia seemed pleased with Nyx’s immediate interest in the Tiny horses. To a stranger, they’d never know the fondness she held for the little majestic inland creatuers.

As they walked, the cozy restaurant was just now opening, with a small child in two long braids out front. She seemed to be school age, no older than 12, sweeping away the fallen and shriveled leaves and petals that broke off the vine curtains. She wasn’t dressed with neat fabrics or clean shoes and her fingers were covered in plasters as if sewing was new to her, or perhaps just something she struggled with. Upon seeing Basilia, the girl put her eyes to the ground and held the broom stick close.

“Good morning, Miss…” The child recited, shifting about in her tattered muted dress.

“Good morning.” Basilia offered out softly to the girl, who only looked up to sneak a subtle curious glance at Nyx.

“Did your Papa say i’m not allowed in here?” Basilia followed up with that, and the little girl shook her head, sending her braids flailing about.


“No he didn’t say that… You’re always welcome here, miss.” The girl looked back down pointedly.


“Good. That’s nice of him, i’ll be sure to tip well.” Basilia smiled, passing the girl by slowly and stopping by the door to give her a little sweetie wrapped in a pearly casing. The girl smiled and still didn’t look up, shifting more now. “T-T-Thank you for your patronage.” the girl chimed, and Basilia motioned for Nyx to follow.


As they walked into the restaurant, the scent of fresh foods being prepared with olive oil, cheeses and seafoods wafted by along with a few slow rotating fans above. The decor was family oriented, with many hand-drawn sketches of the family who owned the joint. Of course much like the young girl outside who was not attending school, the small hole in the wall establishment felt hopeful but worn, like an old pair of reliable gloves with a few holes. The brick walls were faded and the many plants placed around did well to hide the cracks and crooked doors. What it lacked in funding, it made up for in spirit. A single thin wooden ramp led them inside where the heat of outdoors lessened.

Basilia picked out a table, which if one looked close enough, there were little hand carved, wooden horses on it. “Well, they aren’t as tiny as this. These are special ones from that “Gilded memories” place. New additions.” Basilia told Nyx, giving a lazy gesture to the chair across from her.


“This is Ristorante Fiorilla. They have good food here, I recommend the Radicchio salad.” Basilia inhaled, savoring the aromas dancing out from the window off to the side connecting to the kitchen. She took her seat and sighed, rubbing her heels after slipping the shoes off just enough to soothe the blisters she had gotten that day.

“Oh– so the Cavallino della Giara–” she paused, letting Nyx get seated as she tried to remember the other woman wasn’t from here. “Tiny horses. They live in the Giara Plateau up a ways from here. They graze freely and travel in small herds,” Basilia began, a fond expression rising to gently give her stoic expression a hint of softness.

“They are this tall,” she held a hand off to the side to show something around 120 cm or so. “None will be found out here, it’s too far from their home.” she smiled then, down at the lovingly carved wooden horses on the table. “Where they’re happy and can eat as much as they like.”


After she turned her gaze back to Nyx, what seemed to be a teenage girl similar in features to the younger one outside came up to the table, tilting her head at Basilia, then even more so at Nyx. “Good morning, we just opened, you know?” she intoned and the raven haired seawoman only smirked. “I’m aware. This is my friend, and we just thought we’d get a bit of a snack. Is that alright, Patrizia?”

“Sure. Just don’t stay too long?” The girl rolled her head to the other side, not quite annoyed and actually seemed to have an understanding with Basilia.

“I never do. I was telling my friend about the horses in the Giara plateau.”

“Huh? The little horses?” Patrizia wrinkled her freckled nose, looking off to the corner of the room. “You’re so weird. Come on, just order something so I can look busy. Does your friend speak italian?” she asked. “Or Sardinian?”

Basilia smiled, placing a napkin in her lap and glancing to Nyx. “She understands us and can order something for herself. Speaking of, you’ll have to tell me about who taught you about Sardinia. Was she a Witch?”


“Hag, please order something.”

“Coffee for two and a tall glass of water. Make it two.”

“Fine. sit here and blabber on.”

The girl left the two in peace. She, nor or sister were at school, but such wasn’t uncommon for family owned establishments such as this.

 

[Silvercurrent]

Seafolk

Elsie Avonlea

Azure Current

Somewhere in Tubero

The mer’s azure eyes followed each of Ranieri's gestures with rapt fascination, as if his presence alone held her in awe. The relic he mentioned was a mystery to Elsie, she wasn't familiar with it and was unsure why it had caught the attention of her current head. She scratched her head in confusion, uncertain of how to respond. However, she did notice that Ranieri seemed to be struggling—perhaps the heat was getting to him, or maybe he was thirsty. Should she offer her water? Elsie shook her head a bit to dismiss the thought, he might reject her. Who would accept water from a stranger anyway?

Ranieri then pulled out a letter from his pocket. The familiar magic imbued in the paper made Elsie go "wow" for the second time that day. She knew about "waterproof" magic but had never seen it directly until now. When he handed the letter to Elsie, she opened it and was met with a slew of words that made her head spin. Embarrassingly, Elsie wasn’t adept at reading. She could decipher simple words like “you,” “use,” and “we,” but the rest were like ancient words to her. She tilted the letter right and left, trying to make sense of it like a map, but to no avail. Thankfully, Ranieri kindly enough to explain the contents, saving her from the embarrassment of admitting her illiteracy.

As he continued to speak about things unfamiliar to her, her face remained blank and confused. His explanations seemed to go in one ear and out the other until he finally arrived at the solution he could offer. Finally! Though still puzzled about the relic Ranieri was referring to, Elsie pulled out the only item she had that might match the description from her satchel—a dagger given to her by her father. She had never used it, except once when she needed to cut a large piece of beef.

"Are we talking about this dagger, sir?" she asked, showing the shell dagger to Ranieri. "This was given by my father. Pretty, right?"

Despite her hesitation, Elsie handed the dagger over to Ranieri. It didn't seem like she had much choice. Once he took the dagger, she brought her hands to her lap and clenched her dress to suppress her nervousness. The anxiety she felt now surpassed even that of being interrogated by her father. She knew she couldn't dodge any of Ranieri’s questions like she did with her father. What questions would he ask?

"Sure, I am ready for your questions," she said, bracing herself for whatever questions were to come.

Interaction: Silvercurrent (Ranieri)
Mention: None

Code by Serobliss

Elsie was met with a pleased smile, and a grateful gesture from Ranieri as he bowed his head slightly. Sitting before her as to make himself feel less imposing, he was careful when the transfer of the weapon occured, cautious in case it was actually frail. His glasses caught the light of the sun as he tilted his head back, gazing down past the lenses. It was then his already icy blue eyes darkened and took on a slightly violet hue. Turning the dagger over and rotating it to inspect every inch, it only took a moment for his concentration to be brought to rest with another smile.

“A lovely relic indeed. This seems to be full of love, a precious memento that belongs in the hands of someone with a good heart. Do excuse me for separating you two.” he told her, delicate in his returning of the object to her hand.

“Nothing strange to me. I know what to put in my report, however–” he tapped a finger to his chin in thought. “They want visual evidence.” he frowned, avoiding just barely a roll of his eyes.


He had better things to do, but he does his job, always.


“But for now, I’ll ask my questions.” He nodded to himself, pushing the spectacles on his nose back into place. He crossed one leg over the other, resting his cane against the bench and lacing his fingers together in his lap.


“First question; What are you doing so far from home, here on Upper Tubero?”

he began, but somehow though his tone was casual and polite, there was a depth and a weight to it that couldn’t be put into words. It was as if the question itself were adding a stone to each word. His eyes hadn’t stopped glowing that dim violet.




“Second question; Do you plan to go back to your pod?” His gaze lifted just enough to catch hers.


“Third and last; how well did you know the Piscadoris?”

 

[Laraes]

Matia

collab with.

Headphones as Costa The Italian(purple text)

image credits.

bg art: Michele Byrne
Costa art:Komashiro Michiwo

coded by.

uxie!

Costa

written by.

Headphones as Costa The Italian (purple text)

Ain't Misbehavin' --- Tito Martino & Jazz Society Trio

Duke Ellington

With heavy eyelids, Matia awoke to several harsh realities. Blinking into the harsh light of the midday sun that shone through her skylight into her face, she sat up, the sofa her safe raft in a sea of books, notes, unfinished manuscripts, letters, and research papers. It didn’t take a master detective to see that her investigations, despite countless sleepless nights, had yet to uncover a common thread. Mockingly, the latest issue of Custas Vegadas lay on the coffee table. The subject of her waking and sleeping hours stared at her from the front page between crumpled paper and empty teacups: Sardo Ramene. Of whom she still didn’t have the faintest idea who might have killed him.
Silently, she cursed herself for not being able to let go of cases like this, despite everything.
“A fruitless endeavor,” her old man had always warned. “Just write what people want to read! Gossip and scandals!”
Her eyes adjusted to the bright light, and the fruits of this habit, whether good or bad, took clearer shape—Cartons upon cartons adorned her former workroom, filled to the brim with manuscripts, books, and other paraphernalia she had kept in her antique wooden bureau. It had since found a new home in the hallway, as it and indeed everything in her workroom, now had to make way for a roommate, because with the aforementioned “fruitless endeavor,” rent couldn’t be paid. Not that she had written much of anything lately.

The rusty springs of the couch creaked as the tired woman stretched, yawning. She was being hard on herself. Which was not like her. At all. She groaned, slumped for a moment, then sat up straight and slapped both sides of her face.
"Focus, Matia," she muttered.
She got up and headed for the bathroom, her sanctuary. Sure, it had seen better days, but the elegant, handmade faucets and stained-glass windows more than made up for it. She peeked into the oval mirror hanging over the freestanding sink and, framed by intricate golden ornaments, a pair of tired, silvery green eyes looked back at her. Yes, it was for the world to see, her recent lifestyle.

She splashed her face with water and applied her favorite ointment, followed by a skillfully applied layer of maroon tint on her lips, of which she also took some to the cheeks, in an attempt to make her face look less sunken in. She spritzed her hair with a hefty amount of her favorite heatless curling potion from the Sweet Ordinaire. Upon contact, it coiled into dense sections like vines curling around a trellis, forming small knots around her face and larger ones at the back. Meanwhile, she rummaged through her case for two slender silver clips to pin her bangs into place. Once the spray had enough time to take effect, she combed out the tight curls and skillfully freed the front section from the clips.
Finally, she eyed herself in the mirror, after shaking her hair out and fiddling with it a bit. Her trademark blonde curls fell in loose but intentional waves around her face, and she let out a contented sigh.
Better. Not exactly great, but better.
With more determined strides and an upright body posture that was reminiscent of the way she usually carried herself, she waltzed into the bedroom. Quite the tasteful selection of dresses, hats, and scarves flew out of the closet onto Matia's bed as she rummaged through her wardrobe. A few discarded outfit choices later, she slipped into a white short-sleeved roll-neck sweater and a red Shirtwaist dress with subtle white pinstripes. It was cinched at the waist with a slim white belt dress and short sleeves puffed slightly at the shoulders before tapering above her elbows. The skirt fell just below the knee in an A-line cut, allowing for ease of movement while maintaining a polished appearance. A pair of low-heeled sandals, practical yet stylish, big enchanted sunglasses and an equally magical sun hat completed the look.

A cursory glance in the hall mirror assured her that no one on the street who might eye her for a similar amount of time would suspect her exertions. Finally, she draped her handbag around her shoulders, in which her magic pen and the notebook containing a certain yellow letter lay dormant.
Broom in one hand and the doorknob in the other, Matia was ready to leave when — Meow.

“Right, right. Bistra will need to wait until I’ve fed you, huh?” As an appeasing gesture, the witch hastily gave her two cats, whom she had unfortunately neglected a little in the last few days, their favorite cat food. She stroked Dolce and Vita for a moment while they wolfed it down greedily.

“Who knows, maybe I'll finally come across something today. And if not, I'll hang up the journalism thing and just marry a rich man, why don’t I? Mamma and Papá would like that, at least.”

She grimaced at her own joke, then glanced at the stack of manuscripts on the coffee table. The idea of churning out just one dull or trivial story twisted her stomach more than the prospect of a loveless marriage.
She stamped a kiss on each cat's forehead, then took a deep breath and stepped out into the bustling streets.

Café Ambrosia was only a short broom ride away from Matia’s apartment and, as usual, the scent and buzz associated with the quaint establishment reached her before she could even land on its paved street. Flowery notes mingled with the inviting rich aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans and the friendly chitter chatter of the patrons who were enjoying their afternoon break.

The atmosphere was even more laid-back than in the morning, with espresso cups staying longer in people’s hands and cigarettes burning halfway through before a second puff could even be taken. Work had been done and dealt with and now was the time for leisure and exchange of sometimes juicy, but more often standard-issue gossip that was not even worth being on page three.
The only person who could still be seen in any sort of hurry was the tall silhouette of Café Ambrosia's only waiter.

Costa the Italian. One of the many mysteries in Matia’s life. And perhaps the most frustrating one. From the start, he had been nothing short of a walking talking question mark. The taciturn man just appeared out of thin air and started to work at Bistra’s café. What’s more, he started living with her. But perhaps what was most absurd of all was her friend’s all too adept way of deflecting questions regarding this persona grata. He was that one piece of leftover food that was stubbornly wedged between the molars. That last piece of a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle that had slipped under the sofa. A stubborn cork in a good bottle of Malvasia wine.

As she approached and waved her hand tentatively, all he graced her with was a glance before quickly moving on to retrieve an empty coffee cup. Yet Matia didn’t have her business card printed yesterday. In those few seconds when their eyes met, even behind tinted glass, she could see how his expression went from a calm focus whilst in the motions to the sharpness of a screeching halt when realising who he was about to deal with to an immediate hop back onto his boat of nonchalance. In other words, Costa wasn’t ecstatic to meet her. No, not at all.
”Ciao, Costa! Busy day, huh?” Matia said without a care once she passed the first table of the café’s arrangement.
“Ciao.” the waiter replied without looking at her whilst immersed in wiping a vacated table. “It’s always busy at this hour, so if you want something, please-”
Unfortunately, he cut himself short when he turned his head and saw the woman entering the building.
‘Oh, for the love of God.’ he grumbled in his thoughts and sped up clearing the table.

Matia walked into the interior of the café with a naturalness that might suggest she was the owner, instead of her good friend Bistra. Inside, she began to look around for the latter with exaggerated gestures, although it was quite obvious, that she was intending to get the answer from the poor waiter outside. She even lifted the corner of a rug that lay in the entryway theatrically, as if half expecting the witch to be hiding there.

Her snooping about didn't halt even when Costa stood in silence at the doorstep, one hand effortlessly holding up a tray of used porcelain drinkware, his annoyance creeping ever so slightly into the forefront. When she spotted him, Matia was standing directly between the entrance and the counter, and it took her a moment to realize that she was blocking his way.
"Ah, scusami."
She quickly stepped aside. Despite knowing better, she decided to attribute his obvious irritation to the crowded locale rather than her presence.
“Is Bistra in?” she asked unceremoniously, as Costa began walking to the counter.
Staring directly at her with his green unblinking gaze, he flatly replied:
“No.” one thick eyebrow lifting up and dropping down as he did so.

“No?” Matia feigned a puzzled expression, as if the idea of Bistra existing beyond the café was a completely novel thought. “Then where might she be?”

“Somewhere.” he replied whilst passing her. With their backs facing each other, he added “Out that door.” The cups made a brief clanking sound as he set the tray onto the wooden surface. “But as far as I know, she didn’t mention having company.”

“Well, hopefully that will change soon.” With one hand on her hip, she turned around and pushed her sunglasses into her hair with the other. Her eyebrow arched, a silent challenge, as she regarded Costa’s back. “She really didn't give any indication?”

“None.” he reaffirmed, having no intention of backing down. The experience over the past year had taught him that if you creaked open the door for this woman, she would storm right into your world and make it spin like a whirlwind. However, not giving her anything at all wasn’t an option either. Tossing the cleaning cloth over his shoulder, the man went behind the counter and continued. “She’s got other work, but knowing the hour, she’s probably almost done. If you take a seat outside and wait for her, I’m sure she’ll come soon.”

Her forehead wrinkled beneath her blonde locks. With pursed lips, Matia narrowed her eyes slightly, sizing up Costa. "I’m afraid waiting around isn't really my forte.” She knew pressing too hard would only make him clam up more. But without a little force, neither could there be any pearls. While he occupied himself with taking the used cups to the sink, her voice persistently filled the space between them. "Come on, you really expect me to believe that you have no idea where Bistra went? You’re always watching everything." Matia, who was sure that Costa did indeed know where Bistra had gone and had no intention of leaving the man's side until she had wrung this information out of him, followed his every step. She leaned against the bar in front of him, waiting for his answer with an innocuous, but unrelenting smile.

“The pot calls the kettle black.” he remarked and turned the faucet. Water filled the empty cups and, once he was satisfied with their fullness and the time it took to make her wait, Costa finally decided that enough was enough. “At least all I do is watch.” He rubbed his hands dry in the cloth and spun around to face her. “She went to the post office. Go look for her there. And-” He whipped the fabric low in the air with one hand. “don’t even think about taking her delivery for her. It’s against the law.”

"And you know I would never do something illegal," Matia flashed a triumphant grin. "Thanks, Costa. You're a real gem.” She spun on her heel, a whirlwind in motion. At the door, she called back over her shoulder, “Good luck with the guests! I'll make sure Bistra doesn't linger!" And with that, she jumped onto her broom and vanished, as sudden and fleeting as a summer storm.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Printer]

CODE BY SEROBLISS || REPLY COLLAB BETWEEN PRINTER & FROWNIST

Sharing a breakfast outside at Café Ambrosia

The dark-haired woman nodded at Costa as he spoke to the nun, whatever was weighing on him in the moment seemed to dissipate when Vivianna asked him directly. She chose not to pay any mind to it, and she remained in quiet relief at the thought of it. “See you later.” She said as she watched the man step away.

As for Sybilla, she could sense the stressful energy from within Costa dissipating slightly as well, though not vanishing altogether. She attentively listened to his parting words, offering him another smile as he retreated for his smoke break. "You take care now," she said with a nod, mirroring Vivianna's gesture, as his aura increasingly distanced itself from the two.

Taking a sip of the coffee, Vivianna sighed a bit as the warmth of the drink came over her. It did certainly clear her head, which brought something else of importance to mind. The whole reason they were here before they veered off. After setting the cup down, she spoke, “The newspaper,” the metaphorical elephant in the room, “You wanted me to tell you what it said?” Vivianna lifted her head to look at Sister Sybilla, her gaze unwavering.

Sybilla gasped lightly in response, setting the teacup back onto the saucer with a gentle clink. For a moment, she felt a slight flush of warmth rise to her cheeks, embarrassed by her own forgetfulness. A thought crossed her mind that she might be encroaching too much on Vivianna's time, her concern momentarily clouding her own calm demeanor.

"Ah, yes—the newspaper!" she exclaimed, a hint of laughter in her voice as she brought a hand to the side of her cheek, as though to quell the heat that had unexpectedly flooded her face. "My apologies, it nearly slipped my mind." She took a steadying breath, her fingers lifting up to massage her temples. "If you wouldn't mind summarizing the main articles for me, that would be greatly appreciated." Her smile tilted slightly to one side, an endearing touch of awkwardness coloring her request.

As Vivianna traced her finger along the rim of the porcelain cup, she took a moment to think once again, the contents of the newspaper coming to her mind. Ever since the day of the murder, there hadn’t necessarily been any new revelations to be made—at least, not any known to the general public. Brushing a stray hair from her vision she began, “There hasn’t been anything,” Vivianna knew information such as that was not what the nun wanted to hear, so she quickly followed up, “Other than rumors. Same old, same old.”

Sybilla listened attentively to Vivianna's train of thought, picking up on the smallest nuances in her tone. Her thumb traced along the contours of the handle of her teacup, a common yet absent-minded tactile meditation. She understood that much of what circulated would be town gossip and rumor rather than factual information—that was inevitable.

Lingering thoughts and worries crossed Vivianna’s mind as she leaned back in her chair. Despite the lack of news from the Custas Vegadas, it didn’t change the fact that the murder of such a beloved figure caused tension within this close knit town. It invoked a lack of safety, hearsay, and feelings of anxiety. Despite how bustling the streets of Tubero remained, the murder was on the minds of everyone, from elders to young children.

Vivianna looked towards the street as she took another sip of her coffee. “I guess that wasn’t what you wanted to hear.”

Sybilla gave a gentle shake of her head before speaking once more, "Oh, please don't worry," she began, "You're not at fault for the newspaper's lack of information," she reassured with a brief pause, lifting the delicate porcelain teacup to her lips for another contemplative sip, the fragrant steam curling upwards. "Even within the church, we find ourselves grappling with similar uncertainties. We're all in this search for answers as one."

Her words carried a sense of shared concern and solidarity, though Vivianna wasn’t exactly surprised by the lack of news on the situation. Just standing near the news wall earlier, she could hear the agitated grunts and whispers of locals who were also met with nothing to read. They were restless, as was everyone. “You noticed it, right?” Vivianna looked back at Sybilla, “At your church. In the anticipation of more news, everything seems off.” Her voice trailed off for a bit, “I’m rambling. I don’t know, this whole murder ordeal seems off.”

Sybilla released a soft exhale, followed by a small inclination of her head. While she agreed that the situation felt slightly ‘off’, she didn't find it overly peculiar given the context. Such responses were not uncommon within the confines of the church. "Please, do not fret over a bit of rambling. It's quite understandable," she noted with a serene demeanor, the corners of her lips lifting in a gentle smile.

"If anything, I've been the one who's rambling," she admitted with a light chuckle, acknowledging her own tendency to wander through thoughts and words alike. Her fingertips grazed the edge of the plate, tracing delicate circles around where the cornetti lay, the pastry's allure silently tempting her senses.

Vivianna watched as Sybilla gave her response, a tinge of guilt washed over her in that moment. “I don’t mind it.” She told her in an unusually reassuring tone. “You just have more to say than others. Don’t worry about it.”

Sybilla's smile grew warmer at Vivianna's reassurance. "Thank you. It's kind of you to say that," she responded, her voice softening. "You know, sometimes it's the ones who listen patiently that hold the most wisdom. You have a way of making people feel heard, and that's a rare gift." She paused, letting her gratitude linger in the air before continuing.

"As for the news…” she trailed off, “it's an ongoing investigation surrounding a beloved figure, taken too soon—an unusual occurrence for Tubero," Sybilla reflected, her voice carrying a thoughtful tone. She nodded to herself, recalling the hushed conversations that had swirled around the town square earlier, each whisper adding a layer to the puzzle surrounding the incident. "I have faith that the guards are diligently pursuing every lead to unravel this mystery," she added, her words laced with a quiet optimism.

Her pointed gaze lifted from the cornetti, drifting across the table to where she believed her companion sat, a piqued interest lingering in her expression. "Is there something about it that particularly troubles you?" she inquired, her curiosity tender and earnest, seeking to understand the other woman’s thoughts on the matter.

Vivianna’s eyebrows wrinkled at the mention of the guards. Right, she didn’t know why she was so interested in this whole ordeal when it was the guard’s job to piece things together, regardless of how lowly she thinks of the organization as a whole. Vivianna shook her head a bit, her hand moving the plate in front of her closer. The woman traced her deep dark eyes along the cornetti and replied. “I don’t have much to give you. This whole situation just seems strange to me, because what person would have a vendetta against Ramene?”

Vivianna’s voice trailed off as her thoughts circled around her mind. Having recently moved to Tubero, she didn’t know Ramene. The few details she picked up about the man was through drunken banter at the pub and whispers following his death. From what she gathered, he seemed to be well liked, not the type of person to be the target of any violent crime, unless there was something else about him that the guards were missing. A secret, perhaps?

‘Enough of that,’ She forced those suspicions away as she ripped a piece of her cornetti. ‘It’s up to the guards, not me.’ After all, Vivianna didn’t want to waste the nun’s time with her needy speculations. Since there was not much else to be said, she gestured at the untouched food, “You should eat.”

Sister Sybilla nodded gently in agreement. "Indeed, it is far more delightful to enjoy a meal while it’s still warm," she concurred, her voice imbued with a lightness that seemed to dispel any lingering heaviness in the air.

Following Vivianna's lead, the nun carefully tore off a piece of the cornetti. As she brought the morsel to her lips, she closed her eyes momentarily to relish the symphony of flavors. Each bite offered a brief escape from the burdens of the world, her worries melting away with every chew.

Watching as Sybilla began indulging in the fresh meal, Vivianna took a bite, the warmth of the pastry lingering with each swallow. ‘This is.. surprisingly good.’ The young woman would think to herself, and although she didn’t match the nun’s pace in which she ate, she still found pleasure in the meal.

She ought to come here more often before her shifts at the pub, instead of regularly collapsing at home without a proper meal. ‘If only I had the money,’ A thought that regularly crossed her mind whenever she considered stepping out of her usual routine. Vivianna knew to take more time to herself without the excuse of money. She knew a distraction would be good for her, and yet she never followed through.

Indulging in their repast, a comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the gentle clinking of cups, the satisfying crunch of the cornetti, and the soft murmur of other patrons. However, just as the tranquility began to settle, Sister Sybilla’s voice emerged once more. Setting down her cornetti, she leaned in slightly. "I heard something upsetting happened earlier today," she began quietly, her voice tinged with concern as she broached a new topic. She cradled the cup in her hands, lifting her head to regard Vivianna directly. "Apparently that Captain Mauro and his crew were involved in some sort of fish-throwing incident with an unfortunate dock worker. Can you imagine such a scene?”

Her brow furrowed deeply and she took another sip. "That dock worker must be feeling humiliated and scared. I wonder what could have driven them to act so harshly,” she pondered, before taking another bite of her pastry. Her shoulders relaxed as she chewed thoughtfully.

Sipping the last of her coffee, Vivianna glanced at the young nun as her voice broke the silence between the two, her gaze lingering for a bit before focusing back on her meal.

While she did work by the sea, she never dared walk on any of the docks out of fear for the water—as pathetic as that sounds. Usually whatever nonsense events transpired spread through word of mouth by the hearty and rather loud sailors who frequented the pub. Still, Vivianna decided to give a short reply to continue the conversation. “Sounds like a shame.”

“Indeed,” she said in a gentle but firm tone, “I thought I should mention it. It’d be best to steer clear of them for the time being if you happen to come across them, they sound like a rowdy bunch.” Her lips momentarily twitched with concern. “Who knows what else might happen,” she murmured.

Vivianna, who had noticed the slight grimace on her lips, leaned forward in an attempt to elevate Sybilla’s concern, “It’ll pass, they’re a tough lot.”

With a shake of her head and dismissive wave of her hand, she brightened up once more and smiled. ”You’re right, I’m sure they’ll make a change for the better soon. Let us hope for the best.”

As the final sip of her drink glided down her throat, Sister Sybilla reached delicately for a napkin, her fingertips tracing the edges of the table until they found the linen. With a precise motion, she dabbed at the corners of her mouth, ensuring no trace of the pastry remained. The napkin, now adorned with crumbs and stray droplets, found its place on the emptied plate, some tidiness before the waiter would come to reclaim the dishes.

Sister Sybilla signaled the conclusion of their breakfast rendezvous. "I believe it’s about time to take my leave," she remarked, a faint sense of urgency threading through her words. The duties awaiting her at the church demanded her prompt attention, pulling her away from their morning interlude. The unexpected conversation had stirred countless thoughts within her, surfacing a desire to seek solace in the familiar surroundings of the church, to confer with Father Polycarp and impart upon him the latest developments—or rather, the lack thereof.

"Would you mind getting Mr. Costa's attention for me, my dear?" Sister Sybilla inquired politely, motioning subtly for the girl's assistance in summoning the waiter.

“Sure.” The sound of the chair moving was heard as Vivianna stood up, promptly wiping her lips with her sleeve as she did.

It wasn’t long before she spotted the waiter tending to the needs of other customers, when he finished, she silently called him over with a wave of her hand. “I’ll take the rest to go.” She gestured at the half eaten cornetti as he approached, before grabbing her backpack off the ground and throwing it over her shoulder with a heavy sigh.

Upon Costa’s return, Sybilla was ready to settle the bill. Ensuring to cover the expenses of both their orders and leaving a gratifying tip for the attentive waiter, the Sister bid farewell to the man before refocusing her attention on Vivianna.

After Vivianna muttered a quiet goodbye to the man, she looked back over at Sybilla with a nod. “Thanks for the meal.” Pushing the chair back near the table, she continued, “I owe you one.”

"You don't owe me anything," Sybilla retaliated rather quickly. "It’s a small token of kindness. In this world, we could all use a little more of that." She continued with that same mixture of warmth and sincerity.

"I would be delighted to continue our conversation another time. Should you ever find yourself near the church, do feel welcome to drop in and share a word or two." She extended the invitation, an open-hearted gesture of goodwill. She didn't want to impose, only to offer the possibility of shared moments again.

"May the rest of your day be filled with joy, Miss–" she stopped herself, recalling the preferred form of address, “Ah, I mean… Vivianna.” She corrected herself with a gentle chuckle, unused to informalities.

Her invite was picked up, and although Vivianna doubted she’d convene with the young nun again anytime soon, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to acknowledge her gesture. “I’ll give it a thought.” She said with a subtle nod, her voice in a more appreciative tone, fitting to the end of a lengthy conversation.

As she began to step away, she gave a quick wave to the young nun as she maneuvered around the tables, as well as giving a final nod to Costa as she passed by, and disappeared among the bustling morning crowds of Tubero.

With a final smile and a small bow, Sybilla, too, pivoted on her heel, her hand lightly brushing against the chair as she made her departure, her path leading back towards the sanctuary of the church with her cane in tow.