[open]

[heirring]

WHO: Wysteria & YOU
WHAT: Anchor-related adventures and/or drama in fantasy September.
WHEN: Kingsway
WHERE: Various
NOTES: Some anchor and rift-related peril; open stuff is in the comments, but may use this as a catch-all. If an open prompt doesn't suit you, feel free to wildcard me or hit me up and I can write something bespoke. Prose or brackets is a-okay.

Comments

[bouchonne]

"As is to be expected," he replies easily, hands tucked into his pockets. "Her heart is as compassionate as her wit is wicked."

Then, without pause, "So you admit that you are suffering illness?"

[heirring]

If she frowns a little harder at the ferry, maybe the oarman will sense some unknown flicker of dismay and pull a little faster. It's worth trying.

"These things do happen from time to time, Mister Rutyer. It is not entirely out of the ordinary, even at the end of summer."

[bouchonne]

"It is not," he agrees, exasperated, "but typically when illness strikes, the response is to lay abed and recover, not to - use one's parcels to keep one from collapsing."

He takes a step closer.

"You should be on bed rest, Miss Poppell. Who sent you out on this errand? Was it Stark?"

[heirring]

"It is my own errand. Mister Stark has nothing at all to do with it."

Never mind that the large parcel clutched to her is stamped with the mark of some known maker of rope and field leathers and all manner of things a respectable young lady would be unlikely to purchase for herself.

"And I was quite well this morning. And—" A pause. She looks abruptly around at him and is frowning still when she says, "You are meant to be calling me 'de Foncé' now, you know."