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[[OOC: 16th Harvestmere, afternoon]]
Celeste Monroe
Nicolette was fairly certain that this was how people ended up dying, or sucked into plots that eventually ended with them being betrayed. She had just been packing up her things after a set in Hightown when a man had approached her, most of his face swathed by a burnoose, and pushed some coin and a letter in her hand with the promise of more money upon delivery. Normally Nicolette would have pushed it back at him, but it was a surprisingly generous amount of money and she was not in a position to refuse. Since her patronage with Valerio had fallen through, she had been all right but all it took was a few bad days for her to go from ‘paying all that she owed’ to ‘outright impoverished.’
At least this time she was not being pressured into scoping out a shady healer down in Darktown. This time, the letter was requested for a woman at the docks, and Nicolette was fine with that. The qunari made her slightly nervous but she enjoyed the smell of the salt spray, and listening to the splash of the waves mingled with the clamour of the sailors and the creak of the ships. Someday she would take one of those ships away from here – or maybe she would walk out of the gates facing west, heading in the direction of her old homeland. But for now Kirkwall had not dried its supply of diversions, and at least this one did not promise any danger.
She simply had to find a blonde sailor by the name of Celeste, and deliver a note to her. Afterwards she would pick a spot on the docks and perform a few shanties for the sailors until she had earned enough to satisfy her needs for the next few days. Sailors and the men who made their living along the quays tended to be more generous with their coin than the refugees in Lowtown.
It took some asking around, but eventually a world-weary man who had clearly more to deal with than people asking him bothersome questions directed her attention to a ship not far down the docks, and by the gangway was a woman who matched the description of her recipient exactly.
A rather handsome woman, at that.
“Celeste Monroe?” She gave her best smile. “Bonsoir. I was asked to deliver this to you.”
Thibault was curling around her feet, as usual, but he did not stiffen or bark, so she assumed the woman was safe.
Celeste Monroe
Nicolette was fairly certain that this was how people ended up dying, or sucked into plots that eventually ended with them being betrayed. She had just been packing up her things after a set in Hightown when a man had approached her, most of his face swathed by a burnoose, and pushed some coin and a letter in her hand with the promise of more money upon delivery. Normally Nicolette would have pushed it back at him, but it was a surprisingly generous amount of money and she was not in a position to refuse. Since her patronage with Valerio had fallen through, she had been all right but all it took was a few bad days for her to go from ‘paying all that she owed’ to ‘outright impoverished.’
At least this time she was not being pressured into scoping out a shady healer down in Darktown. This time, the letter was requested for a woman at the docks, and Nicolette was fine with that. The qunari made her slightly nervous but she enjoyed the smell of the salt spray, and listening to the splash of the waves mingled with the clamour of the sailors and the creak of the ships. Someday she would take one of those ships away from here – or maybe she would walk out of the gates facing west, heading in the direction of her old homeland. But for now Kirkwall had not dried its supply of diversions, and at least this one did not promise any danger.
She simply had to find a blonde sailor by the name of Celeste, and deliver a note to her. Afterwards she would pick a spot on the docks and perform a few shanties for the sailors until she had earned enough to satisfy her needs for the next few days. Sailors and the men who made their living along the quays tended to be more generous with their coin than the refugees in Lowtown.
It took some asking around, but eventually a world-weary man who had clearly more to deal with than people asking him bothersome questions directed her attention to a ship not far down the docks, and by the gangway was a woman who matched the description of her recipient exactly.
A rather handsome woman, at that.
“Celeste Monroe?” She gave her best smile. “Bonsoir. I was asked to deliver this to you.”
Thibault was curling around her feet, as usual, but he did not stiffen or bark, so she assumed the woman was safe.
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