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WHO: Ashey Pelt and the various inhabitants.
WHAT: The new maid makes herself at home and is moderately suspicious in the process.
WHEN: Time Isn't Real
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: If your character is good with languages or accents, feel free to have them recognize the underpinnings of Tevinter in Ashey Pelt's accent. Even if your character is not good at any of those things, please feel free to have them recognize that Ashey Pelt's accent is terrible and fake.

i. The Fine Art Of Line Placement

Ashey generally tries not to think ill of people, but there is something very frustrating about a poorly selected drying spot. Naturally, the concerns of employers not having to acknowledge that the laundry did not simply clean itself by magic were to be taken into account. And the temperamental weather of the season, where one could very easily lose hours of work or be left with perpetually damp fabrics.

Both were entierly out of the question, particularly during a grippe outbreak when clean bedclothes would be needed in surplus.

Her course chosen, Ashey immediately sets out. The person she ends up approaching does not seem to be one of the residing lords or ladies, so she doesn't hesitate to call out.

"I beg your pardon," she says, in what she hopes is a reasonable approximation of a Marcher accent, but manages to sound strangely Antivan, "Would you happen to know where I might find a compass?"

ii. Perfectly Reasonable Responses to Deep Seated Trauma

Once upon a time there was a girl who wanted more than anything to become a mage to please her family. However as her birthdays came and went and her magic powers failed to appear, the family began to take increasingly drastic measures in an attempt to prompt the girl's powers to manifest. One day her step mother locked the girl in a room with three giant cave spiders. The girl survived, but despite her step mother's best intentions, her power still did not manifest. Instead, she developed acute arachnophobia.

Which is why Ashey in the library in the early hours of the morning, grim faced and pale, her dusting cloth clutched in her hand as she stares at a (huge, massive, one could very nearly see each individual leg) spider on the wall.

iii. Obligatory Second Person Prompt

The trouble with fortresses that span the length and width of an island is they are very large and have many rooms. So it's perhaps not entierly surprising when a new comer gets hopelessly lost. It's perhaps a little surprising when the door to the room you're in suddenly opens and a woman in a maid uniform steps through, takes a look around and then addresses you with refined gravitas punctuated by an absurd accent.

"I haven't a clue where I am."

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This causes a curious tilt of Fifi's head, and she pauses to rest with one hand on her hip.

"The Provost and his wife live in Hightown," she explains, "...unless perhaps you were to fetch something from his office?" It's entirely possible the new girl was given bad instructions.

She does fairly well at keeping her composure, considering she's doing an excellent job of making a wild fool of herself in front of her fellow maid.

"Not unless he keeps filthy bed linens in his office," she says, lightly, "Do many of Riftwatch's agents live in Hightown?" It might be worthwhile to know, considering nobility tended to be fussier about their laundry.

The elf doesn't seem bothered one way or the other-- the Gallows is a big complex, after all, and the last thing she's going to do is lash out at someone in a position similar to hers.

"A fair few," she muses, thinking on it, "though luckily they'll tend to have their own staff back at home. I wouldn't worry about it." A gentle smile as she tilts her head at the woman.

"You're new?"

"It would simplify things enormously if there are fewer nobles to cater to," she says, thoughtfully, reshuffling her expectations of the laundry. She blinks and returns the smile, nodding politely, "I am, yes. Have you been on staff for long?"

"That it would," Fifi sighs, with a subtle roll of her eyes, and nods.

"Josephine Mariette," she says with a little curtsy, "call me Fifi, if you like. I've been here for several years now, and am the personal maid of Lady Alexandrie d'Asgard."

"Ashey Pelt." She returns the curtsy with practiced ease. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Mariette. I hope I won't inconvenience you too much while I get used to all of." She gestures a little to encompass the whole island. "This."

Fifi shakes her head stubbornly. "It takes time," she insists, "and you will not be left defenseless. Shall I give you the tour?"

It's not like Madame d'Asgard will mind.

"That would be lovely," she says, smiling, but glances around at the office, "As long as it won't get you in any trouble with Madame?"

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sorry my head has been miles away lately RIP

samsies