closed. beneath the staircase built from hair and bone

[delphian]

WHO: Yseult, Ellie, Tsenka.
WHAT: Can Yseult be one of Yseult's own angels? Discuss. (The Gang Stops An Assassination.)
WHEN: Mutters something into my hand
WHERE: the unveiling of Lady Nicoline de Deauvin's new elaborate indoor conservatory, Orlais
NOTES: on assignment, content warning for MISSION STATUS SICK.

Marshall Castex has a new personal guard.

As long as at least two of them aren't speaking, they fit in seamlessly with the rest — presumably once they've got blood on the uniforms, it'd be all right if they kept them? Tsenka isn't mad at the figure she cuts in hers, her hair and mask carefully concealing the high points of her ears. Tall for an elf, she passes for average-if-thin for a human; nothing that would stand up to greater scrutiny, but no one is going to have their attention drawn today to query an elf performing the job a chevalier might. She hasn't foregone her staff, but hidden it within the hothouse where it'll be unlikely to be stumbled upon by anyone else and swiftly to hand in the event that all bets are off.

At the moment,

all bets are not off. Right now, it's the tedious hurry up and wait of it all, letting the murmur of other people's conversations go through her, a sharp eye out for this Jade and only half an ear on the possibility that someone might actually manage to say something of interesting.

Translating Orlesian bullshit into relevant information is not yet something at which Tsenka is terribly experienced. She's trying to look on this as practise, but there's an itch under her skin for the part where she gets to punch someone in the face.

And—

She catches Ellie's eye, Yseult's. Tips her head, almost more a gesture of the eyes than anything else. Doesn't that look like a mercenary to you.

Those, she knows much better than nobility.