Burning Away

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Lily listened to the newcomer, still absentmindedly twirling a curl around her finger. A small smile crossed her face. The Golden Pigeon, or The Dirty Bird, as their new acquaintance had almost called it, sounded like just the kind of place that Lily was looking for. After the burly man finished his invitation, Tristan turned towards her, leaving the decision entirely in her hands. The woman hopped up from the trunk with a grin. "Hmm... well I'm not one to turn down a trip to the tavern." She took a step forward and her grin widened. "But, at least where I'm from, you're supposed to tell a girl your name before you ask her out for a drink." The woman chuckled to herself. The snow seemed to be falling steadily faster, so they'd need to find some sort of shelter from it soon anyway. She shivered, pulling her scarf more tightly around her face. She hoped this 'Golden Pigeon' was warm.
 
Gareth bit his lip as the group entered the room, mumbling his thanks to the attendants by the door. He couldn't bring himself to tell Wolcott that Gareth'd leave them to discuss their own affairs; in his skittish nature, he conceded all resistance he had and allowed himself to drown in his own self-pity. Harker planted his boots stiffly behind Lindwell and Wolcott, and he twiddled his thumbs before himself while his eyes traced the corners of the room, scarcely furnished with but a few chairs and a desk and draped in dim light from outside. Gareth's blues lingered on the woman's uniform and swapped his gaze between the lady and Lindwell. Boyd seemed welcoming to the guests, and Gareth could almost feel that aura crawling in his skin with warmth which eased his tense shoulders. And then, he noticed just how decorated the military officials in Arcartus really were. They wore extravagant uniforms of more color in comparison to the dulled colors that were worn back home in Mullen. Their lifestyle appeared less austere than the lifestyle Gareth had acquainted himself with among the knights of the Order, who though admirable in chivalry also exuded this air of strictness and pretension.

Harker's docile gaze traveled to his shoes, and he awkwardly shifted in the low light. Gareth wished almost that they'd run out of time to get to his own business.
 
He eyed up his soon-to-be company with a sly grin, masked by the slowly growing snow-coated beard. He pulled his hood back up, nodding politely. "Robert Breault,". He tilted his head to the left, feeling a satisfying pop, and gestured out along the road. "The storm is picking up, I'd suggest we get along towards the place if you're looking to secure a seat before the barflies snatch all the tables near the fire pit,". Really, the cold barely bothered him, thankful once again for his thick frame, but he figured the youths were freezing. He touched the area of his belt beneath his coat, ensuring his knife was securely in place. It was nothing more than a fairly cheap dagger he had picked up on the off-chance one of the folks he had roughed up in his line of work decided to pay him a hello, usually with friends in tow.

He knew the owner, and one of the lead cooks that regularly worked the weekdays, and he knew no trouble would come... But there was always his reputation, and the eyes of newcomers. He wouldn't get a word out of either of his new guests if the first thing they saw him do was walk into the establishment and feed someone their teeth. After standing by a moment for his guests, he began to amble his way along through the slowly dispersing crowd.
 
Wolcott quietly closed the door behind the party, joining beside them to face Boyd's desk after everyone had wordlessly shuffled into the room. The silence suited him, but all three of them had matters of import to be done with. His eyes glanced around the room as he settled in, making a habitual check of his surroundings. Everything was in order. "It's good to be somewhere I'm needed, Ludrick." He stopped and looked down the line, no one made to introduce themselves and he supposed that was because Ethan had been initially dispatched from this office. As important as his business with Boyd and Lindwell was, it wasn't a matter of time if everyone was present. The Keilaud messenger, on the other hand, had seemed fit to faint since their first meeting and the marshal wondered what terrible burden pressed the youth so. For the time being, he held his concern in silence. The woman sitting in the corner didn't move, and kept to quietly waiting for her intended involvement in the day's affairs. Her eyes flickered up to meet Ethan's when he looked in her direction, returning his examination with a dim, evaluating stare. Boyd stood up at his desk, slowly pushing his chair into the station and lumbering his way around its side to face his trio of guests. "And welcome to you as well, Lindwell. I see you're already getting along with one of your new friends," the phrase brought a faint smile to his face. Finally, his gaze settled on the only newcomer to his office. Younger than the others and shuffling gently on the office floor. "Greetings, might you be the messenger from Keilaudrin I was told about?" Boyd asked, extending his hand to the other man. Truth told, there weren't many other appointments with people he didn't already know. Foreign interest in Lieda's military office was scarce but every now and then legitimate high level communications came through his office. An envoy from Keilaudrin certainly qualified as such.


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"Well, that settles it then," Tristan commented as their little vote came to a close. As he was by now exceedingly well aware, he had nothing better to do for the time being. The joys of studying under someone whose schedules were always so closely defined. He briefly considered giving the man his name by way of returning his more formal introduction, but Robert was already leading off across the road towards wherever his tavern of choice was. Without any belongings of his own to hoist, he was already prepared to leave. The woman had handled her trunk before, although for a second he wondered what exactly she was doing lugging such a thing around anyway. The curiosity didn't stick, and he made off down the brick road after the other man in the trio. The storm was indeed picking up, and snow now visibly dusted the streets. What had started as sprinkles was quickly evolving into a storm. For the moment, however, it was helping them. Not so much cooling tempers as it was freezing resolve, the crowd previously blocking their way was quick to run home in the face of worsening weather, and their progress was swift. The sooner out of the cold the better.​
 
Lily nodded as Robert introduced himself. "Lily, pleased to meet you." The girl leaned down, gingerly hoisting the heavy trunk over her shoulder. Despite the apparent ease in lifting the luggage, the woman was quietly growing tired of the weight. Even so, she didn't particularly trust anyone to carry it for her. She followed along behind Robert and beside Tristan as the snowflakes continued to fall. As they walked, she spoke up. "So, is the city always like this?" She made a motion with her thumb pointing back towards the crowd that was slowly but surely dispersing. She'd certainly heard the rumors that all wasn't well in Arcartus, but to see such a spectacle upon her arrival in the Capital was a bit shocking. The girl's eyes drifted along the string of shops beside them until she finally came across the sign they were looking for. As The Golden Pigeon came into sight, a certain gleam filled the young woman's eyes. Already she longed for the warmth of a fire and a stiff drink. She always felt at home in taverns.
 
As he picked his way through the surprisingly quickly emptying street, Robert leaned back to take a look at the red-haired youth, running a hand through his chin scruff. "I apologize for getting a move on, but my friend should be arriving shortly after noonday and he'll be anxious to get through the business we have to discuss. I did neglect to catch your name though, mister..?" He let the question trail off, allowing him a moment to speak. As the young lady approached, confusion struck him. She's carrying that case? It's quite large to be carrying about like a backpack!

The inn was a short ways down the road, no more than five minutes, and the fire was already blazing from within. The windows were lit with crude oil lamps, and the whole of the place appeared cozy, if a little greasy. He climbed the short trio of stairs that had often claimed the dignity of those too intoxicated to stumble properly, and leaned against the banister of the short porch, snagging the handle with his thick fingers and wrenching it down. The door creaked and groaned a bit at the pressure, too many years of settling and re-settling as the weather shifted in its endless cycle, and then pushed inwards. He held the door open for his new companions, gesturing politely inside.
 
"Tristan Heuze," the youth introduced himself for the second time the day, the name ringing off his lips. He followed briskly after Robert on their way to the inn, looking around in apparent fascination with their surroundings. The amount that the city could change day to day was always a matter of observation for him, although he had never dedicated the time to collecting metrics on the issue. Traveling with some conversation was his ideal, and no sooner had the want crossed his mind that Lily posed her question. The fact that it was a topic already on his mind elicited a smile. "For the most part, no," he began, still watching the alleyways. "The people of Lieda have always been intolerably unhappy, if you ask me, but recently they're at least finding things to be unhappy with. It's curious what a little humiliation and poverty will do to motivate people," the boy motioned broadly to the city around him. It was halfway to trouble. The city of Lieda was respectable, but its streaks had began to show. There were cracks in their brick road, there were broken windows that got boarded over instead of fixed, there were alleyways that people crossed the street to avoid. Every part of town was different, but they had the luxury of venturing through a resilient quarter that told of a strong city beginning to slip. The inn they arrived at was no exception, a comfortable eatery with a light, almost artistic application of grunge. His own appreciation of the situation seemed dwarfed by what he read in Lily's face. The two were not exceptionally colorful company thus far but the competition in his memory was prodigious and nonetheless they were enjoyable. Hunger still eluded him, but even if he wasn't eating or drinking Tristan Heuze was going to stick around. He scaled the aged steps with an exploratory gait, feeling out each creaking plank as he made his way onto the similarly protesting porch. Tristan followed their guide's call in, venturing into the fire warmed building and feeling the snow blanketing him begin to melt. They left behind falling curtains of snow, the apex of what was hopefully a short, violent storm. The kind the port city was known for, smothering rains that came and went at will from the sea. In the winter, it became torrents of ice and snow. "I imagine your friend will be glad to see you after braving that, Breault," he said, jabbing a thumb towards the window.
 
A knowing smirk crossed Lily's face as Tristan explained the situation in Lieda. "A bit of hunger does wonders..." She almost whispered the words, as if, for just a moment, she had drifted off. The condition in Lieda was sounding more and more familiar the more she learned about it. She followed Tristan and Robert into the tavern, pulling the trunk down from her shoulder. As the door closed behind her, she heard the wind whipping at the walls. It seemed they'd got inside just in time. Lily lowered her trunk to the floor, her sense taking in the familiar environment. The warmth of the fire, the smell of food and alcohol, the drunken ramblings of what she deemed were some of the establishments regulars, they all made her feel more at home. Immediately she located the bartender. She gave Robert a quick nudge. "So, what drink do you recommend?" Something told her the man would have an answer. If nothing else, new places meant a new assortment of beverage options, something the young woman was always thankful for.
 
"Thank you." Ethan meted back to Boyd, managing a small smile along with a quick nod. Quickly, Boyd greeted Gareth. As he did so, Ethan stood silently, as it seemed that Wolcott and Boyd seemed to take their time getting into the actual meat of the meeting, something Ethan could hardly stand. Ethan glanced back towards Gareth, and fought back a wave of disgust. The foreigner painted a near-perfect picture of a timid boy, desperately wishing his mother's skirt was in front of him to hide behind. If anything, sending this man seemed to be an insult to Arcartus. Prostrating himself the first chance he got, and shying away from meeting new people. Ethan turned his head back forward, looking towards Boyd, his once stoic gaze now furrowed into a slightly frustrated one.
 
Gareth listened to the chatter as Boyd greeted Lindwell and Wolcott, Harker's eyes studying the other men carefully. When Boyd made his way to Gareth, a smile lit his face brightly, and Gareth looked the other man in the eye with sincere kindness. "Hello! Yes, sir, my name is Gareth Harker," he said with an affirmative enthusiasm about him as the young man shook the hand that was offered to him firmly, just how he'd been taught to shake hands. Harker's face was red even as he released Boyd's hand, but he nonetheless maintained his expression in spite of whatever discomfort arose in him. For Gareth, it was as though all the eyes in the room targeted him and shot arrows through his body, arrows that ripped through skin and split bone, when really only two sets of eyes were truly fixed, and only one was treating him poorly. Harker spoke up again to make a simple request. "Actually, sir, while you gentlemen discuss your affairs, I think I'll leave you with privacy and courtesy and, ah, sit in the hall—if it suits your fancy, of course." If Boyd wasn't the kind of man to encourage the presence of company, then Gareth would be clear to dodge any kind of embarrassment or anxiety he might feel confined in the room with those malicious, imagined eyes. He could simply wait out the other men's affairs; after all, his was of lowest priority.
 
"Welcome to Arcartus, I hope you're enjoying yourself here. I am Ludrick Boyd, representative of the State Military here in Lieda." Boyd gave his introduction, and studied the messenger from behind his warm smile. He seemed out of place, and well aware of it himself. Every sense he had gave him the impression that the youth really didn't want to be here. it was unfortunate, actually a little sad to him for reasons he couldn't quite place, but that was typically indicative of a message that needed to be heard. Or, he was just a little anxious about delivering statements in Arcartus. There had apparently been an incident by the gate that morning, Harker had probably had a front row view of whatever unfortunate business went on outside. A few bad days in Lieda had made Boyd himself wary of the country from time to time. Then, the younger man actually stated his intention to leave. Boyd looked aside at his company. He knew why the Grand Marshal had come, and Ethan's news had been patiently waiting in his office since sunrise, it could probably hold however much longer. The mustached marshal looked back to Gareth and chuckled. "Nonsense, that band of politicians out there would have my head if they found out I put off a foreign dignitary in times like this. If you wish to be brisk, I'll tolerate it, but I want the message you have come with."

Wolcott watched the exchange with waning interest. It wasn't his field, his place, or his taste. Instead, he silently reached one hand forward and pulled one of the two chairs facing Boyd's desk back, turning the seat in the direction of Ethan before indicating the chair with a wave of his hand. Given the looks that Lindwell was shooting around the room, he was unsure if the man would notice. Keen on not interrupting Boyd in his own office, he spoke softly. "Have a seat, please. Today's agenda might take some time, and you're the speaking point." Having given his offer and not in the slightest expecting the black-clad man to immediately accept, he pulled the second chair from in front of Boyd's desk and sat himself down. The demeanor he wore for the public seemed to be slowly peeling away in a private, military office. He waved once to the woman in the corner, who returned a curt nod. Out of options, he smoothed out the wrinkles forming in the lap of his jacket, and settled in to wait.
 
Ethan prevented himself from issuing a sigh. Ethan was a man of brevity, preferring to get to points quickly and efficiently, and all that had taken place in the room for the last minute might as well been ballroom dancing to Ethan. The man listened as Boyd insisted they took care of Gareth's business first, an action Ethan could support. At that moment, a motion of a gesture caught the corner of Ethan's eye, causing him to glance to the movement. Wolcott had graciously pulled a seat out for Ethan, which he accepted immediately, less because he desired a seat, more because he didn't wish to defy Wolcott. Ethan simply nodded, once more, when Wolcott made the point that Ethan's business was the main attraction to this meeting today. Sitting properly, with his back straight and hands on his knees, Ethan turned to Gareth. Ethan's eyes transmitted the look of a man whom was waiting patiently for a chance to speak. The look conveyed neither poison, nor frustration, and the visage of Ethan was expressionless, as he waited.
 
Robert tarried at the door a moment longer, looking out into the rapidly disappearing street with a bit of distaste. He had never been a fan of the weather in the capital, but it was by far the best place he could have chosen to live after his service. Perhaps at one time, maybe, he mused, stepping inside and giving the old door a solid kick back into its place. He took a quick once over of the room, most of the large tables seemed to have been displaced from their usual tidy rows and placed about the fire, but he picked out amongst those brave enough to weather the storm for a drink his intended target; A man, particularly bundled up against the storm, was seated alone at the far end of one of the great tables that, during the summer, were alive with food and drink. As he looked, he saw the man giving him an equally ponderous stare, and they both broke off immediately. Duvall had never been a great friend of Breault, but he certainly had his uses.

Turning to the girl with the trunk, he immediately spouted off, "If you're going to drink anything about here, try the Knife Twister. A strong draft with three shots dropped in, one on top of the other. Your choice on what's in it. They call it that because about as soon as its down you're going to think somebody just.. Well, you know,". After ensuring the door was knocked into place, he turned about on his heels and made for the bar, which nearly extended the length of the surprisingly large room, and nodded at Tristan's comment.

"He's already arrived,". He jerked his thumb in the direction of the seated man as discreetly as possible, then turned it upwards. The gesture was returned in kind, along with a half-hearted touch to the hooded temple as a salute. Turning back to his business at the counter, he flagged down one of the women that had been handing out drinks and food on large, battered metal trays, and muttered with her a moment. Names were exchanged, mentions of the lead cook of the night, and requests were made. A large meal order was placed, a generous helping of baked clams, and a plate of chicken breasts, seasoned gingerly. He put down for a bottle of rum, and several beers for Duvall and his new company. Gingerly, he passed the woman a small pouch that gently clattered with silvers, and, drawing his coat close, he made his way to the table across the room. Sliding his arms free of the coats sleeves, he threw it across the back of his chair and seated himself with a grunt, eying up the fellow, and former, sailor seated across and before him.

"You've had too much to worry about in the last few months, Duvall, and I don't mean to trouble you with the task I asked of you this time last week," He began, clasping his hands together atop the tables grained and picked-at surface, "But I fear that my work is growing slightly more troublesome by the day. I grow older, and it seems that the hoodlums grow younger and spry-er. I fear these days that if I don't know where they're coming from, they'll have me before I can even finish playing out my first row of cards,". The body across from him grunted out an agreement, and a gnarled looking hand, apparently burned, snatched at the viscous brew before him, knocking down a trio of hard swallows. Still he said nothing, and though this was par the course for the fellow, as he had always been a man of few words, Robert couldn't help but wonder what the petty thief's impression of him was. He thought sometimes that Duvall thought the same as he did: two men treating the other as tools and leverage, putting up with the other as a matter of politeness and convenience.

"I've bought us lunch, and brought young blood for company. As for your payment.." He coughed a bit under his breath, seeing the youths approaching, "Outside, after the meal,".
 
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Gareth felt a heat rising to his soft cheeks as he listened to Boyd speak. Something was so honestly sympathetic towards Gareth within Boyd and Wolcott, and suddenly the young Harker found himself in the company of the shadows of dead men, lost and forgotten by distance and time. Gareth smoothed his shirt and mustered the courage to speak again. After a delay to gather his thoughts, he brought them to light. "I've come from the south in the name of the Order of the Thistle," he said, laying out the context, "in this time of relative stagnance and peace between Arcartus and Keilaudrin." Gareth stepped around to face the window of the office and look outside. "Rather, ah, we see fit to establish a place here in Lieda that will constitute communication and smooth relations with Mullen and by the consent of the Arcarti government and people." He turned to look at Boyd. "What say you, sir?"
 
The corners of Lily's mouth curled into a smile as Breault described the beverage. She nodded at the man's recommendation. It seemed his friend, or whoever the man was to him, had already arrived at the tavern. As Robert ordered as meal and made his way towards his companion, Lily quickly scurried away to the bar. She motioned towards the bartender with a grin. "One... 'Knife Twister', my good man." The bartender stared at her for a moment, as if trying to discern whether this was some kind of joke. After a moment, he replied. "And what for the shots?" Lily reached into her coat pocket, removing a small bag with a slight jingle. "Preferably the strongest you've got. Oh, and add a fourth one in for good measure." Before the bartender could speak, she slammed a small handful of silver coins on the table with a grin. The man chuckled to himself, taking the money before making the concoction. The girl took a deep whiff of the beverage and grinned. Just right.


After placing her trunk in the corner of the tavern, the girl made her way towards the table, drink firmly clutched in hand. She took a seat across the table from Robert. As she sat down, taking a long drink from her glass. She gulped down the bitter liquid and gave a satisfied sigh. "This is great, I'm glad I took your word for it." Her eyes glanced to the man at the end of the table, to whom she had not yet been introduced. Not one to wait for such things she gave a slight wave. "Hi there, Lily Tosli." She took another swig from the glass. If nothing else, the Arcartis had good taste in alcohol.
 
Tristan abstained from a visit to the bar. Something did not quite feel right about the establishment and that would have been the first way to check, but he was in high spirits and the grudges of others weren't his own. The red haired youth roamed the floor for a moment, eying the bar for a familiar faces and finding none. The inn's name seemed familiar enough but he had no recollection of ever eating here before. Naturally, he gravitated towards Robert and the table he had chosen. A stranger already sat there, and Tristan watched Robert speak to the man without a clue what they were saying thanks to the noise of the other customers. He was clothed pretty heavily, with his hood up at the table. There was a type like that in every tavern, Tristan knew, and the game to him was always discerning what and why they were trying to hide under some clothing and a grim demeanor. People hiding things or merely their own face were, sometimes, not the same thing. A grin had crossed his face, and it was reluctant to leave. Every step he took into the room, lit in flickering oranges and reds, he fell further in love with the structure. It was practically a dining hall, very rustic. The long dining tables gave the same impression as the food hall of an orphanage. Slightly more cheery, he decided immediately, and sat down at the table. He made sure to give a wide berth to the others, after all, he still didn't feel any trace of hunger. Just as he was settled in and about to speak, a bizarre smell assaulted his nose even above the stale beers that defined the scent of the tavern. His head turned slightly, bright green eyes clicking over to the fast approaching silhouette of Lily and whatever bewildering beverage the woman was carrying. She sat down, and to his surprise was actually drinking the amalgam in her glass for enjoyment rather than show. After she gave her introduction to the hooded man, he felt the need to do the same. Turning back to the man and bowing his head respectfully for just a moment, "Tristan Heuze," he said for the third time that day. "I can see that you, too, keep colorful company, Mister Breault. With whom do I share this fine day?" He directed the question directly to the hooded man, looking past Robert.


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Boyd's smile broke down under the news, his lips forming an even seal of contemplation. His warm countenance remained in his eyes, fixed lazily on Gareth and quite lost in thought on the issue. Hearing from the Keilauds in the first place was a curiosity, but this kind of business was so... mundane. The sudden change was equal parts disappointing and relieving. Resolved, he began to speak. "You have come to the right office for this, I imagine we can leave here now, present your message before the House, and have this all settled fairly quickly. I imagine they will be overjoyed to have some clear cut formality work to talk over for hours instead of their current topics." His smile slowly regained its foothold under his mustache, and shattered immediately. "Hold a moment, Marshal Boyd." A soft voice rose in the room, and Wolcott turned his head slightly to look back at the duo. "That young man said that he represents the Order of the Thistle. Under our legislation, termed a military organization servant to the crown of Keilaudrin." The younger marshal stood up, turning around to face Boyd and Harker. The woman in the corner watched him closely. "This is an affair of the State Military concerning negotiations with a foreign military body." The declaration elicited a sigh of concession from Boyd, whose smile had quickly become incredulous. "In other words, there will be no need to take this issue before the House of Affairs. The military of Arcartus will provide your embassy from amongst our offices here in Lieda, and report to our government as you report to your king." He paused a moment, as if reconsidering what he had just said. Satisfied with the results of whatever internal process was at work, he went on. "Are the conditions termed in your orders met?"​
 
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Today was quite the busy day, and quite a lucrative one as well for the slippery kind. When townsfolk gathered in a crowd, it was much easier to "lighten" their loads and pass it off as an accidental jostling with an apologetic wave. When the townsfolk gathered in a crowd and were frenzied... Well, that just made Geralt's job akin to stealing candy from a toddler. A picked pocket here, a nicked purse there; with the town so stirred up it was almost too easy to earn his daily rations. The Grand Marshal was in town, and the masses demanded a sacrifice for their pitiful existence these past few years. It may have been longer, Geralt didn't know. He only settled into the alleyways of Lieda two years ago. Made a couple friends, many more enemies, and quite a haul of gold during his time there. One could question the morality of stealing from people who were already in despair, but when there's no stable economy, you gotta make one. Besides, he doesn't rob vaults or steal entire accounts, he just appropriates the loose gold the good citizens of Lieda keep jingling around in their pockets. It's like they're asking him to steal from them, really.

Of course, even with that Geralt has a few rules about his thievery. Rule number one, don't steal from the impoverished. They already have enough financial problems. Hell, if anything Geralt will reverse pickpocket them with some of the coin he'd swiped. Rule number two, businesses are off limits. Stealing from a man making an honest living was far worse than stealing from the stupid bourgeoisie who pinned blame on the latest scapegoat for their problems. A thief's morals may be shaky, but hard work was something he respected. After making his rounds Geralt turns to leave the crowd, his pockets as full as they can get without drawing attention to himself. As he makes his way out, he catches sight of a few interesting people. First on the list is a large, haggard-looking man who looks like he's seen better days. Geralt knew him to be Robert Breault, thanks to his connections, and the makeshift thieves' guild he was part of had described Robert as a "non-mark", someone not to be taken from. Second on the list was a thin girl who looked to be about his age, maybe a little older? Geralt couldn't tell, though she didn't look or carry herself like a child. Speaking of children, third on the list of interesting people was someone he actually knew personally. Tristan Heuze, a lad of just a few years younger than himself. Definitely not a little kid anymore, but still of school age. Tristan was one of the first people Geralt had met when he arrived in Lieda at the age of 20. He could sympathize with the lad, being an orphan himself, but as far as he could tell Tristan wasn't getting involved in any shady business so there might be hope for him yet. Then the trio got up and started heading off - did the flowery lass just heave that massive trunk over her shoulder like a knapsack? - and Geralt decided to follow them until their path deviated from his own, if only out of curiosity and to possibly meet up with his friend.

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Geralt grinned a bit as it turned out the interesting trio was headed for the Golden Pigeon, or "Dirty Bird" to its regulars. The Bird was one of Geralt's regular haunts, and was the first place he went to after a day of stealing. Also, it was a great shelter from the biting cold that currently gripped Lieda. Geralt's clothing was warm, but it wasn't equipped to fight off a god-cursed blizzard. Geralt usually preferred the cold, but this was a bit too cold for the slim thief, so he slipped in after the group had taken their seats and moved to order a proper drink for the day.
"Gimme the Dragon's Fire, mate." He requested of the barkeep, pressing two gold coins onto the counter as payment. "Need summin' ta warm me head. Bloody cold out there."
After receiving the standard mix, Geralt turned to face the rest of the establishment, leaning against the bar and taking a drink. Eventually his gaze passed over the table where Tristan and his new friends were sitting, but he figured he could speak with the lad after they were finished. That lady's trunk also seemed to be quite a target; she even left it in the corner, ready to be picked! Although, she didn't seem to be one of the snobbish upper-class, even if her attire suggested someone a bit more well-off than himself. Geralt took another drink from his glass and decided he'd leave the trunk alone. He was a thief, but he liked to think he was an honorable one.
 
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Gareth listened intently to Boyd with focused eye contact, nodding along with Boyd's words as Boyd spoke. Of course, Gareth was glad just to hear that they'd be willing to follow through with the Order's request; Sir Tyler would've been a little disappointed if Gareth hadn't worked out a deal. He pondered his circumstances. He'd crossed the continent for something so little, that time spent traveling to Lieda, and he'd come to deliver that request at the order of Sir Tyler. But now he saw the real work that he was sent to do, and somewhat intimidated, he faced it. This was Gareth's duty. Wolcott's voice interrupted the dialog with Boyd, and Wolcott prompted Boyd with the proposition that the military would take care of Gareth's affair. That presented an issue with their relationship with the public, but Gareth felt indifferent; Wolcott's public relations were his own business. Harker turned to Wolcott and then back to Boyd. "Yes, sir, that will suffice."
 
"Excellent. When they are ready, submit your exact needs to this office and they will be taken care of, Mister Harker," Wolcott said, before turning back around and sinking back into his chair. His position was secure, and therefore his involvement in the conversation was over. The military could handle its own business, especially when it came to the supplications of foreign powers. He reclined slightly, looking to the ceiling and waiting. He knew why he was rushing one issue, but it wasn't as if the following one was any more pleasant to him. This was Boyd's world, and after less than a day re-submerged in the capital he was already being reminded why he left it behind. Nothing but words. Boyd remained in discomforted silence for a while after his superior was done speaking, piecing together what remained of the process he had previously been following. "I believe, with that promise, we might be done here..." His voice and his thoughts both said that something felt distinctly unsatisfying about the issue. It was impossible to place, but it was simply alien to have something resolved in a few words. "If that is all on Keilaudrin's agenda, then perhaps I should be seeing you to the outer doors?" He paused, stepping over to the office's door but waiting for confirmation before ushering the boy out. "If you're in need of accommodation, that can also be arranged for. The streets are simply not safe right now, and it would reflect poorly if we were to allow a diplomat to come to harm on our soil. Much more, within the capital itself," he added. There would be an excess of guards following Wolcott's arrival, each and every one a necessity, but handy as a show of competence.
 
Duvall remained silent, playing with a coin of silver, pulling his thick scarf up about his mouth after he spied the bottom of his glass. The Master at Arms seated across from him had finished his almost feverish spheel, and had assumed a silence similar to his own. As the two youths approached and seated themselves, he let out a surprisingly faint, "You keep your company young now, Robert,". Flustered, the old sailor grumbled something along the lines of a comment about his mother, as the serving girl arrived with an entire bottle of the raunchy liquor that was Robert's choice of drink.

Setting out three shot glasses, Robert slid one across to his companion, and another to the boy on his left. "A drink? To good company and homeland?" A man down the bar, deep into a bottle of something as black as night, piped up a hyena-esque laugh at that, and sloppily pressed the bottles stem to his cracked lips, drinking heartily. Breault purposefully paid him no mind, raising the less bitter brew out of politeness.

The rough voice that demanded the Dragon's Fire was familiar to both men, though Duvall was more inclined to believe he knew the man personally. He'd sold to the fellows guild before, things as petty as cigarettes and as dire as scavenged and stolen weapons of steel. Both had forgotten the man's name, but neither were particularly inclined to respond to the individual lest he be on the prowl to quench more than thirst. Quietly, Robert said, "Our food will arrive shortly. I'm curious, what were the two of you doing at a political rally and display of mass barbarism?" He gestured to Lily and Tristan, cracking his neck and sitting patiently back.
 
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