Post by dazbreaker on Apr 13, 2020 1:24:10 GMT -5
Wicked went upstairs to change. Apparently this Fiora person had clothing to spare, and Wicked picked something out that at least somewhat suited her tastes. Combined with discovering a Lost & Found of sorts, she scraped together an appropriate ensemble. A frilly skirt and stockings to keep her legs warm, combined with a functional waitress blouse and corset. It was enough at least she wasn't soaked. She spent a few minutes drying her hair out as best she could, and eventually gave up on waiting for her shoes to dry. She'd been gone too long. And she was curious about the old man, how he was doing.
Coming back down, Wicked found Angela had gone. Though Celia seemed nice, Wicked wanted to talk to the dark skinned woman. She had questions. So she scooped up the coat Angela had left, and walked outside.
It was nice out. Cool. Misting. Wicked was barefoot, and liked the feel of the cool boards against her feet. Looking around though, she didn't see Angela anywhere. Wicked scowled. Had she run off? And where was Shandra? She was supposed to be fast. Wicked plopped down, letting her feet down onto the dirt between the steps of the bar and the cobblestone road. She liked the feel of dirt between her toes. Something started to seep into her mind. She'd been hasty in her actions. She could have seen to the man herself. Could have at least taken him with her. That was stupid of her. Childish. She wasn't a child no matter how she looked. The thugs hurt the old man, but he could have died because she got angry.
As she looked down. Something caught her eye. What was that? Wicked spied what looked like sticks, but they were too straight, and the end was glinting in the light from the Bar window. Reaching down, she lifted the halves, and immediately recognized an arrow-bolt of some kind. She didn't know why, but it seemed out of place. Of course a bar like this, there might be something like this outside. Maybe a patron dropped it? Some ruffian with a loose quiver? But it was snapped. And it wasn't in the road. Her eyes were drawn to the side.
A crumpled up piece of paper nearby. It was still somewhat clean. Wicked pursed her lips. Instinct drew her attention to it, and she picked it up. Unfolding it, she read the note. Crassnov? Didn't Shandra and Angela say something about Crassnov? Was he the one behind all of this? Wicked got to her feet, preparing to head to the place in the note, until she stopped herself.
No. She had to be careful. She had to think first. And she couldn't just leave. Despite her aggression, Celia showed mercy. She didn't want to involve the woman in whatever was going on and put more danger on the bar. But. Maybe. Maybe Shandra?
Shandra and Angela seemed to have a connection. They were friends. Maybe more? Wicked didn't get those things. She didn't have any friends except for her skeletons. Wicked calmly folded up the paper, and waited for Shandra to return. Then she would decide what to do. If Angela had already left to deal with this, Wicked wanted to help. She wanted whoever these people were to hurt. She didn't know Angela. And she didn't yet care about her. But she was willing to walk into a trap to protect Celia's bar?
Wicked sighed. She didn't know enough about what was going on. She was frustrated, and getting a headache. Was Angela a good person? Shandra? If Shandra did take care of the old man, well Wicked would owe her as well. Besides. Wicked didn't know this town.