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<blockquote data-quote="pathfinderq1" data-source="post: 7036743" data-attributes="member: 48394"><p>It took a minute to realize just who she was, the young woman with golden-bronze skin and long wavy black hair. She wore a white shirt with ruffled cuffs and a high collar, underneath a vest of heavy black leather (instead of a proper and sensible corset), and black ruffled skirt over dark stockings and ankle high boots. A heavy satchel was slung over the back of her chair. She hadn't said a word through the first part of the breakfast, and it even seemed as if she wasn't quite <em>there</em>, at least until Lady Gearsmith began talking.</p><p></p><p>At first, she was no one you had seen here in the House before- perhaps she was connected with whoever had reported the 'problem'. But then, a moment of recognition, and a second glance...</p><p></p><p>She had been around the House at least a week, longer than any of the 'foreign arrivals' certainly- you had all seen her. But she had been dressed in plain wool and linen, with that marvelous hair bound up under a sensible kerchief. Surely she was a servant of some kind, some member of the Lady's household staff. She had certainly been in the library often enough, and in and out of some of the unmarked rooms (labs of some kind, perhaps) elsewhere in the building. She had been meek, nearly silent and keeping her eyes down- of course she was a servant of some kind...</p><p></p><p>Except.</p><p></p><p>During the course of the week or so that you had been here, most of you had seen her in the hallway. In passing, almost in apology, she had said a few words, spoken in the local accent- words that didn't seem to have any meaning at the time, just normal words, but nothing exactly relevant. For just a second, she had lifted those dark eyes to match you gaze (or in the case of the kobold, she had dropped her gaze even further)- she had even managed to meet the warmech's "eyes". It was as if she was looking for something, some recognition. A heartbeat passed, her eyes shifted away, there was a muttered apology- and she fled. </p><p></p><p>Perhaps she was simple-minded, and that was why she was a servant here- or since this WAS the infamous Order of Shadows, perhaps her mind had been blasted by some dark knowledge, and they kept her on in pity. But certainly, she looked nothing like the woman sitting at the breakfast table with you now. Both in terms of dress, and in mannerism, it was no wonder that recognition had taken a while.</p><p></p><p>Oh, wait. She had spoken, however briefly with MOST of the new arrivals. There was, of course, an exception. Coming around the corner one morning, she had almost run headlong into Eli- and when she glanced up at him her eyes had filled with sudden fear. With a squeak she had fled, but the cowboy had seen timid folk before, and she was gone before he could decide to apologize.</p><p></p><p>Throughout the first part of breakfast, she was seated as far away from Eli as she could get, and she looked anyplace other than at the man in the battlesuit.</p><p></p><p>But once the cowboy and the warmech had said their piece, the young woman leaned back in her chair, looking at, and seemingly speaking to, the ceiling. Her voice was pleasant and mellow, and her local accent was strong- she sounded nothing like she had before (much as she LOOKED nothing like she had over the last few days). "Good call on asking the local purveyors of the funerary arts- it MAY be a bigger problem, to be sure. But we 'ave other roads to walk as well. We will need to see the 'ouse, the room where this lady died. We will need to see who was tasked to move the body to the crematorium, and the coach they used- if they did it. We will need to see the crematory, speak to the men of the business. Spirits, they say, can leave a trace as they pass- and we will need to see if those traces lead where they ought, or if they go astray. And to be sure, I'll need to be out and about for a bit later, ask around a few of the local lads, see who might have seen or heard a bit odd." She leaned forward, drooping her head over her teacup for a moment. Almost reflexively she reached for the tiny pitcher of cream, and poured a few drops into not her teacup, but the saucer beneath it- with the tip of one fingernail she stirred the drop of cream for a moment, then flicked it aside (somewhere). </p><p></p><p>She kept her head down, as if staring into the teacup, but seemed to have run out of words for the moment.</p><p></p><p>[ooc] see note in OOC thread [/ooc]</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="pathfinderq1, post: 7036743, member: 48394"] It took a minute to realize just who she was, the young woman with golden-bronze skin and long wavy black hair. She wore a white shirt with ruffled cuffs and a high collar, underneath a vest of heavy black leather (instead of a proper and sensible corset), and black ruffled skirt over dark stockings and ankle high boots. A heavy satchel was slung over the back of her chair. She hadn't said a word through the first part of the breakfast, and it even seemed as if she wasn't quite [I]there[/I], at least until Lady Gearsmith began talking. At first, she was no one you had seen here in the House before- perhaps she was connected with whoever had reported the 'problem'. But then, a moment of recognition, and a second glance... She had been around the House at least a week, longer than any of the 'foreign arrivals' certainly- you had all seen her. But she had been dressed in plain wool and linen, with that marvelous hair bound up under a sensible kerchief. Surely she was a servant of some kind, some member of the Lady's household staff. She had certainly been in the library often enough, and in and out of some of the unmarked rooms (labs of some kind, perhaps) elsewhere in the building. She had been meek, nearly silent and keeping her eyes down- of course she was a servant of some kind... Except. During the course of the week or so that you had been here, most of you had seen her in the hallway. In passing, almost in apology, she had said a few words, spoken in the local accent- words that didn't seem to have any meaning at the time, just normal words, but nothing exactly relevant. For just a second, she had lifted those dark eyes to match you gaze (or in the case of the kobold, she had dropped her gaze even further)- she had even managed to meet the warmech's "eyes". It was as if she was looking for something, some recognition. A heartbeat passed, her eyes shifted away, there was a muttered apology- and she fled. Perhaps she was simple-minded, and that was why she was a servant here- or since this WAS the infamous Order of Shadows, perhaps her mind had been blasted by some dark knowledge, and they kept her on in pity. But certainly, she looked nothing like the woman sitting at the breakfast table with you now. Both in terms of dress, and in mannerism, it was no wonder that recognition had taken a while. Oh, wait. She had spoken, however briefly with MOST of the new arrivals. There was, of course, an exception. Coming around the corner one morning, she had almost run headlong into Eli- and when she glanced up at him her eyes had filled with sudden fear. With a squeak she had fled, but the cowboy had seen timid folk before, and she was gone before he could decide to apologize. Throughout the first part of breakfast, she was seated as far away from Eli as she could get, and she looked anyplace other than at the man in the battlesuit. But once the cowboy and the warmech had said their piece, the young woman leaned back in her chair, looking at, and seemingly speaking to, the ceiling. Her voice was pleasant and mellow, and her local accent was strong- she sounded nothing like she had before (much as she LOOKED nothing like she had over the last few days). "Good call on asking the local purveyors of the funerary arts- it MAY be a bigger problem, to be sure. But we 'ave other roads to walk as well. We will need to see the 'ouse, the room where this lady died. We will need to see who was tasked to move the body to the crematorium, and the coach they used- if they did it. We will need to see the crematory, speak to the men of the business. Spirits, they say, can leave a trace as they pass- and we will need to see if those traces lead where they ought, or if they go astray. And to be sure, I'll need to be out and about for a bit later, ask around a few of the local lads, see who might have seen or heard a bit odd." She leaned forward, drooping her head over her teacup for a moment. Almost reflexively she reached for the tiny pitcher of cream, and poured a few drops into not her teacup, but the saucer beneath it- with the tip of one fingernail she stirred the drop of cream for a moment, then flicked it aside (somewhere). She kept her head down, as if staring into the teacup, but seemed to have run out of words for the moment. [ooc] see note in OOC thread [/ooc] [/QUOTE]
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