#vynette

[dawnberri]

my circle of dreams druid in my friend's campaign :)

[arpstail]

INSPIRED BY @dumblond-ie ‘s PFP!

I love her shes so silly (will want to eat ur guts)

(Literally)

Anyways another oc, shes a vampire squid named Vynette. I love her sm cause shes very elegant and polite when shes not drinking blood. I may be anemic, but she can have ALL my blood 🤭🤭

[vynettec]

Where to Support Me

Hi! My name is Vynette, I'm a trans artist that focuses on character design, although I'm learning a lot of other skills in my game dev journey. If you like my work and would like to support me, you can do so in the following places!~

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/vynettec

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/vynettec

I also take character art commissions, the details for which can be found at the top of my blog site. Thank you very much, and have a wonderful day!

[jocelyn-wellson]

Dr Hayes closed the heavy walnut door to her cherry-paneled office. She activated the magical wards - no one would hear what they would have to say. Jocelyn sat down on the leather chaise, her hair still growing, and a shy, coy smile on her face. Dr Hayes sat in her own leather office chair. She took up a glass of water, watching the young woman. Some of the tics were still there: the twitches, the hypervigilance, though she was showing signs of improvement. Of healing.

"Good afternoon, Jocelyn," she began, setting the water down and picking up her legal pad and fountain pen. "You seem... peaceful, at least more peaceful than I have ever seen you. Your skin is clearer; your weight, healthier; your hair is more uniform. Tell me about your week."

Jocelyn took a long deep breath. "Et's 'ard ta talk 'bou', doc..."

"Hard because someone doesn't want you to, or because the words are not coming?"

"A lit'le o' both," she admitted.

Dr Hayes made a quick note on her pad. She tapped the fountain pen to her lip. "What would help us talk about you this week?"

Jocelyn looked about; it was a sure sign she was uncomfortable. Dr Hayes was acutely interested, however, because she had never seen this manifestation of these symptoms with her current disposition. Jocelyn was nervous, not fearful. She made another note.

Jocelyn’s body language was obvious. She had no idea how to talk about good things occurring in her life. "I...," she began, fingers wringing. "I 'ave some people in mah life now, tho I cannae say frien's yet, I care abou' 'em."

Dr Hayes was a bit surprised, though she did not betray her thoughts. "You've met people? Shop keepers and the like? Or members of the public? Co-workers?"

"Combina'ion," she said.

"That's wonderful, Jocelyn," said Dr Hayes. She practically beamed at her patient. "What do they do?"

"Why's et mattah?"

"Just want to know who you are meeting, is all."

Jocelyn looked a trifle offended, though she entertained the question. "A stable maid, a wai'ress, an ol' lady, a saleswoman who's 'elpin' me ou' wit' a projec', an’ someone else."

Dr Hayes looked on impassively. "You are gravitating to the working class, and avoiding the criminal," she said.

"Ta th' bes' o' my thinkin'," she agreed.

Dr Hayes thought for a moment. She decided to address the largest hole in the entire list. "Who is this someone else?" she asked.

Jocelyn could feel herself flush, slightly at first and then blossom into a deep crimson. "Met a woman," she said.

"How?"

"Followin' 'er place ta place 'til she go' th' drop on me."

"That's not healthy," said the doctor.

"Nah, nah, ya go' it all wrong," said Jocelyn.

Dr Hayes gestured for her to continue, though the look on her face was one of extraordinary skepticism.

"I tol' ya... back when I firs' was firs’ leavin’ th' monestary. I called ou' fer th' Director. And all I 'eard was 'Hawke'."

The doctor nodded. "I remember."

"Foun' a lead on a person in Unit 8. Din't recognize 'er. E'eryone else di' tho. Beautiful, she is. Curves..." her fingers retraced the route they had taken the night before.

"That's fine, Jocelyn. It's the following I am worried about."

"Yea, yea. So I talk ta people 'ere, people there. Et's 'ow I met all th' people I di'. Jus' talkin', wantin' ta know my mark before'and."

"Before..."

"Before we met," said Jocelyn. She gestured at the faint roadrash covering the left side of her face. "She foun' me firs'." She chuckled.

"I see. Work related, not ... something else."

"Good Gods, I ain' tha' crazy, doc."

Dr Hayes smiled gently. "No, you are not."

Jocelyn grunted an approval. She leaned back in the chaise, leather creaking. She closed her eyes and began deep breathing.

"So what is troubling about this person?" asked the doctor, noting her breath.

Breathe in... An image of blue lips rushing to meet her own. Breathe out... Her heart, fluttering. Her body and mind, so warm. She continued to deep breathe:

"Yanno I 'ave trouble talkin' 'bou' myself, my pas'..."

The doctor nodded. She started to write, taking note of the body language and the spoken dialogue.

"Donnae wha' et was 'bou' this woman, bu' et's like I donnae go' no armor, like I..." She looked distressed, but oddly happy at the same time. "...Doc, et ain' serious. I donnae think it'll ge' serious or nothin'. Bu' in tha' momen', bein' touch'd, bein' kiss'd... I ain' le' no one do tha' in a long time, no' on tha' level.”

The doctor finished note taking. She leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers. "Who was the person before this?" she asked.

Jocelyn bit her lip. “Please, no...” She started to breathe faster. “I cannae...” Dr Hayes reached across the coffee table just to touch the back of her patient's hand. It seemed to help calm her.

"Me dea' baby's fathah," Jocelyn said after a moment. "'e was a goo' man by rights, ‘til 'e met me, an' then 'is life fell apart. We were gon’ be married: sea commandah ‘n’ ‘is wife. An' then the life we made ... et died inside me," she said. She swiped at her eyes. "Lemme tell ya... Tha' man... 'e 'ad a way o' makin' me feel safe, like I was needed, wan'ed, impor'ant. Beau’iful. Tha's 'ow Vyn made me feel for jus' a secon'."

Dr Hayes watched her patient grab a cloth and wipe her face. She remained otherwise neutral, though supportive.

"This encounter with this woman l, this Vyn ... it made you feel important and safe?"

Jocelyn looked at her boots. "Ya lef’ somethin’ ou’... et’s somethin’ I’ve been 'earin' et all week, doc."

"What's that, precisely?"

"Tha' I'm beau’iful, doc,” she replied. Her voice cracked. "Donnae think I though' tha' in years. Til this week. An’ yanno, I felt tha' way las' nigh'."

"Did you two..."

"No, no. No' like tha'. Jus' a kiss 'n' nudge 'tween new 'quain'ences."

Dr Hayes's eyes lit, ever so briefly. "You deserve these things, Jocelyn. You do. And they're coming to you."

Jocelyn bit her lip. She looked up at the doctor. "Yanno wha'?" she asked, thinking about that wine vault she had found, the people she had met, the job she had. "I'm... I'm thiknin' yer right. These are nice things, an’ they’re 'appenin' ta me."

"To whom do you think the credit belongs?"

Jocelyn flinched. She closed her eyes. "I cannae answah tha' now, ya see."

"Why not?"

"Et's no' th' righ' time, yea?" she sounded a little peevish.

Dr Hayes nodded. "If you're not ready, let's not talk about it just yet. Deal?" The women nodded to each other, a tacit, unspoken agreement. "Now, then. What else happened this week?"

( @lovelydeadlysocialite / @zeehva @kat-hawke )

[lovelydeadlysocialite]

A Very Innocuous Stroll

One surprise Vyn appreciated about her new life was the variety of her work. Back in Silvermoon as Silhouette, her jobs often came down to killing someone or steal something. Working for SI:7 and Kat Hawke, she could spy, infiltrate, kidnap, doctor evidence. Truly, the possibilities were endless.

Today’s task was more mundane than usual, but Vyn was going to follow Kat’s orders to the letter as she always did without complaint. Today’s mission was a simple stroll, in fact. Strolling through Stormwind, smiling at the townsfolk who gave her looks; quel’dorei were not so common a sight, and Vynette would like to believe there was nothing common about her, with her light buttoned top and her short skirt swishing as she walked.

No one even paid attention to the book open in her arms. She mostly took cursory glances at the words anyway. The book only mattered as she walked along the wall surrounding the cemetery. It was important that she walked along the northern wall. The bushes here were recently trimmed, so no one should be coming to maintain them for some time. She counted bushes. One, two, three.

It was the fourth bush. Discretely, as Vynette flipped open a new page in her book, a dossier slipped out from between the pages, falling into the foliage of the bush. An indistinguishable check to her side confirmed the file landed deep enough to be concealed from sight unless someone was pushing away branches to actively search for it.

Pleased with herself, Vyn continued to read a few lines of the book she carried. Dry history was never her thing, but it was a large, thick enough book to hide a dossier. She made her way back to the office, strolling into Kat’s office.

Setting the book down on a desk, Vyn unbuttoned the top button of her shirt now that she was free from the summer weather of Stormwind. “I just had the most pleasant stroll, director.” The job was done, even if it was barely a job at all. Didn’t change that it had to be done right.

[ @kat-hawke @brian-wellson ]

[annieartist03]

I drew this as a gift for @Vynett . I hope you like it!

[longveil]

Cloister

Immediately follows Sequestered. Precedes or is concurrent with Vynette’s Request.

Seraanna took several moments to gather herself as her Sight returned from that other landscape of mind where she and Kat had met, wisps of Shadow still wafting from her shape to dissipate on the floor of her darkened apartment. The only light was the reflection of the White Lady rising over Stormwind’s Harbor, visible through her window.

The young night was still somewhat quiet, a lull, perhaps, in the somber inevitability of Stormwind. But the threads of contact from this other woman and the favor she had asked - couched almost as an order rather than a request - only served to emphasize the uncertainties brought in the wake of distant, fractured truth.

Kat.

Seraa’s mouth pulled in a faint smile as she reached for a wooden cabinet, the ren’dorei unhurriedly withdrawing first one candle and then another to place them upon a broad platter at her low table.

“I didn’t need your name,” she murmured to herself, carefully arranging the candles. “I had already felt... your mind, knew the sense of you in Ironforge. Others were more than glad to share your partnership and your name before I ever spoke word to you.”

“But so much more pleasing it was to hear it compelled from your own lips. To draw forth the offer of sanctuary. How great is your carefully understated need, that you must reach to me? Kat Hawke.”

Six small candles, each set aflame with their own flickering light. Shadow wreathed Seraa’s hand, holding the construct of an iron key to open the way to the offered sanctuary, a place where she could rest undisturbed as her Sight ranged afar. Held above the candles, she could already feel a gentle pull - the key drawn to whatever place it unlocked.

It had been long since Seraa had opened a rift through distance. Not since she was pursued in the Uldum desert and sought the refuge of Telogrus. But she had been weaker then. The needful acceptance of Light’s torment, the will exerted to deny His voice, had burned away the dross within her then-crooked mind. And it was another that still carried her tears, not her. Without hesitation she pulled at reality’s fabric, drawn to where the key beckoned.

I am my own.

Seraanna        stepped                through                        Shadow.

A quiet breath as she took in her new surroundings, the Void’s wound pulling itself closed in whispered protest behind her. A study of wood and warm leather, a desk littered with books and papers. The golden light of the setting sun streamed through the windows, resting warmly on a small couch and armchair, books lining the walls to the exclusion of anything else. The study smelled of absence. Absence and, as Seraa’s languid gaze fell upon a small bar, whiskey and smoke.

“You are,” Seraa murmured in tones that expected no reply, “more conventional than... expected, Kat.”

Fluid steps took her to the window, to gaze upon the small hamlet arrayed below her and the rocky coastline not far off. Buildings of... Gilnean architecture. Not Stormwind, then. Kat had been true to her word, providing a place from which Seraanna might allow her Sight to wander without worry of what flesh was left behind.

It was tempting to peruse the books, the desk and its papers to see if they bore secrets similar to the disorder of her own table. There would be time, she thought,  shedding her cloak and settling into the leather armchair, shoes left on the floor as she curled her feet beneath her.

But first...

Lambent eyes drifted closed, only to see the dossier’s construct within her mind’s eye. Unkempt greying hair and full beard described the man’s visage, that and a distant gaze that did not acknowledge the camera. One that, by known accounts, left death, undeath, and plague in his wake. Perhaps in league with those who attempted to orchestrate what had come upon Stormwind’s streets. The Renovator, Kat had named him as she conjured a map of the areas surrounding Stormwind. But another name was written within the dossier.

Eyes still closed, Shadow drawing about her form, Seraanna folded her hands in her lap and extended her Sight to...

a child in the village below looking up to point at -     -flit- a broad-winged raptor nudged to fly south until it saw -    -flit- a proud buck all but hidden in forest’s edge, watching -    -flit- a trader nearing the end of his journey to Stormwind, passing -    -flit- a mounted patrol, setting out to relieve those guarding the borders...

Seraa gave one last careful sigh before relinquishing knowledge of where she rested, borrowing the eyes of one after another after another at greater distances, her body growing still save for breath’s rhythmic rise and fall within in her chest.

Where are... you, Uvexius Grimm?

[ Next part next year. Which could be tomorrow. ]

[ @kat-hawke​ ]

[alyssa-ward]

Interjections and Interludes

[ Following Vynette’s Request ]

Alyssa considers for a time if she wishes to interject her thoughts. A simple problem with an endless timeless existence as nothing more than a mental energy trapped in a weapon...with no other way to influence the world, ‘yes’ is the answer she almost always comes to when she tries to decide if she wants to add her input. "I know you've thought about it." 

In this case, the input has to do with Vynette. After so much time in the Dagger, Alyssa’s ability to feel and detect bits of the world outside of it around her has grown. Enough to even start picking up snatches of conversation other than Kat’s side of things. "Is there anyone you wish to see?"

"No," Kat answers adamantly. "That's half the fucking problem with these idiots jumping at the chance to cross the veil— dredging up old memories and opening old wounds, and for what? All it does is show who is stuck in the past."

It’s a very Kat response. "Some people want closure...some people are stuck in the past, maybe they hope to escape it that way." It’s impossible to have this conversation without thinking about her own Mother. Celeste has been an entity on Alyssa’s mind almost all of her adult life. Would speaking with her be closure? Or just re-opening pain.

"Closure?" Kat scoffs. "Make your closure in life. There is no escape that way, only the re-living of pain, heartache, and a new cycle of grief."

"Not like the gate is going to stay open forever I'm sure, eventually they'd have to say goodbye again..." Alyssa’s agreement doesn't sound entirely confident. It’s easy to judge from her current position, but if she was still alive, still had her body, would she so easily remain on this side of the veil when the opportunity was there?

Kat’s words cut through her thoughts. “The Shadowlands is the realm of the dead, not meant for mortal eyes. The consequences of prolonged exposure are unknown."

A hint of a smirk from the Warlock, as she sits in her grove, taking in the corrupted trees around her. Gaze shifts off of them to look into the clearing that houses Kat’s soul, twisting chaos of light and void in ever combative chaos. "Power with unknown consequences has never stopped either of us."

"That isn't power, it's fully immersing your body into a new plane of existence."

"That doesn't mean there's nothing to take that could be found over there. I'm not advocating you go, I was just curious." Alyssa pauses, and then adds an admission, "if anything, if you were going to, I'd want to stay behind. I don't care to risk the land of the dead latching onto what's left of me in here." That there is the part that makes any thoughts of finding her mother moot. If the Shadowlands is the place of souls, hers, out of its body as it is, could be forfeit on crossing that line.

"My job is here, not there. I have no reason to go without jeopardizing my career." Kat states, pointedly.

Pandaria. Uldum. How many other places far from Stormwind and its concerns have Kat’s drive for power taken her? "Was that justifiable when..." Alyssa trails off. It’s not worth it. "Nevermind. I know you weren't yourself. Anyway, good, this seems like the wisest course. It's nice when we agree on those, when it happens."

The tension and bristle from Kat rushes across the link. Alyssa touched a nerve, not surprising, she lets the woman who wields her bristle in silence for a few moments, letting the moment gloss past before she risks speaking again.

Besides, Vynette was the actual topic of this conversation. "Your agent. You risk her loyalty if you say no, you risk it in a different way if you say yes."

"How very astute of you. Thank you for stating a fact I already know." Kat bites back. Alyssa attempts to organize her thoughts once more. It should’ve been obvious that that was, well, obvious, yet increasingly the Warlock in the blade finds her coherent thoughts scattered. A mix of organizing them without the concept of time to anchor them, and general lack of cohesion.

"You're welcome," Alyssa replies sarcastically, covering over her concerns at the way she’s expressing herself. "I think you should make her stay. She'll get over it, why open old wounds and risk the possible effects of the Shadowlands?"

Kat’s physical eye roll is tangible in the spiritual plane. "Then I have to deal with the trust argument. This is more a matter of security than it is anything else."

Trust. What an obnoxious issue to fight with. Alyssa makes a sound that is more of a grunt of annoyance across the link. "This is why I summoned demons. Trust wasn't a factor and their loyalty was uncomplicated."

"It's not her loyalty that I'm concerned about."

The mental equivalent of a lifted eyebrow across the link. A touch of surprise and confusion from Alyssa. "What is? If she's loyal, doesn't the rest follow?"

"The former master is what bothers me...and that she still refers to him as such."

"Another reason not to let her go. If she's so willing to go running when he calls, she might bend the rest of the way." Once more Alyssa states the obvious, and tries to remember the exact order of the conversation so far to understand if she’s already said as much, or if Kat has earlier...or did it happen in the conversation between Kat and Vyn? Everything feels increasingly out of order.

"I'm aware. I don't think she would, but she's also quite susceptible to manipulation which this master likely knows. She may not realize it before it's too late."

"She seems so. She's a good enough Agent that it's important to you to keep her around though...so keep her around. I don't see the reason to risk it." If there’s one thing Alyssa’s good at seeing in others, it’s how easy they might be to manipulate. She may not often understand their emotions, but she reads that quite well.

Kat broadcasts only frustration across the link however, not responding to Alyssa’s words again. The Warlock has done this dance with Kat enough times to know when she needs to ease off. “You need a drink.”

"No shit." Kat’s response brings a chuckle, if a tired one from Aly.

"I need a drink." Ah to remember what things like that are even like. Alcohol is a release she’s not afforded anymore.

"I can probably find some sod in an Old Town alley." Kat’s tone suggests it’s sarcasm, but it’s enough to make Alyssa genuinely consider it. Would a drunken soul give her a similar escape for a bit?

She groans, forcing the thought away. "Tempting but if I want to make a go of this being better thing, let's keep human souls off the table."

"I wasn't serious, but good to hear." Kat’s response suggests she doesn’t wholly believe Alyssa’s desire to be better, but then...when has she?

"The low doses of Azerite are working. No reason to change." A pause, and Alyssa adds one more question that she's been waiting to ask. "Now that things are settling, have you heard if my father and brother made it?"

"They're fine. Miles is skulking around the office I'm sure, and I'm sure your brother probably has an elf bent over a mattress somewhere."

"I definitely didn't need that detail." A full body shudder, if she had one. The distaste is obvious in her voice before it gives way to relief, "but I'm glad they are alive. I'm worried Damien will try to enlist, he might try to find our mother." The mental equivalent of a shrug. "I'll leave you to your thoughts for now...I know I'm stating the obvious a great deal. I'm losing track of things I've already said. It's getting hard to keep it all organized." For a moment, Alyssa almost pushes this conversation further. Her increasing lack of self or ability to sort thoughts is a worry. There’s no point in talking to Kat about it right now, the only real solution seems to be restoring her, and that’s a topic that has gone nowhere when breached.

For now, she’ll silently sort her thoughts herself, attempt to build a timeline, put things in order. At least that keeps her distracted.

"It's a welcomed distraction." There was a pause before she quickly added. "Sometimes." Kat’s words make Alyssa smirk as she’s pulled from her thoughts once more.

"Welcome sometimes is a pretty good bar to hit, I'm a simple woman." A hint of teasing in Alyssa’s tone.

"That's bullshit and we both know it." The tone and shift in Kat's demeanour, signals she is through with the conversation. It’s obvious teasing and joking is not where her mind is. Even her seriousness makes Alyssa pass the mental equivalent of a smirk over their link. And then the Dagger falls silent once more, leaving Kat to puzzle out the solution to Vynette’s request, and herself to sort thoughts.

[ Mentioned: @kat-hawke​; @lovelydeadlysocialite​; @dardillien-ward​ ]

[ Kat’s Perspective ]

[susan-gampre]

⭐️ Vynette (lovelydeadlysocialite)

1 Headcanon for Susan and Vynette:

Rumors of being anti-"mindyahbusiness" leads to Susan confronting Vyn; Bringing a whore and a socialite together for a perfectly disastrous relationship.

One such relationship in which the Madam supports Vyn's wild style as moral support, a friend to brave the gossip mill whilst also raining fabulous hell on the city goers-- All is fun in public and private when prudes arent to be had!

@lovelydeadlysocialite

[jaydraw209]

Info Below

Gaethrax: Type: Prehistoric Age: Old as the Earth Height: 325 feet/99 meters Moral Alignment: True Neutral Note: While Gaethrax is an old kaiju, she's more of an weeping dead child, who's stuck wandering the Earth. I had got to this outfit from VyAdoptables/Vynett

Canasenshe: Type: Man-Made Age: Unknown Height: 239 feet/72.84 meters Moral Alignment: Lawful Neutral Note: This kaiju is said to be a genetic experiment made out of lost souls

Hejagasa: Type: Natural Age: 129 years Height: 209 feet/63.70 meters Moral Alignment: True Neutral

[dawnberri]

[ajea-bloodsworn]

♡ for Vynette (lovelydeadlysocialite) since they both seem to be part of society with questionable intentions?

send a ♡ and i’ll fill this out for our muses !  i’ll bold what i want for their relationship,italic what i could see and strike out what i don’t .

FRIENDS.   childhood friends  /  work friends  /  family friends  /  recently friends  /  turning antagonistic  /  turning into something romantic  /  stable  /  falling apart  /  friendship of need  /  friendship of circumstance  pen - pals or internet friends  /  coworkers  /  partners  /  other .

ROMANCE.   childhood sweethearts  /  newly entered  /  soulmates  /  skinny love  /  unrequited from my muses side  /  unrequited from your muses side  /  friends with benefits  /  awkward  /  fading  /  turning  toxic  /  toxic  and  destructive  /  other .

FAMILIAL BOND.   sibling bond  /  older sibling figure to your muse  /  younger sibling figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal  guardian  /  other .

ENEMIES.   dangerous to themselves  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  passionate  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into a sexual tension  /  developing into a romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of circumstance  /  based of professional matters  /  based of misunderstandings or lies  /  other .

Basically I could see them becoming pretty good work partners and probably good friends with some work related misunderstandings or differing opinions, and potentially friends with benefits stuff (if they’re drunk or something, Ajea doesn’t discriminate ever), or childhood friends, depending on if Vynette was an orphaned child or not. Thanks for the ask ♥ Find me in game some time or start some tumblr RP with me, I’d love to meet Vynette!!

[mybookplacenet]

Featured Post: The Race is Run: An Indictment of Creedal Christianity by Vynette Holliday

About Featured Book: The Race is Run: An Indictment of Creedal Christianity by Vynette Holliday This work demonstrates conclusively that the core teachings of the major denominations of Christianity such as the Virgin Conception/Birth, the Incarnation and the Trinity are not based on either the Hebrew Scriptures or the New Testament but rather are drawn from the Hellenist-Latin theologies and philosophies of the Church Fathers. Ignorance of Israelite thought, concepts, cultural norms and literary styles, together with the Fathers’ existing predilections, facilitated the creation of the cult-like figure “Jesus Christ” fashioned according to their image and their values. This work also demonstrates that the Christian teaching of Supersessionism contributed to the centuries of Jewish persecution which ultimately led to the Holocaust. Responsibility for this descent into the abyss must be attributed in large measure to a multi-generational failure by those many teachers who either did not know, or did not distinguish between the various categories of persons designated a "Jew" in the New Testament. In addition, the work challenges the concept of Immortal Souls, soul destinations called Heaven and Hell, and re-contextualises many other teachings and concepts such as Sin, Salvation, Atonement, Faith, Works, Justification and Grace. This Christian Focused book is available in these Formats: Print Buy Book Here. Read the full article

[jocelyn-wellson]

“What’cha lookin’ fer, lass? Got a couple o’ Tauren up there if’fn ya wan’ —”

Jocelyn cut the old barkeep off. “Badlan’s Bourbon. No ice.” She glared at the man. “An’ no more talk ‘bou’ no damn...” She gesticulated suggestively.

“Yea, ya got it, lass,” replied the portly man. He grabbed a chipped glass from below the bar and a bottle. He moved to pour. She held out her hand and dropped a gold piece on the table:

“Reckon you’ll leave th’ res’ o’ tha’ bot’le, won’ ya?”

The barkeep eyed the coin. “Add a silver. Fer the glass yer gonna take on yer way out.”

Jocelyn did as requested, plus a couple more. The man grabbed the monies with a meaty fist and ambled away.

“Like I wan’ th’ glass,” she muttered, turning it over. She took the half empty bottle of booze and drifted out into Old Town.

She had not heard anything from the Director since that one syllable — Hawke — and that was days ago. She was concerned. Had she done something wrong? Did she fall out of favour? Did Dr Hayes lie? She pulled her shemagh tight up round her face, leaving nothing showing but her eyes. As dusk fell, she made her way to the stables — the perfect place to monitor the base. She took a swig from her bottle of bourbon and approached the stables. The woman tending the horses stopped her.

“Ya know, I can’t let ya in here, ya bum,” she said with all the authority of a fisherman in the desert.

“Bums donnae carry yer fav’rite booze, do they?” replied Jocelyn. She took the bottle out from within her cloak and swished it about before uncorking it.

“You drink it first,” said the stable woman, pointing.

“Yer too kind,” said Jocelyn before taking two large gulps.

The woman’s eyes widened. “What you want?”

“I wan’ ta stay ‘ere, yea?” Jocelyn flashed the badge she kept clipped to her belt. “Jus’ a empty stall. Can ya ‘elp?”

Within five minutes, two colts had been moved from adjoining stalls with clear sight lines toward the SI:7 main building. Jocelyn handed the bottle over. “More tomorrah where tha’ came from, luv,” she said.

“How long...?”

“Long as I need.”

“Bottle a day.”

“Deal.”

The young woman shrugged. She traded a horse’s blanket for the third of a bottle of bourbon. “Don’t want you to get cold,” she told the operative. “Outhouse is behind the stable; there’s well water just up the hillock.”

“Thank’ee,” said Jocelyn. And then she was alone.

She placed the horse blanket amidst the hay nearest the window. It was warm, though barnyardy — and not nearly as horrible as some of the places in which she had done business before. Over the next few hours, she would poke her head above the ledge every five to ten minutes; she saw nothing but the building’s dark façade. Toward the end of her watch, a tall, extremely attractive, and well-kempt female elf left the building, walking off confidently into the night. She was the only person who had done so as long as Jocelyn had been observing. A potential lead? She filed that one away.

Jocelyn bedded down shortly thereafter. A worry, heavy as it was dark, sank into her chest — a worry not for her own fate, but that the director. And that scared her most of all.

( @kat-hawke / alluded: @lovelydeadlysocialite )

[lovelydeadlysocialite]

[kat-hawke]

does unit eight have a blog as well?

It does not. I toyed with the idea of making a guild blog last year to serve as a collection point for all the member’s writing and storylines but ultimately did not go through with it. It would be one more blog to maintain, and I don’t have the energy for that.

However, each member has their own blogs.

Tristana Sutton - @tristanasneak

Jocelyn Wellson - @jocelyn-wellson

Myzariel Arilyth - @myzariel

Nikki Thorpe - @nikkithorpe

Vynette Mistcaller - @lovelydeadlysocialite

Quinn Varden - @quinn-varden