Misery Loves Company [Andar]

[Shakune]

86th Spring, 515AV. Twenty-second bell.
The Drunken Fish

"She's not lookin' like 'erself, man. We should ask what's up wi'her."

"I told you. I already did, and she 'bout ripped me balls off. I ain't gettin' close to her when she's like that."

The two men were sat at a small table in the tavern, huddled over their tankards of ale and whispering hurriedly. Every other tick, one or the other would shoot a glance up to the other side of the room, before ducking his head back down and reporting back to his comrade. They seemed to be quite disturbed by something, and at a loss of what to do about it.

The larger of the two men rubbed his face with a chubby hand. Lenny was a sensitive soul - was of the few remaining in Sunberth - and it pained him to see his good friend is such of a bad way. For the hundredth time that night, he looked up from his ale and across the tavern floor. "I dunno, Vince. I feel bad just sitting here when she's like that."

His companion was much harder looking, with greying stubble and equally salted hair. He too glanced up, but then made a tsking sound and rolled his eyes. "Lenny, she's fine. Prob'ly just delivered another severed 'ead or somethin. Meanwhile, I'm going home. I got my missus to deal with, and one moody woman's enough for me." With that, he swallowed down the rest of his ale and departed.

Lenny remained, looking incredibly forlorn. Eventually, after Vince had slammed the door of the tavern shut and Lenny had digested enough ale to be courageous than normal, he stood up. He was a large man; tall and wide and fat. But despite his huge stature, he approached the other side of the tavern like a nervous puppy. He held his breath and inched closer and closer, as if he was creeping up on a sleeping monster.

Shakune continued to stare blankly ahead of herself, black eyes unfocused and unblinking. She sat low in her chair; legs extended outwards to prop herself up, her arms folded. The courier's entire demeanour was defensive and unfriendly. To strangers, she would look like nothing more than a woman who'd perhaps recently gotten her heart broken, and was drowning herself in ale and self-pity. But to those who knew the otherwise lively and spirited woman, her current state was hugely concerning indeed. Somthing seemed to be haunting Shakune, something terrifying and very, very secret.

"Hey, Shakune?" Lenny spluttered out, inching closer to his friend and placing a large hand gently on her shoulder, "you okay? You seem--"

Her voice was damp and cold, like melting snow. "I'm fine Lenny. Go away." She shifted herself to right, so his hand slid off her shoulder. Those eternally black eyes remained staring and marble-like.

The large man opened his mouth several times, gawping like a fish. Eventually, he gave a sigh and moved back. "I'm goin' home. Y'know where I am." He muttered over his shoulder before he too left the courier alone with her ghosts.

[Andar]

Andar shouldered past the logjam of humanity at the tavern door and nearly bumped heads with a gray whiskered fellow. "Pardon me," Andar said in a rather perfunctory way to which the man snorted irritably and pushed roughly on by before banging the heavy oak door shut behind him. What was up his arse? The Kelvic thief smiled despite the cold shoulder treatment at the door - this was his playground. Home at last!

Andar plucked a tankard of ale from a passing wench's tray to which she turned his way and said, "Hey! You've got to pay for that." Which he countered with a revolution and flip of four copper mizas. Three of which landed neatly on her tray, one of which landed neatly in someone's drink. Andar did all of this with a theatrical bow and even managed to take a sip of his ale without spilling any of it! He was a showman at heart, make no mistake. Making friends where ever he went....

"You bastard!" huffed the waitress, retrieving the submerged coin after a furtive look around before serving the remaining cups to a rowdy bunch at a corner table.

The thief noticed a portly fellow doing his best guppy imitation, his only audience, a coppery-skinned dark-haired woman. She did not look even remotely impressed....or happy for that matter.

"I'm goin' home. Y'know where I am."

He heard the fat man declare in a quiet and slightly hurt tone before plodding past him, muttering the whole way. The place was fairly packed that night and seeing as many of the patrons had given the dark haired woman quite a wide berth, he decided to take advantage of the opportunity while it lasted. Andar stepped smoothly up to the table, plopped his tankard down, swiftly rotated the chair and straddled it, his elbows coming to rest on the back-support. Reaching up, the thief lowered his rain-spattered gray hood and clasped his mug with a hand that was in apparent need of a good wash.

"Good Eve' M'lady," he said in his best gentleman's voice. The rim of his mug hovered before his open mouth. It was her eyes that caught him by surprise. Endless pits of onyx. He felt suddenly exposed by such a gaze. And to a thief this was very unsettling. Still, he recovered quickly enough, and took a long pull from his drink. The second thing Andar realized was just how terribly sad the woman was. He thought he could detect a glistening tear-track down her cheek. There was a nameless aura of gloominess that surrounded her as well.

Andar drew a sleeve across his mouth and cleared his throat. "Let's have it out. What's wrong?" he asked in his very best shoulder-to-sob-on voice. The rogue leaned forward in his chair so she could hear him over the murmur of socializing. "You go right ahead and tell the long version. I've got quite a bit of catching up to do," he said with a grin and finger tap to his mug of ale. He then proffered his hand, "Name's Korbin."

[Shakune]

For a moment, Shakune merely assumed Lenny had returned. She glanced upwards with a mithering gaze, but the face she glared at was not a familiar one. This set the courier back for a tick, but then her eyes hardened once again and turned downcast, back to staring down her tankard.

He wanted to know what was wrong with her, but why? A lazily suspicious mind told her Shakune that it was some ploy. A distraction, perhaps, whilst his comrade slipped a hand into her bag? Good luck with that she thought grumpily. I got 'bout a copper on me.

But perhaps it wasn't a ploy or con. Maybe he was one of the other few kind souls, someone like Lenny, who always wanted to be that shoulder for someone to cry on. She shook her head minutely, dismissing his request for her to share her sob story and also rejecting her own thoughts. No: a person was never that concerned about someone else's welfare without some angle or potential gain.

"I ain't some bard to tell a sad story." She muttered, unable to conceal the lowness of her voice. After clearing her voice she continued, meeting his eyes with her own. "Plus, to be honest, I'm not the sharing sort. Especially with a random bloke I don't even know."

She raised the tankard to her lips and drank deeply, eyes half-closed as the alcohol moved down her gullet and into her belly. Soon it would numb the courier, making her bleary eyed and shrouded in an alcoholic's ignorance. After lowing the glass, she gave a breathy sigh and turned back to the stranger fellow.

The question was asked quietly over the surrounding hubbub of voices and clinking of tankards. "You believe in ghosts?"

[Andar]

He had half a mind to follow the big fellow's example and leave the woman to her drink and sorrows after an icy glare and despondent return to her drink that left his hand hanging awkwardly, unclasped. The fingers of that hand tingled with the itch to steal. So very close already, all he had to do was....

Andar slipped on an expression of engaging interest, hand inconspicously drawing back to scratch behind his ear as her gaze lazily returned, those glassy black mirrors of her soul coincided with her words - offering very little warmth and even less trust.

The Kelvic thief nodded once, gaze wandering off to ply his surroundings for a time. After draining his ale mug to about the halfway mark he said thoughtfully, "We all have stories to tell, bards or not. Besides, this random bloke is quite a good listener. One of the very best, truth be told." The thief's wry grin returned along with his amber stare. He had made a conscious decision not to steal from the woman. Odd that. Some instinct of his told him there was money to be gained if he listened carefully. Words maybe cheap to some, but to Andar, there was always an informative nugget worth the hearing. All one had to do was listen.

After they both had more or less finished their drinks, Andar hailed a wench over to have their cups refilled. He noted the band of iron around the serving girl's neck. A smudge of sweat and dirt had collected just below the chafing metal. Her bedraggled mane of honey-hued hair fell across naked shoulders that saw more lash than soap. The roughspun tunic was cut short at the thigh to reveal more flesh. Andar had a soft spot when it came to slaves. He idly wondered if Jemisa knew of this particular slave and if she took pity on her with a handout or two.

Another couple more lifts of tankard, those dark pools fixed on him once again, a breathy sigh heralding the natural lowering of her sullen portcullis. But what she said took him aback......

"You believe in ghosts?"

He had seen a lot of things in his short life. People murdered, raped, flogged, tortured, robbed ( many firsthand accounts as it were), drowned, and starved to death. Hell, he'd even been hunted by a winged bat-demon. But ghosts?? Surely not.

"Emm.. ghosts? As in spirits of the deceased, levitating about on the grim business of haunting the tormentors of their once-happy lives? Eh, not really. But I've been known to change my mind before," he said in a somewhat speculative tone. He arched his brow.

"Why do you ask?"

[Shakune]

Perhaps she should share her tale over a pint with a stranger. What was it that her adoptive father used to say? Better out than in. So what if the rule was usually applied to belches and other bodily functions, surely it was better to share an experience than to sit and stew over it like a pile of rotting apples.

He'd at least had her ale refilled, which was nice. Shakune had a soft spot for men who gave her alcohol. It was the quickest way to make her an ally or a partner in bed. Briefly, the courier wondered if that was the male's aim. Some men enjoyed taking home weepy girls, with wet eyes and wet noses like a dog. They're always appreciative, no matter how bad you treat 'em, she'd heard such men say.

But for once, Shakune's grief and confusion overwhelmed her too much. Sex, which was her usual form of coping in a desperate kind of way, was utterly out of the question. The very idea of sharing close contact with another person sent made the courier shake her head minutely. She felt an uncomfortable damp cold creep up her spine. Shakune twisted suddenly around in her seat, black eyes scanning the tavern crowd as if she were searching for someone. Paranoia and fear gripped her belly.

What if she's here now, close by?

Thankfully, the cold spell dissipated as quickly as it had touched Shakune. She returned her attention back to her tankard of ale, feeling embarrassed at her strange behaviour. No doubt to everyone else in the tavern, Shakune would have looked like an invisible spirit was taunting her.

Finally, she glanced back up to her new companion. She'd allowed his question to go unasked purely because it was easier that way. It was far more desirable to drown oneself in ale than it was to face one's skeletons. But now the alcohol was beginning to numb her nerves and slow her mind. In slightly slurred words, Shakune finally explained.

"I met one today. Her name's Bridie. She's the dead wife of the man who adopted me as a girl. Never knew he had a wife. But he did." She took a long gulp of the ale before continuing in a staccato, jumpy voice. "They 'ad some kids together. Two died as littl'uns. But two others didn't. Dunno if they grew up or died as teenagers, but they lived longer than the rest. But the ghost, Bridie, is stuck in the past. She's been dead forty-odd years, but still thinks she's pregnant and waiting for 'er husband to come home. If I tell her he's dead now, she--"

Shakune waved her hands fractically around her head, trying to mimic how Bridie's ghost could change suddenly from kind and gentle to wild and uncontrolled. The dead woman's wails were etched into Shakune's memory. She'd never forget that blood-curdling scream. "--goes a bit mad. But then she's fine. Like she's forgot the whole conversation."

It was an unrealistic tale, completely fanciful and preposterous. And yet it had all happened to Shakune two days ago. The ghost of Bridie Salt now resided in her home, alongside her slave Havzi and Shakune's two dogs. The spirit hummed and sang quietly whilst the other residents slept, and upon their waking, Bridie would promise a hearty breakfast of oats and eggs: let me just wake up the babies, first. They'll be hungry too!

[Andar]

This dark-eyed drinker wouldn't be winning any awards for conversationalist of the year, thought Andar as his question hung in the air for what felt like forever and a day. He began to wonder if maybe the woman was a bit batty. That's how all the crazies started out after all, wasn't it? Remember Ferris, the warehouse hired muscle? Used to be for all intents and purposes, a sane individual. Then he started raving about seeing a ghost in the latrine..... It all went down the hole from there. Raving mad. Just as loony as you like.

Andar mulled that over with a bit more serious consideration when the woman began to twist about in her seat, shooting looks around the tavern as if expecting an apparition to mosey on in and order a drink at any moment. Despite the woman's odd display, nobody in the tavern seemed to be alarmed or even remotely concerned for that matter. Perhaps this was typical behavior for the lady. Or maybe and more likely, nobody gave a flying petch and were too drunk to care. That was the Sunberth motto after all. Why worry about someone else's problems when there was plenty to go around?

Still, the woman hadn't taken complete leave of her senses. For after a while she uttered in a matter of fact manner, the surreal nature of her situation. Andar laughed, though it was nervous noise without any true gaiety in it. His chuckle was followed by brisk damage control, helping the woman to lower her arms before they really did start receiving unwanted stares. "Oh aye. No need to let the cat out of the bag quite yet. All in due time. It would serve our cause all the better to have Birdie ghost lucid enough to answer a few pertinent questions," he said. The Kelvic thief truly doubted even a perturbed ghost could prove half as frightening as the woman's hand-waving interpretation of one.

Andar at least knew the facts now. He reviewed those in his mind. Birdie was the woman's adopted father's dead wife who supposedly haunted her waking hours. The pair had four children. Two of which were assuredly dead, two others were only just likely dead. Birdie had been dead at least Forty years. Birdie has no knowledge of current events regarding her family and apparently has amnesia when it came to short-term memory.

"I've got it!" he said with a snap of his fingers. "Wait a tick....no I don't," Andar went on to take three massive pulls of his tankard. He wiped his mouth on sleeve and nodded slowly as if a plan were being formulated. In reality, Andar had no petching clue how to proceed. And even a vaguer notion of how any of this could be manipulated to make him richer. Hell, he doubted any of the ghost business was actually real. But whether or not it was real, he had to convince the black-eyed lady that he could fix the problem. Then perhaps she would pay him modestly for services rendered or at the very least, owe him a favor.

"Alright. First things first. We need to make contact with your ghost. Thence we'll know precisely what to do," he said with a firm nod of conviction he didn't really feel. Hopefully the haunting grounds was her place of residence. That way, if this turned out to be a dead end job, he could at least pilfer a few valuable possessions to make it worth his time. A part of him felt wicked to think such thoughts when it was obvious this incident was taking its toll on the woman. Still, he reminded himself, empathy did not fill ones belly. He had to be a realist, after all. And realists rarely put much faith in empathy or ghosts.

"No worries M'lady. We'll have this whole thing taken care of soon enough--I reckon you've had quite enough of that. Birdie will want you halfway coherent if we're going to get answers," he said, gently loosening her hold on the tankard, he returned it to the table. The rogue stood up in one fluid motion, lending her aid of his arm to stand properly. "Well then. We'd best be off now. The night is young, and you've a ghost problem."

"Birdie wouldn't be an insomniac perchance would she?"

[Shakune]

Well, he didn't burst out laughing. Nor did the stranger simply stand up and walk away.

She wasn't sure, but Shakune considered this to be a good thing. It meant that he didn't think she was mad. Perhaps, out of all the non-believers in Sunberth, the man in front of her had also seen a ghost before.

This filled the courier with confidence. She managed to pull her lips into a thin, but genuine, smile. It was a relief to know that the one person she'd told Bridie about seemed to be genuinely considering how to help her.

And yet a quiet, no-nonsense, part of her mind was instantly alarmed by the male's thoughtful bravado. What are you doing?! It cried desperately, how would you react if some drunk woman started harping on about ghosts? She knew the answer, of course. As a whole, Shakune had little patience of the fanciful or magical. What she knew about ghosts were limited to stories she'd heard as a child, and the two individuals who'd crossed her path earlier that season. Everett had been the first of his kind Shakune had ever socialised with. Before him, she had just assumed they were creations tired parents threatened their children with: if you don't go to sleep, aunt Greta's ghost will come and suck out your eyeballs. But in the case of Everett and Bridie, there was terrifying no eyeball sucking. Both were quiet, but tragic individuals. Both their passings-on had been. And in both cases, this ethereal existence this centred around their children.

Bridie Salt had died of a botched-up caesarean section forty-odd years ago. The child had also died in the grisly process, but presumably after his mother. Bridie's ghost was still heavily pregnant, breasts and stomach swollen with the impending birth of her never-to-be child. In moments of chaos or confusion, the vertical red line that ran up Bridie's belly would drip blood, to the point that the stuff gushed out of her like a fresh wound. These instances, Shakune believed, were probably most like the woman's final moments: blood spilling, flesh paling, heart stopping.

Distracted, Shakune only properly heard the last sentences of the male's words. He wanted to contact Bridie, like she was some far off relative who would only appear when summoned. The hilarity of this idea made Shakune bolt out nervous, jittering little laughs. If she didn't sound mad already, she would do soon.

"You want to contact her? Summon her?" She repeated incredulously. Another mouthful of frightened little laughs erupted from her throat, and the courier nervously tapped her flagon of ale. Her demeanour had changed from morose and depressed to skittish and insane. "I wish. Ha! She's there, at home. She lives with us, now. Always, she reckons."

The identity of the other people in the 'us' that Shakune had just referred to wasn't clear. More made-up ghosts, perhaps? Either way, it was obvious that the half-breed was unhappy with Bridie's decision to live with her. She gulped at her ale and allowed her companion to complete sharing his plan with her. It wouldn't work, she was sure, but what the shyke did Shakune have to lose?

Slowly she stood, finishing the last mouthful of her ale with a forlorn pout. The alcohol had warmed her belly and blurred her thoughts, but unfortunately dulled her memory of the past few days. Bridie's slightly transparent, demure face was etched into her memory like a traumatic event.

"She's a ghost." Shakune replied flatly to the male's question. Despite having only met Bridie two days ago, she was already pretty sure she knew the answer. "I don't think they're known for sleeping."

The courier exited the tavern, not glancing behind her to check if he were following, but simply assuming he was. She stalked her way to the left, heading in the general direction of the Sunset Quays but walking slowly. After all, there was a ghost waiting for her at home. Not exactly the warm welcoming house guest one would hope for.

But Shakune needn't have worried. A sudden drop in temperature alerted her to an unwanted addition.

"Shakune? Hello? Is that you?" A frighteningly pale woman seemed to materialise out of thin air. She was actually quite pretty, if one managed to stare at her demure, heart-shaped face for any length of time. Her face featured a petite nose, large brown eyes, and pink little lips that were currently pursed in worry. Her hair, a copper colour and pinned back neatly, fell to her shoulders. The ghost of Bridie Salt inched forward, peering from Shakune's face to that of her male companion, before returning back to look at the former. She frowned. "He's not my husband. Where's my husband? He needs to read a bedtime story to our babies."

Silently, Shakune raised her arms stiffly towards the ghost, as if she were going to hug the transparent woman, but her gesture had an entirely different meaning:

Told you so!

[Andar]

"That's right. Summon her," he said, wiggling his fingers. Really, it was no more than any Sunberthian could hope to do for an explanation on magic and the phenomena of ghosts. "Make her appear. Or if there is a place she is most like to be at this hour, let's be on our way there," he said. Though Andar did not speak of it, he noted a change in the woman. A heartening transformation from melancholy mess to tittering mad was a substantial upgrade in his book. Information, if slightly screwy and round about was better than none at all.

Andar followed just behind the dark-haired woman as they made way for the door. Once more, all eyes seemed uninterested in their departure, save a few hungry stares for the ghost lady. Of course, those stares could lead to motivations of a different sort. But Andar was sure he could handle whatever inebriated and horny lot came their way. He had a quick wit and disarming phrase for every situation imaginable (or near about). And there was always the truth. Telling any Sunberthian plainly that they were on ghost business would probably make them as untouchable as the Night Eyes.

His current employer nearly slapped him across the face when she turned up, slightly off balance, arms animated as if by a ghost themselves and told him in a flat tone that didn't speak very highly of his education on ghosts just what an inane idea it was to wonder about a ghost's sleeping habits. How was he to know ghosts didn't need sleep, after all? Was there a handbook on ghosts laying about for him to read? "Oh right. I knew that. Just making sure your wits are in order. I see that they are. Excellent," he said and this seemed to get her moving again.

Andar wasn't the sort of man to stare at a woman's posterior. Correction. He wasn't the sort of man to stare at a woman's rump conspicuously and without viable excuse if one should be required. But his employer seemed to have a good one as far as those things went. It was an easy thing, if one had a mind to see any part of the female anatomy in Sunberth. There were whores and slaves to overflowing. All you needed was a little flash of coin. Andar politely pushed the vision of swaying hips from his head, knowing he was about important business that night. Even if the woman was a complete loon, he might learn something beneficial. And he was a gentleman thief, after all, not some common lout with a pea-sized brain and far too much pride and testosterone for his own good.

His mind astray and realizing he felt a little too well at that moment. His cheery chuckle more or less convicting him. That had been fine ale indeed, to sneak a buzz upon him so suddenly. Booted feet went from scuffing old floorboards to scuffing rain-worn cobbles in a dreary night. Voices now muted by a few inches of oak, he cursed under his breath as he caught sight of the ghost-lady, meters away, stalking ahead as if she were expecting a fight. The rogue rushed to catch her up.

That's when he saw it.

That's when he saw Bridie. He hadn't noticed the ghost right away. The first thing he noticed was how odd it was that his breath should frost over on a drizzle of a night that was not particularly cold. Then he heard a voice, a woman's voice. Andar decelerated and nearly knocked the dark-eyed woman over, so taken aback by the sudden voice that seemingly sprung from the wind and strange temperature decrease. Then he saw Bridie. Just beyond the contour of the flesh and blood woman before him, he spied an unusually pale woman. Her body seemed almost translucent, to the Kelvic. Noting how buildings in the distance could still be roughly perceived through the luminescence.

Andar's attempt not to appear slightly fearful, though reasonable as that was upon finding ghosts really do exist and one is slowly inching toward you, failed when he half-clung half-slunk behind his employer.
"No-no. Certainly not your husband," said Andar, in a barley audible voice from somewhere behind the living woman.

Fortunately, the thief was able to push down his initial fears and step away from her to get a good look at the apparition of Bridie Salt. Glancing sidelong to his employer, who now rather comically extended her arms in a not so subtle Told you so manner to the ghostly woman. He shot her a glare in return that said, I was rather hoping you were wrong, but damned me if you weren't!

"No. I'm not your husband," he repeated again, his voice firm now. "I am a friend though. Bedtime stories you say? Well that sounds splendid," he said with a bright smile and attitude all too jovial not to be manufactured. "Your husband is away....on business. The lovely lady and myself are here to accommodate you and the children. Now if you would be so kind as to lead the way?" he said with a wave of arm. Andar walked close-by his employer and whispered, "Just play along. I know what I'm doing."

What the petch was he doing? Having an actual conversation with a dead person? A spirit? Did location even matter to this woman? Would she take them to the graves of her dead children? That was not a particularly pleasant thought. Or would she perhaps lead them on some wild goose chase to no where important? At least they could stall for time in the interim. Maybe even conduct a half-arse interrogation of sorts. He hoped.

[Shakune]

The courier broke into a grin. Her companion's confidence had melted away the instant Bridie had loomed into view. She couldn't blame him - her reaction had been even more panicked when she'd first met the ghost.

Her amusement itself faded though, when the male's confidence facade came back to him. He had recovered quickly -- to quickly for Shakune's liking. Yet again, mild suspicious nibbled at her gut. But drunkenness and a desire to finally get to the bottom of Bridie's sudden appearance in her life drove the suspicion away. Plus, she told herself somewhat naïvely, what could Korbin even have to gain from socialising with a ghost? They were hardly the sort to have great piles of money or precious things to steal from.

Nevertheless, Shakune gave him a doubtful look. Bridie appeared harmless, in her white gown and hands resting upon her pregnant stomach. She looked like someone from a fairytale, all virginal and pure. But Shakune knew another side the apparition; the desperate haunting side that shrieked and cried desperately over the death of her unborn child. That side could be revealed over the most minor of things: an offhand comment, the use of the past tense when talking about her beloved husband or family

"You know my husband?" Bridie seemed pleased about this, and she moved closer to Andar and Shakune in a smooth, gliding motion. But then she paused, white dress silently fluttering around her pale legs. The translucent woman frowned and pursed her lips before speaking again: "He's on a trip? But he never leaves when I'm about to have a baby. You must be mistaken."

Her eyes darted from Shakune's face to Andar's. For a brief moment, the courier winced and backed away, expecting the ghost be thrown into one of her chaotic panics. But the wailing never came. Instead, in a surprising act of calmness, Bridie merely shrugged, "well, he won't leave before saying goodbye, so I'll speak to him when I'm home. Come on, I'll show you the way." With that, the ghost turned and began to move down the alley. Yet again, she glided rather than walked, like a puppet hung by invisible strings.

Behind Bridie, Shakune turned to Andar and spoke in hushed, desperate tones. The previous effects of alcohol seemed to have disappeared completely, wiped away from the courier's bloodstream thanks to the sight of Bridie. "Korbin, what're you doing? The house she lived in with her family will be owned by completely different people now, assuming it's still standing. How do you think she's going to react when she walks through the wall and sees a bunch of strangers?"

But Shakune needn't have worried. It took only five chimes of walking for Bridie to come to a slow stop outside an empty shack of a place. The ghost tilted her head and stood still for several moments, staring up at the rotting building. During that time, the smoky air around her began to quiver with more life than before. The temperature dropped minutely. "I don't understand." She murmured, finally turning to became minutely colder. Bridie eventually turned to face Shakune and the male again. "Only yesterday, I came here to buy bread. They do a delicious honey and oat loaf. But now--" She cast her hand towards the place, all empty and dark. No bread had been baked in the building for at least a decade. "But now it's like this. How?"

Shakune slid her gaze to her live companion. "Korbin?" She said, volunteering him to answer Bridie's question.

You did say that you knew what you were doing.

[Andar]

"Do I know your husband?! Ha. He and I go waaay back," said Andar with a face that assured they were the best of friends. In truth, he had no bloody clue who the bastard was. He suddenly felt stupid for not having squeezed a bit more information out of his employer. A simple description of the man and what he did would be useful, like now. All he really knew about the man was that he had adopted his employer. That was petching it. He would have to wing it, as usual.

It was still an eerie sight to behold a ghost up close. The way in which she floated over the landscape unhindered by the physical world gave him the shivers. Her clothing was simple and belly plump with child. There was such innocence in the woman's eyes. But there was also grief and pain behind that fragile stare that threatened to shatter away and open a torrent of emotion so awful as to sweep he and his partner both into hopeless oblivion. He began to understand the nature of his employer's quandary and what a delicate puzzle this would be to solve. One slip up and he could literally feel the world going frigid with unrelenting memories.

"Nay M'lady. Not a trip. He's about the city, running a few important errands. Do not worry yourself about such things, he shall return in good time," said Andar with a placating pat that passed right through the woman's shoulder. There was an icy sensation in his fingertips for a tick, but it went away when he drew his hand back quickly. He noticed his employer backing away out of the corner of his vision as if expecting this recent development to end very badly for them.

"Indeed.. He wouldn't miss it for the world," he said cheerfully, trying to keep a hint of doubt from creeping into his voice. Soon later he loosed a breath of relief as whatever he said must have pacified the woman for the time being since she began to glide along down the alley, beckoning them to follow.

His employer wisely took a moment to communicate discreetly with him on proceedings in the span of opportunity that presented itself when Bridie began to wander onward. She appeared to have regained her acuteness of mind, and Andar found himself wishing she had been in a similar state whilst they were combing over the merits of his plan to begin with. "How should I bloody know?" he shot back, his voice an octave louder than it should have been and tinged with some frustration.

When they were closer, he continued softly and reasonably, "Look, let's just stick to the plan. I'll do the best I can to keep her from any volatile revelations. Her old home may have clues as to where the living children went. But we can only tip-toe around the truth for so long. Eventually she's going to figure it out. We've got to turn that in a way that will benefit your cause. Will it be at all possible to level with her? We could say her living children are in grave danger perhaps and only with her resourceful aid can we help them. Would that have a chance? Either way, we keep on as long as we can until it is absolutely necessary to give up the charade. Agreed?"

Before the woman could give answer, Bridie came to an abrupt halt before a hovel. Andar felt a distinct chill in the air as the woman just stood still as death. An uncomprehending look twisted her features. He could visualize the wheels in her head turning as she pieced together the cruel reality of things. His partner seemed only all too happy in deflecting the question to him. The thief held back the scowl he wanted to give his employer just then. Instead, he let out a theatrical sigh....

"We had hoped it wouldn't come to this, M'lady. But I can see it is probably best you found out from us first. You see, you're suffering from a peculiar condition. It has to do with the mind," he said, coming to stand before her. Andar peered at the shabby mess of a building, the broken windows and half collapsed wall. "You're correct. No bread has baked in the confines of that wreck for at least a decade, probably a hell of a lot longer. What you perceive as yesterday was nearly forty years ago. Part of the disease has to do with seeing things that aren't really there. Losing track of time is also very common. We're here to help you recover some of your memories. With that aim we will need your full cooperation. Do you understand?" he said, hoping his words carried enough weight for her to understand the gravity of the situation, but not wanting to overwhelm the woman into a hysteria that would do none of them any good.