The Lhavitian in the Cupboard (Ornea)

by **Sal Mander** on December 1st, 2014, 12:42 am

Day 34, Fall of 514 A.V.

Sal held his breath, his hammering heartbeat threatening to betray him at any moment, while he tried in earnest to appear small and inconspicuous. Not such an easy undertaking for one so tall. But still, somehow, he managed to pin his back against the cool mosaic pattern of the stone wall, while he watched with intent at the passing redhead. She has found me, came his first thought, his mind unwillingly throwing up images of sharpened screwdrivers and clumsy buckets, each with their own morbid ideas of somehow bringing him to a sticky end.

Ornea moved on, unaware of the set of eyes - grey in the morning light - that peered after her accusingly as she went. She turned the corner of the Solar Wind Apartments, prompting Sal to leave his wall and swiftly move to where he could peek around the corner after her. He watched, only satisfied after she had been swallowed up by the morning foot traffic of Lhavit. Judging from her attire, he surmised, Ornea had been on her way to Lucis and Lucis for her day's work. If that was the case, maybe she had not been here to murder him again after all. Shaking his head, Sal swiftly discarded such notions, refusing to allow his mind to enter into a foray of wild assumptions as tended to be the case whenever he was around the inarta. There was no other woman quite like her who could inspire such foolishness in him.

But at the Solar Wind Apartments she had been, whether he liked it or not, and that was something well worth his investigative talents. The fact that her appearance came only days after their last meeting was too much for it to have been coincidence. After all, had he not now on two separate occasions accosted her with a bucket? Not willing to be too hard on himself, Sal did concede that the second time was purely on accident. But still, he had not stuck around for long to see if his clumsiness had been taken as just that. Furthermore, he would have liked to have thought that suffering from a cold these last few days was punishment enough. That was the result of fleeing the house where he, Ornea and a handful of others had been cowering from the storm. Looking back, he could only wish he had not fled the house while the storm was still raging outside.

But no matter. What was done was done. His cold was more or less over with, save for the occasional sneeze, that was the last, final death rattle of his illness. He might well have taken a further day to rest inside his own apartment located on the ground floor. But had he done so, he would have bypassed this promising opportunity to get to the bottom of Ornea once and for all. If his hunch was correct, perhaps she herself had taken residence here at the Solar Winds. It was a long shot that out of the seven or so thousand people in Lhavit, he and Ornea had ended up sharing the same building. But then the Solar Winds was one of the finer establisments, even if the somewhat spartan interiors of the rooms gave a more modest impression. In any case, it was more to do with the location that lent to it being a sort after place of residency. If Ornea had the slightest idea of such an advantage, she might well have been even more thankful for having procured a room here. Sal was certainly aware of the advantageous locale. Though such an advantage was somewhat diminished now that he was neighbors with a would be murderer.

Helping Lana to part with the information he required was an easy enough task. She knew Sal of course, both as a tenant and in his official capacity as investigator for the Cosmos Center. It had proved beneficial for her to have a Cosmos employee under her roof, since it erased the need for her to visit the Cosmos at all with matters concerning the apartments. If she had rooms to advertize, she only had to inform Sal who could do the legwork for her, literally. Likewise, he would also gather census information so that the Cosmos was continually up to date on who was staying where in the city. So then, it did not prove odd in the slightest when he asked to peruse the books, scanning over the names to see who was currently listed as being a resident to the apartments.

But as he drew his finger down the list, it occurred to him then that he had no idea of the inarta's name. Well, he had heard her introduce herself back during the storm, but for now the name eluded him. Shyke. What was that crazy woman's name? Hmm, Darnee. Danny? Dorny? Dornea? It definitely started with a D. He let out an exasperated sigh when his finger landed on 'Ornea', his memory being jerked into action now that he saw it in written form. Dornea indeed, he smirked. But anyway, there she was, written in Lana's fanciful handwriting upon that crisp, golden brown parchment. His eyes scanned along, noting her as being resident to the attic room. The room at the top of the stairs. He had not realized before now that anyone lived up there, what with it having been kept as a spare room for emergencies or certain occasions. What business did an inarta have with such discreet lodgings?

Thanking Lana, Sal returned to his own apartment to ponder things further. If Ornea had been off to work as he suspected, then perhaps he could take his investigation to the next level. There could be clues up there, or incriminating evidence of some kind. Maybe blueprints to the pumps, or tools with which she intended to sabotage them with. No no no, he mumbled to himself in a chastising manner, realizing that once again his mind was entertaining fanciful and foolish notions. Petching woman. Why does she muddle my mind so?

by **Ornea** on December 1st, 2014, 6:23 am

...

THE DAY BEFORE

The day before :

TODAY

Ornea had indeed headed to Lucis and Lucis to work as usual. Her job there was extremely inspiring, if you asked her. The facilities offered first class smithing equipment, but there was even more to the job than the metalsmithing she was hired for. Edward Lucis didn’t hesitate to make use of the new employees interest in learning about the total of Lucis crafting and business. She was of course an absolute beginner at many things, but she was competent as smith and enthusiastic and interested in the new things. He already had plans for her. It wouldn’t hurt if she learnt more. The more knowledge she had, the better it would be for him and Lucis, he reasoned.

She had been looking forward to yet another great day at work. It had however turned out to be a shorter than usual workday. There were no immediate needs of new castings and Edward was busy with meetings she wasn’t involved in. Ornea spent half the day finishing some already cast items. She removed them from the molds and then she used special tools to break off or file lines left by the casting. With a heated metal rod she to melted off runners and the sprue, and some items she took to the grinding wheel or file. This was part of the metalsmithing work too, and it needed to be done in order to achieve the perfection and high quality Lucis were know for. It might seem simple, but it actually required high skill as it had to be done with utter accuracy and care, or else the whole result might be ruined and they would need to start over from scratch.

But when this was done, she was given the rest of the day off. She wasn’t sure how to spend the sudden leusire time. It was several bells to dusk rest and she debated with herself about where to go, as she left Lucis. As she had only been doing relatively light work, not shuffled coal and gotten dirty and sweaty in the hot and sooty furnace area, she was as clean as when she had left her home in the morning. She could go anywhere she liked without feeling awkward.

Well, there might be a faint smell of oil, wood fire smoke, metal polish and other crafting materials clinging to her, she knew that. But it wasn’t unusual for people to carry a faint smell of their honest hard work. Okomo handlers for example, weren’t hard to identify, and the same went for the smell of fish from the people who worked at the pulleys where food from the walley below was brought up to the city. She thought a bit about the stench of candle making, when animal fat was used for it. If that mysterious person who had robbed Bright Lights and really was a candle maker the smell might give her or him away despite...

Ornea didn’t want to think about it, how the face of the woman who had called herself Iskiraya Mifune had seemed to wobble and melt right before escaping from the chaos in the candle shop. It had been scary and unpleasant to watch it. Ornea with her knowledge about magic theory couldn’t help wondering if it was morphing she had witnessed, or even the divine magic of Illusion, if it was true that the robber was from Alvadas. This could however be a lie, like everything else had been. It could as well be a morpher from Lhavit, she reasoned. In either case the robber could even have been a man masquerading as woman.

Everything about this person was unsure; looks, gender, possible magic, origins.

But, truth to tell, she wasn’t even sure she had seen what she thought she had seen. Ornea hadn’t asked anybody else about this, as she feared it was her own brain and mind that was kidding her. Perhaps she’d hallucinated, maybe it was one of those annoying overgiving effects that could happen to her once in a while, though more seldom nowadays. She was worried that she had only been shaken by the commotion and reacted in a dream-like state during those few ticks, before the door had closed and the hooded man’s daggers had hit it when he’d thrown them in a failed attempt to stop the robber. Or so it had seemed. The hooded man had left at once. And he had actually volunteered to help with the candle. He could have been an accomplice !

She remembered the name of the hooded man. At the end he had pulled up a scarf to hide his face when he stood there with the smoke candle the sly robber had tasked him with holding. Brandon. He had seemed like a person of dubious social standing. She recalled this, just like she remembered the other’s, the dark-skinned tattooer Savos and Koran with the beautifully carved candles. But she hadn’t seen any of them again and had no chance to compare her impressions to theirs. And really, she wasn’t sure she would want to compare impressions. What if they hadn’t seen what she had seen. Where would that leave her? Not only might it fuel her own doubts of herself, it might make others doubt her too.

And she knew the risks with this. She had already experienced the consequences in Wind Reach. When she had said something that seemed farfetched and odd and was impossible to prove, other people had started to feel unsure if they could trust her words. Maybe it was only the overgiving speaking? Wasn’t she a wizard who had become eccentric after her accident? Maybe a little, tiny bit deranged even? People didn’t need to long time for going sceptic and suspicious and it could spill over on perfectly natural things and in worst case make them doubt absolutely everything. She had quickly learnt to shut up about things that weren’t guaranteed to be obvious to all or reasonably easy to explain and get understood and accepted. She had learnt to be cautious, and consider the risk for being misinterpreted before she spoke.

Thus she had been cautious when the shinya had arrived to the shop and questioned the people who had still been there. Most of the audience had already left, but Ornea had still been there, as she had needed to recover after her brief panic use of fire reimancy to light up the dark mayhem she had found herself in. If somebody had realized the brief flash of light had been reimancy and understood that it had come from the Inarta, those people were already gone from the shop. So nobody had pointed to her and she of course hadn’t told the Shinya about it. Nor had she said anything about the impression of a wobbling, changing face. She hadn’t heard anybody else mention it. This had been enough to make her shut up. She didn’t want to risk being considered wacky by the Shinya. Oh no.

And there were more troublesome weird things. In total...The shop robbery and the mysterious unidentified robber. The “bucket incident” at Lucis. Not only one but two hooded men concealing their faces with scarves, one of them throwing knives at Birght Lights and the other doing all kinds of odd things. She thought of the storm a few days earlier, the “bucket incident number two” and the scarf man who had ran from the house where they had sought shelter and disappeared in the storm outside. She had been assured by Alses and Maeki that he was a trustworthy man employed by the cosmos center, yes. But now this was a few days back and she had started to worry. Had she been dreaming away a bit there, due to the storm?

Come to think of it, vulnerability to storms and lightning had been one of the weaknesses people had mention in the that cursed “seminar” turned robbery. The weakness of “unprotected daily cash” had come true. So why not more of it. Had that storm really been ... natural? Or was it advanced reimancy or something else ...

Enough! Ornea tore herself out of her musings. Her thoughts had been wandering away again. And physically, she had been wandering around in Lhavit, aimlessly, lost in her thoughts. She tried to pick up where she had left off before her thoughts had went on the Iskiraya sidetrack. She had been thinking of down to earth things, like how people smelled depending on their jobs. She forced herself to think some more of this seemingly safe topic.

There were the people working is shops where they sold herbs and herbalist treatments, or perfume oils, and other things with strong fragrance. Then there were the people working in taverns and their kitchens, and they could sometimes emanate an aroma of food, while temple staff would sometimes wear the fragrance of incense. Shinya guards ... she wasn’t sure, the smell of candles and smoke had drenched all other smells at the only occasion she had been in the same room as shinya guards.

Petch this topic ! It was madness !

It made her feel exactly as eccentric as she didn’t want to be. The hard work and complicated tasks at Lucis used to keep her occupied and focused and spare her these pething trips of her mind. There had been too little to do today. There was only one thing to do. She decided to go home and meditate. After a while she entered Solar Wind Apartments, walked up all the stairs to the attic floor and approached the door to her apartment.

...

by **Sal Mander** on January 16th, 2015, 5:04 am

Sal marched up and down the length of his apartment, wearing an imaginary groove into the floor, while stopping to straighten something here or shift something there. All the while his mind lingered on a most unfortunate conundrum. On one hand, he could choose to ignore his irrational impulses and knee-jerk reactions to go and investigate the attic; or on the other, he could simply mind his own business and discard all notions that Ornea was after his blood. In fact, he had tried the second one in earnest, but it had soon manifested into an itch he could not reach, only enticing him further until the need to scratch was maddening.

Even now he struggled with the dilemma of caving into his wants, but with each circuit of his apartment, he seemed to draw nearer and nearer to the door. Finally, when he had misplaced any further attempts to persuade himself to stay, Sal grabbed his jacket and headed outside. The transition from home to street was conducted with more than the usual amount of care. Ordinarily, Sal would be looking out for horse driven carts in a hurry, or fish market lads carrying crates in their arms stacked high enough to impair their range of vision. But on this occasion, he had added redheads from Wind Reach to that list. What if she had sneakily returned to the apartments and was in fact waiting outside for him? Now now Sal. Let's not get carried away.

But while his voice of reason begged for the deployment of commonsense, his feet had meanwhile rebelled, and were leading the charge against oppression upwards via the stairs. Such was their fierce desire to claim victory, they bounded up the steps two at a time. After a short corridor, there before him now was the door, standing tall and defiant, yet it seemed to look back at him in a mocking tone. What secrets lay beyond that door were just that for now. Secrets. Oh but how Sal wanted at them. Needed them in fact, as though their very acquisition was his goal in life. In truth, he could not really say for certain why he needed them right now. But whenever Ornea's angled features popped into his mind, it seemed to shoulder out reason, leaving him only with misinformed suspicions and theories.

It was at this point that a sudden wave of commonsense washed over him, as though it had been lurking in wait behind Ornea's door and had just been unleashed. It came coupled with a hint of embarrassment, at how he had conducted himself around the redhead, not to mention that on two occasions now, he had more or less assaulted her, regardless or not the attempts were accidental. In any case, the only real truth in all of this was that he owed the poor woman an apology. Sorry for throwing a bucket at your face. Yeah, see how far that gets you Sal, you fool. He stood there with his hands on his hips, looking truly exasperated as he absentmindedly kicked at a spot of dust on the ground. Seriously though, do you really think this Ornea is a saboteur and murderer? You've never listened to rumors before, so why now? He might have argued that it had been a hunch, but he could not support that loose theory and keep a straight face. It was hogwash. He knew the whole thing was a farce, and he the biggest fool of all for playing his part in it.

Resigned to defeat, Sal had opted to return to his own lodgings. He knew the day would come when he and Ornea would cross paths - they lived in the same building of course - and when it did he would be humble and apologize and take whatever she hurled at him, words, objects and all. But as for the stupid theories about poisoning water supplies and slitting his throat, it was time to lay such ideas to rest. However, as he turned to leave, there came the patter of footsteps on the stairwell . At first he hoped the newcomer would depart on the first floor, but they continued upwards and kept on coming. Sal did not dare to peer down for fear of being spotted. Then, as he realized the steps were drawing ever closer, the true horror of his situation became apparent.

Any notion of apologizing quickly fled along with his nerve, panic taking the opportunity to fill the vacancy and from there dictate proceedings. As for panic, it tended to have a rather one dimensional approach to things. In this case, with the way back down seemingly off the agenda, that left but one option. With as much haste as he could muster while keeping quiet, Sal darted to the door, his now sweaty palm finding the handle while glancing over his shoulder back down the corridor. Oh sweet Zintila thank you! he whispered to himself, hardly believing his luck when the door latch lifted and revealed to him the innards of Ornea's apartment. That she had not locked the door was a small mercy for the panicking investigator, though no doubt later he would remark that perhaps it had been quite the opposite of mercy to gain entrance to the lion's den.

Once inside, he carefully closed the door and frantically started looking around for more options. The canopy bed was a viable option perhaps. He could sneak under there for certain. Hmm, but it's not quite covered all the way to the floor. What about the window? And then what? Break both legs from the fall? Good thinking Sal. The steps outside had made it to the final stretch, before pausing for a moment outside the door. He looked on in horror as he watched the handle slowly turning. Aha! he proclaimed silently, but with no less fanfare as his eyes rested on the well endowed wardrobe. It's bountiful interior would no doubt house a hiding Sal, though he literally had a split second to chose which side to dive into. Just as the apartment door yawned open and produced a rather perturbed looking Ornea, Sal was swallowed into darkness as the wardrobe door clicked shut, sheltering him for now from the wrath of the redhead.

Tempting as it was to draw on his reimancy for a little light, the idea was quickly extinguished as he felt the weight of hanging clothes against him. Hard to make out exactly what it was, he guessed dresses perhaps from the length. But no time for feeling around. He tried to keep as still as he could, his heart hammering in his chest in a bid to escape itself. But he marshaled his breathing, allowing him to press his ear up against the door and listen for any clues that Ornea might offer. It had dawned on him then that this might not have been the best idea.

Well shyke. Next time, throw yourself out the window and be done with it.

by **Ornea** on January 20th, 2015, 10:14 pm

...

BAD IMAGINATIONS ...

Ornea had stopped outside the door to her apartment for a chime, to pull out the key and open the lock. As she stood there she felt worried about herself, because she had for some reason imagined she’d heard something and expected to find somebody there at the apartment; maybe Hesper.

Not that Hesper used to visit her. She hadn’t seen the mysterious proprietor of Solar Winds after his surprise visit that first day when she had rented the place. Her only reason to guess at Hesper was actually that nobody else than him had ever come knocking at her door. Rare sight as he was, he was still her first, one and only visitor ever in the apartment.

But there was nobody there at the end of the stairs. There was only the closed door.

For a moment she imagined that she heard a sound from inside that door, and she felt oddly startled, but mostly because she feared it was a hallucination. The other option might be that she had too vivid imagination, which was better, but not by much.

She was being stupid...it was definitely time for her to seek to stabilize herself with meditation. Why had she not found a meditation trainer already or at least practiced what she already knew? The answer was that she was prone to postpone meditation, just like she had been the whole petching time. It disturbed her to find that the habit remained. Getting rid of old bad habits had been a major reason to switch city. But just moving to Lhavit wasn’t going to change anything automatically, as she had realized the first day but sadly forgotten again as she had been so occupied with other things.

Habit, echoed the memory of the voice of a long dead old wizard named Ritva in her mind. Habit is a wizards worst enemy. It makes us forget to think...

She found the key but when she put it in the lock she discovered that the door was open. She must have been distracted and forgotten to lock it when she went out in the morning. Ornea wasn’t able to recall what she might have been thinking of at the time, but obviously the door wasn’t locked. She felt annoyed at herself. How could she ? In an irrational attempt to compensate for the irritation she felt she locked the door from inside and pocketed the key.

Entering the apartment, she kicked off her boots and shrugged off the katinu. For a tick she was tempted to just throw the sheepskin coat on a stool nearby, but she decided to put it away in the wardrobe. Disorder in the apartment wouldn’t make her feel any better. So she took the katinu, opened the door of the tall wardrobe section to the right, the part farthest away from the apartment door where the Inarta clothes were kept, and hung the katinu on a hook. Then she closed the wardrobe door again and turned around...just to turn back and stare at the wardrobe door with an uncanny feeling of having seen something in there. Somebody, even.

A chill went up and down her spine as the shock of finding a monster in the wardrobe passed by her rational thinking. But then she started to think again. “Ivak” she muttered to herself, supposing it had been one of those dreamlike states of mind that was trolling her. “Not again.”

She walked over to the canopy bed. With a sigh she sat down on it and with one more sigh she lay down to rest a bit on the top of the bed cover. She shut her eyes and tried to calm down. This didn’t help any. She just felt tense and after a few chimes she even started to think she heard sounds and it was impossible to not start to feel like that "something" or "somebody" was right now on it's way over the floor, on it's way to the door, or to hide under the bed instead.

Once she had started to feel haunted it wasn’t so easy to make the stupid feeling stop. In a fit of extreme nuttiness she wasn’t able to stop she suddenly opened her eyes again, jumped up, kneeled beside the bed and looked under it. There was nothing there. The relief she felt was only rivalled by the embarrassment.

The petched wardrobe seemed to draw her gaze like magnetic iron would draw iron filings though. She ought to have looked that way at once instead of under the bed, she thought. As she had imagined that there was something in it. Somebody. Imaginations of course, because how could anybody have ended up in her wardrobe. Impossible. Only, it wasn’t really impossible was it, as she had found the apartment door open. Anybody could have entered while she was out. The thought sent a new chill up and down her spine. What if she hadn’t hallucinated after all? What if she hadn’t even forgotten to lock the door, what if the lock had been picked?

Don’t be stupid Ornea, she told herself in her mind. There’s nobody else than yourself here. Nobody!

But already as she thought this, she was starting to think frantically of what to do if she was wrong. Or right. Or wrong. Call for help? It would be a disaster to start to scream and call for help just to find out that she had fallen prey to hallucinations or too vivid imagination. But what other options did she have? Unlock the door and flee the apartment in her socks and without outdoors clothes?

But she knew that even if she came back later, she would still not know, still not feel safe. Everything would be the same. Petch, she might not even make it out of the apartment. If there really was somebody in the wardrobe this person must know that she might have noticed and if she went to the door it might make whoever it was decide to come out and attack before she had time to escape.

She started to plan, desperately. The shortbow. She had a weapon. The only trouble was that the weapon was in the upper wardrobe drawer of the middle section of this fine piece of furniture. In order to arm herself she would need to walk there. And even of she had the bow she wasn't a particulary skilled archer.

But a weapon was better than no weapon. She was going to make a try to get it, and then...petch this, she was going to get the bow and think of the rest later. The whole thing might be nothing else than her own overgiving injuries giving her a trip down nutty lane.

Slowly, feeling totally, intensely creeped out, she sauntered over to the wardrobe, trying to pretend like she felt relaxed. Veritably crawling with nearly insufferable unease, she whistled the first tones of a Wind Reach tune and then she spoke aloud to herself : “Let me see ... where did I put the drawing tools and those parchment sheets ... they must be in the drawer if I recall it right! ”

If nothing would happen that made her interrupt her crazy plan, she would now try to bend down and open the drawer, taking care to pretend to be totally unaware of any potential threat and carefully avoiding to glance at the wardrobe door in question. She was hoping to be able to quickly grab the bow and one arrow.

OOCTo the right, to the left, or somewhere else in the room,I have no idea where Sal is now, totally up to you, mister Mander...

...

by **Sal Mander** on January 29th, 2015, 3:11 am

Sal had his ear pressed against the wardrobe door, trying in earnest to listen for any clues beyond the boundaries of his current safe haven. He noticed then a small bead of light filtering in through a tiny whole, the shape of an upside down raindrop, the larger part about the size of a pea. Since the wardrobe had been opened without the use of a key, he figured the keyhole was merely ornamental. In any case, it had unlocked his blindness as he hunched down to try and peer through. It was uncomfortable to be doubled over in such a small space, so instead he quietly and carefully dropped down onto his knees, ensuring that he did not accidentally pitch himself over and through the blasted door.

That's definitely her, Sal confirmed with a sigh, watching the inarta set about kicking off her boots and then pulling off her coat. For a moment she hesitated by the nearby stool, before turning and approaching the wardrobe. The light coming in was nowhere near enough to reveal the contents that Sal shared the space with. He had to feel by hand, trying to figure if they were coats he was kneeling between. His heart was hammering in its chest, not for the first time around the wretched inarta he recalled. Closer she came, leaving Sal with beads of sweat forming at his head and plotting a course down the back of his neck. He thought of using his reimancy for a moment, but found the concentration necessary was lacking.

That was a strange occurrence indeed. In the past he had been able to call on those magical talents in order to defend himself, but right now the very idea of how to summon his res eluded him. He felt dizzy and sick, and the urge to scream was overwhelming. In truth, a large part of it was guilt. After all, had he not already pissed Ornea off enough that her finding him now would literally be the final straw? If she ripped open the door and stuck him like a pig, he doubted he would have reason to complain.

At the last moment he squeezed his eyes shut. The sound of the wardrobe door was a slight creak, but otherwise its opening was eerily quiet. He waited for a scream, or a shout, or at least some kind of insult, followed by some form of violence and retribution. But after a few moments, the door clicked shut again, as Ornea's padded steps carried her away. Sal forced his eyes open, peering through the hole as he watched her reach the bed on the other side of the room. He had been extremely lucky. Coats found their home behind the other door. He was still alive...for now.

Once Ornea laid upon that rather impressive canopy bed, Sal began to entertain thoughts of making a move for the door. Even if he did alert her to his presence between the wardrobe and the exit, he fancied that he would have enough of a head start to make a run for it. It's not like you haven't fled from her before, you great oaf. But no sooner had the inarta assumed her horizontal position that she was suddenly leaping onto the floor to scan underneath the bed. That was curious, at least from Sal's perspective. His paranoia crept to the forefront of his thoughts, convinced that she was onto him. Or at least onto the fact that something was not quite right.

Again she began to slink towards the wardrobe, whistling some foreign tune and then muttering something about parchment. But to Sal, something was not quite right. There was a hint of unease in her voice, as if she did not really believe in the words she spoke. It only served to put him on edge even more so, if that was possible. Now that Ornea was at the wardrobe once more, Sal had not even realized he was holding his breath, subconsciously unwilling to betray his hiding spot by even breathing. He wondered if his thundering heartbeat was audible enough to hear.

She had moved out of view from his peephole, in fact now standing in front of the middle section of the wardrobe. But he could hear the opening of draws and things moving around. It was only when she stepped back that he once more was able to take in what was happening. Shyke! This was it. Just as he had been convinced she was going to stab him at the pumps the first time they met, now he was certain that she was going to...shoot him!

She clutched in her hands one mean looking bow. In truth, she could have been wielding a frying pan and it would have looked mean and menacing to him right at that moment. But the bow was only half the horror he now faced, merely the messenger to deliver him both justice and revenge. The arrow was the other half; the message itself. The tip glistened, looking sharp, effective, and above all eager. Shyke, shyke, a thousand times shyke, he cried internally, wondering which perverse god had engineered these series of meetings with Ornea, and was now overseeing its final conclusion with glee.

But Sal was not going down without a fight. No, not like this, to be plucked off like a fish in a barrel. A Sal in a wardrobe to be precise. But he had escaped twice before, convinced of his impending murder the first time and, well, just running spontaneously the second time. Though in hindsight, with her apparent habit of wielding weapons around him, fleeing that second time had appeared a wise choice anyway. But here they were again, one of them seemingly cornered while the other crept closer, ready to close the book on this particular chapter of their story.

Poor Ornea.

She never really stood a chance. With the bucket, that first time, there had been some wiggle room for maneuver, allowing her to avoid taking the bucket full in the face. Even the second time, he had cast the bucket from several yards away, again allowing her a chance to react accordingly. But there was to be no charity offered on this third occasion, especially when flying buckets had been replaced with an altogether more accurate wardrobe door. And how could he miss when Ornea was stood directly in front of it?

The blow was sickeningly effective, the door swinging open with such force that it literally knocked Ornea off her feet. Sal had taken off from his kneeling position, putting the full weight of his body into a shoulder barge that was merciless in its execution. But such was the force that it hit poor Ornea, that it then swung back, just in time to catch Sal in the head as he came toppling out of the wardrobe. Off his head with a thwack, it then returned to its original trajectory, swinging wide open now that it had no further obstacles in the form of humans or inartas. Sal crashed to the ground in a most ungraceful manner, but found himself strangely alert and ready to press on despite everything.

Adrenaline was coursing through him, pushing Sal back onto his feet and to the door in a bid to escape. Ornea was still laying flat on her back, the wind knocked out of her no doubt and possibly with a headache on its way. He did not care though. As far as he was concerned, she had brought this on herself when she dared to...To what? To find you hiding in her petching wardrobe? But any pity he felt would have to wait. For now his attention was firmly on the door handle, or rather why it was not opening. He tried both ways, as well as pushing on the door then pulling it. But no joy. What madness is this? Who leaves their door unlocked when they are out, but locks it when they are in?!

Sal swung around, noting that Ornea had started to stir. Frantic once more, he searched across the room in a panic, looking for something, anything to help him. He ran over to the middle of the room, realizing there was no way out. There was nothing he could do. He was doomed. His mind had given into full fledged panic, and in a moment of complete madness, he dived under the canopy bed in a bid to hide once more. Maybe she would just assume he had left via the door, and would not think twice of looking for him there. However, there had been one, tiny, minuscule problem to his otherwise cunning plan. Sal was six foot four inches tall, the space under the canopy bed was not. Even on his hands and knees as he tried to scurry under, there was simply not enough clearance.

It was one of those instances where someone had a round peg and a square hole. No matter what angle you approached it from, it simply was not going to work. So then, when Ornea finally scrambled to her feet, bow and arrow in hand and no doubt more than a little pissed at having a door open in her face, she was presented with the unusual and unexpected target in the form of a man's behind, protruding from under her bed where it appeared to be stuck. The identity of the man was hidden from her for now, but she was under no illusions that whoever this fiend was, he was undoubtedly the reason her head was pounding fiercely right now.

It was then that she remembered the bow in her hand...

by **Ornea** on January 31st, 2015, 6:06 pm

...

INTENT ON INTERROGATION...

This was real.

There was somebody under the bed now.

The good thing was that she wasn’t just a prey for her own vivid imaginations. The bad thing was that real dangers actually were much more dangerous than imagined ones. If it hadn’t been real, only her being overly nervous, she would eventually have found out that there was nobody else in her apartment. After this she would have laughed at herself and felt a little bit worried, but mostly just relieved.

But, this was real. It was really, really real, as in really happening. For real. She wouldn't be able to laugh it away as just dreams. She had to deal with it.

It’s was all so easy to understand everything now. Somebody had broken into her apartment when she was at work and hidden in the new wardrobe when she came home early. When she was within range she had been attacked with the wardrobe door and knocked down. This had happened so quickly and explosively that she hadn’t stood a chance. Before she knew it she had been hit by the door and then hit the floor, her head meeting the floor hard enough to stun her. She had been stunned, but aware of the intruder bursting out of the wardrobe, passing by her and trying to open the locked apartment door, then moving back into the room. She hadn’t been able to follow it in detail though.

Everything was still and silent. She held the shortbow and the arrow in her hands and contemplated the target. Because there was a target now. A real target. It wasn’t a hallucination or some weird dream, but a real target she could shoot at for real. The intruder's behind, to be exact.

Thwack! That was how it would sound if she would shoot, and the arrow would leave the bow. And next the arrowhead would find it’s goal and go through cloth and into flesh and blood, where it would embed itself like arrowheads were meant to do, the quivering shaft protruding from the point of impact while blood would start to trickle from the wound, most likely accompanied by a scream.

She was getting angrier by the tick. The visions of the shot and the realization that she seemed to have the upper hand egged her on. It had been better to try to stay totally calm, but the Inarta’s fiery temperament was on the brink of taking over, and rage nearly overrode common sense. The intruder had broken into her apartment, attacked her and hurt her. She was still scared and wanted to defend herself, but she also wanted to retaliate, she wanted it badly!

Besides, it would show him that she wasn’t harmless. Her chances to survive this situation would maybe be better if she set an example and showed the man she was prepared to harm him. That could make him think twice about trying to attack her again! She actually didn’t know what to do to get out of this situation, or how to do it, what to say, or anything whatsoever, but she knew how to shoot. Shooting was maybe not a solution to anything, but it was a quick and simple action.

Ten years earlier Ornea would most likely already have shot in a fit of rage and right now she’d have been watching and listening to the result with no small amount of temporary self-contentment. She had learnt by experience that temporary self-contentment was utterly temporary though. Going for it was often counterproductive. Due to doing the mistake more than once in the past, her self-control had improved with the years, though not by much.

Her initial anger was turning into red hot fury. To be honest she wanted to see blood. But for now she held back, even if it could very well turn out to be a question about only a few chimes if the intruder said or did something that made her give in to her nasty need to shoot for the sake of it. But it was wiser to force him to speak so she could find out what was going on, so she wasn't going to waste her chance at a thorough interrogation.

“Freeze, you clipped chick!” she said, her voice as tense and taut as the string of her bow. “I have an arrow pointed at you and if I lose my patience I’ll shoot. And don’t think I’ll hesitate to aim at something really precious, if you aren’t behaving well! So keep completely still, mister. Don’t move! Stay exactly where you are. Do exactly as I tell you. I want you to tell me who you are and what you are doing here in my apartment. And you have better tell me the truth and not try to give me some rubbish that doesn’t make sense!”

She aimed the arrow at him with no qualms at opting for maximum damage, and waited for his answer, angrily. She felt no compassion, as it was the man’s own fault that he had ended up in the current position and Ornea wasn’t into pitying fools, and ever less into pitying burglars who attacked her and hurt her. But if the intruder would obey her orders, do as she told him, and not annoy her, she would hear him out without shooting. Then she would possibly keep him where he was and continue with more questions.

If he would give her a really, really good explanation and detailed account of the reasons for why he was there she might allow him to crawl out from under the bed with his hands over his head and go on from there.

Or else... Thwack! Ornea had never shot at a person before, only at prey animals during hunts at Wind Reach. She wasn’t much of a hunter and her skill with the bow wasn’t impressive. Being a crafter she hadn’t spent too much time on archery and her accuracy was fairly low. Paired with the fact that she wasn’t evil this might affect the result of a potential shot. Chances were that if the arrow would hit the target at all, it might not be exactly as harmful as she had told the man. It would maybe hurt, but she would likely not be a good enough archer to cripple him for life.

There was of course also the option that she could get totally enraged, and shoot in a red hot haze of fury that would make her miss utterly. This could become a disaster that could turn the tables on her. What she would do if that happened was an open question.

Her gaze never leaving the target, she kept aiming the arrow at it and waited to see what the intruder would do. Her inner tension was so intense that it nearly made her shake.

This was real. Surreal, but real.

...

by **Sal Mander** on February 8th, 2015, 9:15 pm

The view from Sal's current position did not offer much. There was evidence the woman might have wanted to invest in a broom, dusty under here as it was. Meanwhile, the skirting board along the wall opposite him was rather in need of a lick of paint. But such observations were left by the wayside for now, with more pressing matters worthy of his full attention. Primary of those was Ornea, the tenacious inarta from Wind Reach, who in her great wisdom had decided to move to Lhavit, complete with bow and murderous arrow, where she could continue to cross paths with Sal and make his life a misery.

Never mind the fact she had never done anything wrong. Rather, Sal's own investigative nature had literally quit on him, allowing a string of unfortunate assumptions and ill-informed knee jerk reactions to reside in his mind in place of reason and sense. It was a point he would undoubtedly reflect upon and analyze in the future, assuming he would come out of this current situation in one piece. But for now he was still of the opinion that somehow, by no fault of his own, he had been recruited into this devilish tale in the role of the victim.

Which meant Ornea was the villain.

Wedged as he was under the bed, his backside sticking out in a rather unflattering manner, Sal was afforded a few moments to compose himself while the woman talked. Or at least compose himself as much as could fairly be expected from a man stuck under a bed, with his backside sticking out. Still, this was certainly no time to worry about appearances. She had commanded his complete compliance in remaining still, which meant that for now he had only one weapon at his disposal; his words. Not that he was thinking of talking his way out of this via more persuasive methods. Not when there was an arrow trained right at him. For all of Ornea's own doubts of whether she could or could not make the shot, Sal's perspective was far different. As far as he was concerned, she had a bow and arrow and he was stuck. That was all he needed to know to encourage him to reason with the woman and give her what she asked for.

"Okay, okay. Just...don't shoot me, please. I'll tell you what you want to know. He paused for a moment, waiting for either the twang of a fired bow before the unimaginable shot of pain in his behind, or at least some further words from the inarta that would reveal her willingness to hold fire. Instead there was silence, which he took for her agreement to at least hold off of shooting him for now. "Firstly, your door was unlocked. Yes, I know that does not make my being here any less unacceptable. But I did not break in forcefully. Er...but yes, I am here because I am an...um...investigator. I'm here to follow some rumors about the person who lives here. There was the suggestion made that she...er, well, might be in some way involved with an attempt to sabotage some of Lhavit's water pumps. I know it sounds crazy. That's why I am here, to dispel these rumors as rubbish."

Alright, not strictly the truth in its purest form, but neither had he lied. This was loosely part of his investigation, but rather it had been born of opportunity, Sal having by chance seen Ornea leave the apartments earlier that day. Of course, it had been his own decision to pursue the matter, find out which apartment was hers and then snoop around in it, but that was a decision that was informed by all the events that had come before.

Ah yes. That which had come before. Up until now, he was rather pleased with his answer, hoping it might go some way in dissipating her anger. But he had conveniently forgotten that once his identity was revealed, her anger would not be inspired by this instance alone. In other words, he was in quite a bind.

by **Ornea** on February 11th, 2015, 5:44 pm

...

There was a pause, when the trapped man seemed to wait for her to answer his words about please not shooting him. But Ornea didn’t see any reason to speak. He was the one who ought to speak. After a few ticks the intruder seemed to realize this and he started to answer her questions.

The cooperative tone the burglar spoke in and the way he seemed to obey and not move, made Ornea relax a bit and hold off for now. This was common sense. She was content to be in charge of the situation, even if the control she felt was frail as thin ice. A same time, irrationally, she felt a bit disappointed that she didn’t have any reason to shoot at him. Only if wrath counted as a valid reason for using violence when it wasn’t needed.

Ornea wasn’t unreasonable enough to think so. The idea of shooting just because she could smacked of stupidity. Self-defense could be justified (and maybe even revenge under certain conditions), but shooting at a person who was unarmed, trapped and cooperative would only be moronic.

There was however no way for Ornea to judge if the things he said rang true or not. His words, and the situation they were in, were all she had. All she knew was that his answers so far were partly very vague and it seemed like he left out lots of information . And, the part about looking for people involved in sabotage of the water pumps startled her of course. It made her jerk back a bit. She nearly fired the bow by mistake.

Interrogation wasn’t her forte. It could seem convenient and safe to have the subject trapped under a bed like this, but she was quickly getting aware that whilst facial expressions can be read to some extent, a behind really doesn’t tell you anything at all. Trying to interrogate somebody but not be able to see his reactions was really goofy. This novice insight into the art of interrogation made her decide to allow the man come out from his hideout so she could question him better.

“I want to know more, but crawl out of there first” she said. “Slowly. Don’t try anything. Stay over there. But crawl out and face me. Hands over your head. ”
Getting tenser again she watched him do as she told him. Saying nothing at all, he managed to crawl out (an interesting procedure) and then he very slowly came to his feet, got his hands up and turned towards her. The feeling she felt and the thoughts she thought when she recognized him were beyond description. She had seen this man before and it had always ended with him throwing buckets of cold water at her. The “golem”. The “scarf bandit”. A face she would never forget.

For a start she was stunned, just stunned. Her brain seemed to have closed down for today.

Then she said, or more correctly whispered, as her voice seemed to be gone : “You?!”

It was a really bad moment for the part of her brain where the thinking was done to have closed down. But it had, and blind self-preservation instinct took over. Before she knew it she had already shot...and the head of the arrow was now embedded in the wooden frame of the canopy bed, not too near him. Whether this was because her aim had beed bad or “scarf-golem” had dodged was unclear to her. She had shot and missed and now the arrow sat there, still shivering a little bit, useless and wasted.

And with this went the control the bow had given her over the situation. Still ruled by sheer instinct she didn’t try to speak, nor did she try to get another arrow from the drawer. Instead she dashed into the wardrobe, taking the bow with her and slammed the door shut. She was standing in the Lhavitian side tall section, the one left open after Sal had burst out of it. She was armed with a bow but no arrow, and surrounded by clothes. This done, her brain slowly started to function again and she could hardly believe she had done this insane move, trapping herself in the clipped cupboard.

Maybe he would take the opportunity to sneak away and disappear. She hoped so. Then she would get out of this situation unharmed (nearly). Oh yes, she thought to herself, Ivak please just let him leave. She sent a silent prayer to the god to save her, but the usual empty silence ensued. Ivak, she thought angrily, was a shitty god. But no, no, didn’t mean that, of course not, meant shiny. Shiny god, Ivak.

At this point she recalled the key. She had the key to the door in her pocket. She had effectively locked the man into the apartment. The door and the lock were solid enough and they were high up at the attic floor of Solar Winds. The windows offered a fantastic view over Lhavit, but not an escape route for people who didn’t want to break their legs. She couldn’t get out of the wardrobe. The man couldn’t get out of the apartment.

This was the end! But desperation makes people creative. Her mind groped around for an idea, any idea that could save her. It occurred to her that her “visitor” couldn’t know if she had more arrows, as she was behind the door and he wasn’t able to see her. Then again, she wasn’t able to see him either. Not anymore. She had no idea what he was doing out there.

She had to bluff. Subterfuge was her only chance now. After that...she would think of something.

“That was just to show you I’m serious” she said. “I’m still aiming at you and if you come here, I swear by Ivak that I’ll shoot your for real this time.”She was trying to sound dangerous and tough, but was feeling like a rabbit inside a hole, with a terribly big fox camping outside. “Don’t try anything. Just answer my questions. For a start, tell me your name. Your real name. Who are you? And what do you mean with sabotage at Lucis. Was that the reason you trespassed there? Were you aiming to destroy the pumps? Was that why you wanted to see them? Who sent you? Why are you following me around and attacking me?”

...

by **Sal Mander** on February 15th, 2015, 4:42 am

With his backside poking out from under the canopy bed, Sal waited for Ornea's verdict, having offered her a few morsels of truth as to why he had come to be in the woman's apartment. Being vague was certainly a means to keep an interrogator interested, but he had realized that no amount of delay could put off his face being revealed. There was a sinking feeling in his gut when the order finally came for him to retreat from his ill-chosen hiding spot. Reluctantly and awkwardly, Sal attempted to shuffle backwards, working his body in an unflattering manner, resulting in him having to wiggle his posterior from side to side. Not that it was a particularly large posterior - at least not in his own opinion - but rather the gap under the bed had been less than generous in affording a six foot plus man room to slide under it.

Eventually he shuffled free, moving backwards on his hands and knees a few inches before clambering slowly to his feet. He took a brief moment to straighten his clothes and dust his knees, before his hands went to his head as instructed. There was one final thought of disobedience in his mind, toying with the idea of running head first at the window and taking his chances from the drop, rather than turn and face his nemesis. But whether it was a lack of courage or an abundance of sense, he eventually gave up on the notion and instead resigned himself to defeat.

As Ornea uttered that single word under her breath, Sal could do nothing but shoot an awkward half grin at her. He had not meant to of course, but rather it came out naturally, like someone who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. But what happened next was quite unexpected. There was the first sound, the twang of the bowstring as it sung its song, the noise still echoing in Sal's ear as the next sound followed within a second. This one was less graceful, opting instead for a harsh and sudden thwack as arrowhead found wood. It was a mere couple of inches from Sal's leg, the whole ordeal forcing him to bring his hands across his head in a shielding gesture, while he instinctively bent his knees and sort of half crouched, like a pet expecting a blow from a cruel master.

"You said you wouldn't shoot me, damn you," Sal yelled in dismay. Though Ornea had never actually said this, it had been assumed on Sal's part when she had allowed him to get up off the floor. But now he was not so sure as he stood there cowering, waiting for a second arrow to bury itself in his side. The thought of running was redundant now, since he was stood there before his tormentor in plain sight, and no hope of reaching cover before another arrow would find its mark.

The second thwack was much different. Not as exact as a piercing arrow, but a sound that was more resounding and full, as wardrobe door slammed shut. Sal had not seen Ornea flee, and when he finally found the courage to open his eyes and look up, he was flummoxed to see the inarta was nowhere in sight. At first he wondered if she had taken the exit, but the slamming sound of the door had not come from that direction. It had come from across the room, from where he himself had been located before.

The wardrobe.

Certainly there was some humor to be seen in this sudden twist to the tale, but for now Sal was in no mood for laughter. He thought of taking the exit himself, before realizing that it was of course locked. A fine mess he thought, as he surmised that the key was now to be found in the wardrobe, in Ornea's pocket. Before he could contemplate further options, the redhead was talking again. She retained the commanding tone to her voice, as if the woman still felt that she was in full control of the situation. Who was to argue otherwise? For all Sal knew, she could burst forth at any second, firing arrows and insults at him, final revenge for all the buckets he had thrown in the past. But before such an assault, the woman had seemed more keen to continue her questioning.

As things stood, there was little point in being vague now. There was nothing to gain from it, where else the truth had the potential to set him free. Might as well come clean. Before the man answered though, he decided to first take some precaution from another attack, just in case the theory of being honest turned out to be a bucket of shyke. The bed was of course a no go for hiding behind, and after looking around the apartment he realized there was not much else in the way of good cover. Slowly he turned his head back, knowing already the answer, as much as he wanted to take that thought, slit its throat, and throw it out the window.

For a brief moment, Ornea might have thought it was her door opening when she heard the creak. But it was the other door of the wardrobe she heard drawn open, followed by a brief shuffling sound, and finally the clicking of the door coming shut. Sal had taken a huge gamble, but assuming the redhead did not take the opportunity to burst out herself and attack him, he began to give up all the answers she had asked for. He held nothing back.

"My name is Sal Mander," he answered first in a soft voice, since there was no need for him to shout from this close proximity. "I work for the Cosmos Center. I'm an investigator. My job is to collect information and facts. Most of the time it's tedious stuff, like keeping certain records up to date, such as births and deaths for example. Or jobs and housing. I'll check in with apartment owners and businesses, to update records of vacancies and employment. I'm guessing you got your job at the Cosmos Center? Well if not, that's where most people go.

Sometimes there's another kind of work, sort of unofficial. The kind of stuff that might not be important enough for the shinya. Not yet at least. That's why I was checking out the pumps at Lucis. There was a report of a redheaded woman working there who was looking to sabotage the pumps. I'm not saying that it's true. But I have to follow up on it you see. What if we ignored such a thing and then it turned out to be true?"

Finally Sal added how he had come to be in the apartment, that he had learned of Ornea's dwelling from the apartment owner who had allowed him access to the books. The door truly had been unlocked, just as he said. But he did decline, at least for now, to comment on her accusations of his attacking her. He had attacked her of course, but the first occasion was purely self defense. The second time was...well, it was hard to label exactly what that was. But in any case, he had thought it was her that was attacking him at the pumps, and had assumed she would too at the house. But he did not mention this, since he did not want to rile her up now.

With his lengthy reply at an end, all he could do now was wait for Ornea's next move. He made a point of listening very carefully for the sound of a bow being drawn. Not that he could run anywhere of course, now that he had put himself back in the wardrobe.

by **Ornea** on February 21st, 2015, 3:31 pm

...

THE WASP COMETH...

For a brief moment, Ornea thought it was her own wardrobe door opening when she heard the creak. What she thought during this moment was hardly clear even to herself; she felt her heart and pulse race and she had an incredible feeling of everything slowing down. Only a few ticks passed from when she heard the shuffling sound and the clicking of a door coming shut, and until her brain made the conclusion it had been the other door of the wardrobe. But it felt like bells.

And then she heard him speak.

It sounded just like he too was there inside the wardrobe; his softspoken, low Lhavitian voice sounded as near as if he was standing next to her. And so he nearly was, she slowly realized. The man was at the other side of the middle section, in the Inarta clothes section. Overcome with a sudden and unpleasant feeling of total oddness she stayed silent while he spoke, and heard him out without interrupting him. The calm way he spoke made her compose herself a bit.

When Sal had stopped speaking she was still silent. What was there to say? What do people say when hiding in a wardrobe, wilst another person, a potentially dangerous enemy, is hiding in another section of same wardrobe ? The whole situation was one of the weirdest and most awkward situations she had been in during her whole life, the previous encounters with the same Lhavitian included.

Standing in the darkness behind the closed wardrobe door she stayed silent and tried to think. She was not able to see the intruder, or anything else for that matter. She could only hear his voice. This made her listen intensely, in order to try to be prepared if he would suddenly burst out and go for her own wardrobe door. In the silence she thought she heard her own breath. She found the sound annoyingly loud. It prevented her from hearing if there was something going on in the other wardrobe section. In a try to create complete silence, she drew her breath and held it.

Could she hear him move? Could she? Could she? Could she? Was that his breath, did he move, or was she just imagining it? She felt the enervating feeling people feel when they wonder if they heard a nearly undiscernible insect sound, or if it’s only their hearing trolling them. Is there a bug to hunt, or not?

Actually, come to think of it, she really thought she could hear a bug sound ! Bzzzz...couldn’t she? It wasn’t totally nearby though, so if there really was a bug I must currently be in the middle section, where the flower perfume oil was kept, or else in the wardrobe section where the investigator was standing.

The investigator...she started breathing again. How she wished she had kept him where he was ! It had been perfect to have him on the floor, under the bed, and with the arrow trained at him. It would have been so much better to have had him trapped there, helpless and easy to interrogate. Now she felt like she needed to be as cautious as if she was “walking on eagle eggs”. She really regretted that she had ordered him to crawl out, she thought to herself.

This thought led on to another thought, an unproductive sidetrack about the absurd crawling and wriggling she had witnessed. She contemplated the insight that he hadn’t been stuck under the bed due to being fat; he was just a man of tall stature, not chubby. Thinking back, she’d never had the impression he was corpulent until she had seen him stuck and in his ill-chosen hideout, only chimes ago. The target had seemed big right then.

But she caught her straying mind and brought it back to what she needed to think of. Intelligence, she thought, meant trying to interrogate him more and get added information, analyze the facts she had and draw meaningful conclusions. Ir was no use to start to think of totally other things instead. Get a grip on yourself Ornea, she thought.

Or...ask questions, might be a better way to think of it now. His description of his work had sounded just like he was an office clerk. A kind of chiet, obviously, in terms of Wind Reach castes? He didn’t seem high ranked. But she also recalled that Alses had said he was working at Cosmos Center. Ornea had a feeling he was actually telling her the truth. The calm, reasonable and logical tone he was speaking in reinforced this impression. He really seemed to be what he said he was.

She wanted to believe that, as it seemed safer than just a criminal. But it would also mean she had shot at a cosmos center investigator. This Sal Mander had mentioned the Shinya too. Ornea suddenly needed to thread very cautiously now. She realized that.

“Just stay where you are” she said in a steady voice she was able to muster only because of being Inarta. Inside she felt like she was “walking on eagle eggs”.

“I will ... listen to you, but I have more questions. Let’s take this from the start. I got my job directly from Edward Lucis. Not via Cosmos Center.” She made a pause. “You turned up at Lucis to investigate what? Rumors about sabotage? What do you mean? I have actually been worried, as there was somebody who spoke about it in the beginning of fall...”

Ornea interrupted herself there. It had actually been Ornea herself who had spoken about it, stupidly, when the robber at Bright Lights had asked tricky questions and babbled a lot. That woman, Iskiraya Mifune, had been turning everything people said outside in. Right now Ornea wasn’t keen on saying anything more about this. If the man really was an investigator it might be bad to say she really had spoken about sabotage. She might come off as guilty. She didn’t want him to feel a new attack was justified.

“Alright, I believe that you are who you are saying you are. Sal Mander. But it doesn’t explain all the odd things you have done. Why didn’t you speak with Edward about it instead of trespassing and then attacking me too, without reason?” she said instead, deciding that attack was the best defense. “I’m sure Edward will contact your employer when he hears about this! Not to mention the shinya! Is this your usual working methods at cosmos center? Take the law in your own hands, trespass, attack innocent people, throw buckets of water, and break into people’s apartments like a burglar...and you hit me with the door and nearly knocked me out. ”

Ornea started to fume when she thought of the bucket attacks and how Sal had hit her with the door. That water had been cold, and now her head was hurting. But she held back and waited for Sal to speak.

It was totally dark. In the short silence that followed she listened intensely. She thought she heard that annoying buzzing sound again. Maybe there really was a bug or wasp or some other kind of disgusting creep flying around there in the dark wardrobe ? In that case, she hoped it would stay where it was. She didn’t like bugs much and the thought of some icky insect starting to crawl on her or even bite her there in the darkness was unsettling. She felt an intense and nearly irresistible need to scream mindlessly and rush out of the wardrobe, but quenched it.

For now.

...

Completed The Lhavitian in the Cupboard (Ornea)