RP:Foxglove and Belladonna

From HollowWiki

Part of the A Few Fox Tales Arc


This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.


Summary: Ina comes to Vailkrin looking for Quintessa, a known practitioner of the dark arts and poison making. She finds her quarry in the Hanging Corpse Tavern but before they can get down to business, Ayras, a local rival of Quintessa, harasses the baroness and goads her into breaking her composure. She leaves the changeling with a threat before disappearing into the night, allowing Ina and Quintessa to discuss the details of poison making.


Hanging Corpse Tavern

This once-timber tavern has been rebuilt in sturdily vitrified blackstone and imbued with powerful protective magics that prevent occult fire and several other potentially harmful spells being cast within its walls. No effort has been spared to make what might otherwise be a bleak interior comfortable. The bar is made of polished stone with an oaken inlay, the space behind filled with a bustle of attractive barmaids, sundry barrels and a dazzling array of coloured bottles that glint in the light cast by a large wrought-iron chandelier suspended from the ceiling overhead. Here, the one-eyed Steadman stands, ready to take orders for food or drink. Beyond the bar, stout tables are firmly bolted to the floor, though the high-backed chairs are freestanding. The hearth is a true feature, seeming to be cast from black lava into the shape of a colossal, laughing goblin's head, its maw gaping wide and deep, usually containing a merrily crackling fire. A delicious scent of roasting meats drifts in from the kitchens and a winding staircase leads to rooms upstairs. To the south are set cellar doors, usually kept locked unless a special event is taking place, and up the stairs are various rooms for rent. The walls are hung with thick, richly woven tapestries depicting persons and events in the history of Vailkrin and the vampiric race. There's also a notice-board near the entrance, where one may leave messages. Unobtrusive but ever-present are the security staff, staunch fighters ever ready to toss troublemakers out.


Arlyeon rotates yet again, causing her head to spill out from one of those plush fireside chairs where her legs ought to be, whilst one leg is dangled over the back of the chair, and another is thrown over it's arm. Her own arms, for their part, are busy being folded over her chest for reasons of looking all imperious and such, and not at all because she needs to ensure that the extra playing cards carried there don't spill out onto the ground. I mean, sure, she is wearing an outfit that makes her look straight up like a card dealer, and might be fairly accommodating towards those particular ends, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared. In any case, the foxkin is B. O. R. E. D. "Pfffft. Waitin' sucks." A pause, and one vibrant emerald hued eye affixes on one of the taverns patrons, whereupon the foxkin can't help but quietly add, "But probably not as much as that one over there." And then more loudly, "Uuuuuuuugh."


Ayras was possibly that other patron that Arlyeon was referencing. She was, after all, sitting there with her cheek resting in her palm, the metal fingers of her left hand tapping rhythmically on her table, and her eyes fixed on a page in her book. By the gods, why couldn't priests write in a way that didn't make a person's mind go numb? With a growling sigh of her own she slams the book shut, unable to take anymore of the written droning that she could only compare to an elderly mage teaching a student what a spellbook was. "Steadmen," she called as she shifted in her seat, one long leg crossed over the other, "Some wine, hm? Forget the glass. Just bring me the bottle."


Arlyeon said, "Suuuuuckssssss."


Quintessa lazily strolls into the tavern accompanied by the cold winter air that wafts around her, entangling with the already cold aura of the changeling that sucked the warmth out of the air like entropy. Her fur-lined cloak billows gently as the door slams shut behind her, her left hand lingering on the katana at her side as she approaches the bar. The patrons glance over at the baroness, but nobody says a word to her, preferring to return to their drinks than provoke the ire of the hex blade. When Tessa reaches the bar she slides a note to him. "Steadmen," she says with a nod as he picks up the note and put it in his shirt pocket, "You been keeping an eye out?" The changeling gives him a pointed grin before moving a small bag of gold to the counter. "That should cover my tab." Quintessa turns away to lean against the bar, her arms folding over her body as she scans the room. The odd girl spots Ina but she doesn't move to approach her just yet. Ayras was here too, a woman who had made it know she'd be gunning for House Dragana last time she had spoken to her. A slow smirk grows on her face. She'd expected some kind of political maneuvering from the strange vampire but things had been quiet for now. "Put that bottle on my new tab," she tells Steadman, giving a mismatched glance over her shoulder, "And open a new bottle for myself. Leave that one too." Slender digits wave delicately in the direction of Ayras as she gives her a sinister grin. "On me," she informs her.


Arlyeon perks up with Quintessa's arrival, her arms unfurling as she proceeds to essentially slide out from the chair and towards the ground. Catching herself in an awkward semblance of a handstand, the foxkin totters for a moment, the lashing of her twin tails only adding to the discordant nature of the movement, before she promptly tips herself over towards one of the arms of the chair, swinging over it so that she can use that momentum to tip herself back over and onto her feet. As far as impromptu bits of acrobatics, it's actually sort of graceful in a weird way, but it's probably not too surprising that a few moments later she's looking a little bit green in the gills, "Shouldna done that." Without thinking about it, she draws a hand up to her mouth, as though it might help fend off the wave of queasiness that came with sitting up so quickly, only to think twice of the action and begin wiping off her fingers onto the arm of the seat. In any case, once she's somewhat sorted herself out, she provides her best facsimile of a professional but pleased grin for Quintessa, "Morning." ...Ina may have slept in today. It's fine. 22:06:02The vicious demon scampered off downwards.


Ayras rose from her seat, spiriting her book away to the gods only know where as she strolled her way over to the bar to collect her bottle of wine. A small pouch of coins was handed to the barkeep as the vampire gave a pointed stare to the changeling. "I can cover my own drinks," she said, her voice barely disguised venom. There would be no debts, no matter how small, between the two. Not unless Ayras was on the benefiting end, anyways. The sight that catches her attention from the corner of her eye, though, has the black-and-silver eyed vampire turning her gaze towards Arlyeon, a curious look on the redhead's face. "Strange." She shook her head as she opened her bottle before she lifted the thing to her lips. The pull she took was hardly lady-like.


Quintessa can't help but laugh out loud at the reaction she got from Ayras. "Fine by me. You wouldn't want me to hold the two coin that bottle cost over your head now, would you?" She laughs again before grabbing her bottle and scooting closer to Ina. "Hello there," she says, pulling the cork from the bottle, "I'm keeping that hammer head, by the way. It's the perfect size and shape for scaping the mud from my heels." The changeling taps a two inch spike on the wooden, making a satisfying -click-click- as she does so. "House Torradork is just gonna have to suck it up. It belongs to House Dragana now."


Arlyeon stretches out, leaving her rocking on the arm of the chair. For a brief moment, her flingers wriggle in the changelings direction, as though she were contemplating latching on for the sake of balance, but she instead suffices with folding them up behind her head, "Ja coulda told me ya were her royal-whatsit-ladyship of house Dragana, ya know. 'm Not exactly illiterate." The foxkin cants her head off towards the message board, for a moment, before she can't help but add, "Even if playing dumb does get me outta readin' borin' stuff." And then her head tosses in the other direction, her attention flicking towards Ayras, "I appreciate that very descriptive self introduction, thank ya very." Weirdly, that remark is accompanied by what looks to be a rather genuine, albeit altogether manic grin on the foxkins part- like someone carved the smile into place. And it doesn't fade when she turns her attention towards Quintessa, "Dat's fine. S'not like it's gonna be dissapointin' anyone. Though, uh- on that front. I might need your help to do just that. Like, on the largest of scales. With maybe some disquiet, discomfort and disgust mixed in fer good measure."


Ayras wanted nothing more than to throw her bottle at the back of Quintessa's head. She was sure Steadmen was, in fact, expecting something like that. Things tend to break when Ayras was around. Like windows - but that wasn't her fault, gods damnit! "It's unlikely you could hold anything over my head, to be frank," she said flatly to the self-proclaimed baroness. Whether she was being literal, standing at over six feet tall as she did, or figurative was up for debate. It was just as likely as not that she wasn't understanding metaphors at the moment. She twisted to turn away, but a jolt and a wince kept the death knight's body straight as a pencil, and a hand went to her side where it looked like blood was just starting to soak through her dress.


Quintessa throws a glance at the message board before she snickers at the foxkin. "I can't just going around telling random people my identity. I wanted to gauge your reaction first," the changeling flashes her a fanged smile before she opens her mouth to say, "Also, your act was convincing. Illiteracy was the least of my assumptions." Quintessa waves her hand in dismissal. "But anyway, what's this about causing discomfort and disgust?" she chuckles, "I'm pretty good at that, depending on the target." With that said the odd girl turns back to face Ayras, a low growl building in her throat as she sets her bottle down, untouched. "What's that?" Her dark aura creeps out from her body like a black tentacle made of mist to trace around the death knight, trying to taste whatever magic she might be wielding. "I've felled opponents far more intimidating than you. Just the other day I cut down Gevurah, the Matron of the Underdark, in the Red Skull arena with this very sword." Her hand moves to grip the sheath before her mismatched eyes catch sight of the blood. "Hmph, but it looks like you're already injured. I'd stop trying to talk big if I were you."


Arlyeon puffs up her chest, a motion that might be a little bit more pronounced than normal courtesy of a touch of fox magic- if only so she can exude the right quantity of pride, "Why thank ya, thank ya. I put a lotta effort in puttin' my best foot forward. In being a consummate actorrrrr." Ina, plz. So, it might have slightly gone over her head for what she's being 'praised' for. "But any which- ...er." Whilst she was all but prepared to launch into her spiel, she bites her tongue, both figuratively and literally as she watches the exchange between the death knight and changeling, her smile finally giving way to a wince. "I think I can wait till you two are done flexin', though. Just uh, gimme a sec to see if I can maybe round up some bets on this first." Ina's finally feeling sorted out enough to get to her feet, something which has her scooting to her feet so she can sidle her way towards the bar. Really, she just wants to see if Steadmen's expression might give away which of the Patrons he seems most concerned about breaking things, since that one is probably going to be the one with the best odds, "When ja two are done, we can resume our prior gig, and this new one. It's . It's. Uh." How do you discretely mention that it's for something pertinent to working for a rogues/assassin guild. " Stabby fun time things." Nailed it.


Ayras did throw her bottle, this time. Her posture straightened, the silver gone from her eyes as the black takes full hold. There was certainly some sort of power radiating from the woman, but whatever it was, it was not a magic of the traditional sense. "You bested a child leading toddlers in an underground crib," she chided the head of House Dragana, a dual-timbre taking hold of her voice as the shared entity in her body leaked its influence into Ayras. "Even with my wound you would still not gain the upper hand." The black veins in the vampire's arm writhed and thickened until her flesh was darker even than a drow's, and as though it were growing from the very air around her the death knight's massive sword rose from the shadows at her feet. But, ya know, there's that two-tailed fox girl wandering around. She was at the bar talking about 'stabby fun' and stuff. The vampire wanted to lash out, but somewhere in the back of her mind the hamlet-eater in her was laughing about being teased with a good time. "Uhm. What?"


Quintessa gives Ayras an example of her honed reflexes, freeing the tempered steel of her katana from her sheath as it intercepts the bottle, cutting it cleanly in two. The wine from the bottle sprays everywhere, but before it could make contact with her the hex blade flicks her free wrist upward, freezing the liquid into dozens of crimson ice sickles. As the two halves to the bottle smash on either side of her, she motions her hand downward and rains sharp red hail down upon the death knight. With the frozen wine gone she throws one last smirk at her before her mismatched eyes flicker over to Ina. "No need to wait. I have nothing to gain from fighting this woman." The changeling returns her blade to her sheath, trying to ignore the disapproving looks from Steadman. "Go, on, Darkling. Tell me about Stabby-fun-times. I haven't had that kind of fun since I lived out in Xalious."


Arlyeon is in the process of bouncing in place, swapping from foot to foot as though the floor was lava- at least until the bottle goes flying. That's about the point where she freezes in place, her eyes following the arc of that impromptu projectile, both before and after it's sundered. It's only when the transformation of bloody booze into sanguine spikes is underway that she hops back onto a bar stool, somehow staying atop it as she spins full circle and ends up in a pose similar to Rodin's The Thinker statue. "When? Where..? Who!" She nods enthusiastically, "All really excellent questions. And alla which 'm not really able ta answer. Soooorry~" One finger draws up to her lips in a pantomime of a shooshing motion, before her attention flickers to Quintessa, "But ch'yeah for the greater....well, s'not good, but like. fer the sake of shenanigans, I was wonderin' if ya could help me make tha' mother of all indigestibles. Er rather, something that can be digested, but is gonna rightly not sit well in someones digestin, so that they'd be stuck with the worlds worst case of tha' runs." There's a pause here, her voice dropping a bit lower, "Baseline, it'd need ta inflict, or, ratha', afflict them mineral munchin' munchkins , n' by that 'm meaning dwarves."


Ayras : To be honest, just the fact that Quintessa used a katana reminded the vampire of Kasyr. And now she could only hear the changeling's voice with a French accent, regardless of if there was one or not. For the love of all that was unholy...If she had the time to facepalm, she would have. However, there was the issue of tiny needles of wine being flung her way. She disappeared even as she was rolling her head to the side in exasperation, shadows rolling over her body to consume her. It was a convenient trick, the shadow-walking, and one that had her rising from the floor to Quintessa's side. "Oh, there very well could have been something to gain from fighting me. No matter, though. As it stands, the next time I'll let you deal with the pack that decides to make its home so close to your own, then, if you think yourself so superior."


Quintessa narrows her eyes as her aura tastes the sweet trickle of shadow magic that carries the vampire out of sight. The changeling wasn't exactly one to fully rely on sight, so when Ayras appears next to her Tessa gives her a pointed grin. "Besides the entertainment value, I s'pose." She chuckles, not exactly sure what pack she spoke of, but it was no matter. "There is nothing in the Dark Forest that can best me. I'm the most terrifying monster in all of my demesne, remember that." With her warning levied, the hex blade gives Ina and approving nod. "Indigestibles? Afflictions? What are you looking for some kind of poison?" All of the amusement she was having drains from her being as the thoughts of experimenting with new compounds and ingredients eclipsing the thoughts about fighting. "Hmm, dwarves are hearty, but they can be poisoned like everything else. My studies at the Black Library have illuminated many secrets to poison-making that are only available to members of the Necromancer's Guild. Luckily for you, you're looking at a Novus Morior and Arcane Steward. If you come to my laboratory I can brew up a potion for you, but first I must research dwarven physiology to figure out what ingredients to send you after. Unless you want to just give them essence of nightshade. I keep many-many-many vials of Belladonna on tap."


Arlyeon 's a bit slower to track Ayras' uncanny relocation, though her familiarity with the peculiar has her looking less weirded out and more intrigued. That said, the continued back and forth does leave the foxkin puffing her cheeks out, an expression of discontent filtering over her features with such severity that it almost looks like there's literal smoke steaming out from between pursed lips. (There is.) She pauses for a moment to take in a breath of air, puffing out a ring of smoke a few moments later- if only to resume her look of blissful cherubic ignorance, "Novus whatsis? Arcane Stew? Wait, Bella- Noooo, Noooo. Maybe, Noooooooo. I'd rather it not be like, that obvious. And piles of corpses are -super- obvious, especially if you're in the same room as them. And that'd be bad." Ina nods sagely at these words of wisdom, "It's more like- I need them tied up figuratively. and what better way then making sure there's somethin' in the grub. Though, admittedly, I'd been considering Gamorg Cuisine, cuz I figured even dwarves might have a bit of issue keepin' that down. Though I also wanted to make sure they all got some inta them, before complaining about the quality of the cookin'" There's a sort of weird seriousness on the foxkins expression, her hands gesturing vigorously, as she goes over the mechanisms of horrifically pranking people. "And well, with you as a fellow mischief maker. . ."


Ayras snorted. "Correction; there -was- nothing in the forest that could best you." That greatsword of hers was hefted onto her shoulder as though it were nothing more than a gladius, and as she spun about it was very likely that a patron or two, were they not quick enough to duck, would find themselves getting slapped by a very large, very metal object. "I recommend keeping an eye on the werewolf population from now on." And with that, Ayras was gone, off into the eternal night, and from there, who knew.


Arlyeon said to Ayras, "Was that like a 'Yer a forest hobo' threat, or a 'Ya were keeping the forest in check , hush, hush' threat?"


Ayras said to Arlyeon, "Yes."


Arlyeon said to Ayras, "Ayy. Well, don't go blind from the moonshine. ..Or was it deaf?"


Quintessa raises a brow at Ayras. The changeling had studied werewolves at length in preparation for killing Karasu's lover and had a small stockpile of silver-laced vampire blood should she ever have a reason to eradicate them. Besides that, Quintessa had maintained a pretty fruitful relationship with the local lycans, though this threat made her feel uneasy about the fragile truce she had with the ferals. However, Quintessa did not need to show Ayras her hand just yet, this would simply be yet another reason to talk to Mahri. "Whatever you say, Muetmu." And then the strange vampire had faded into the void. "She's gone, enfin... Where were we? Ah yes. Dwarves, poison, sickness. If you want I can brew a potion of nausea. All I need is a little solanine and it's extremely common. It's in potatoes, tomatoes, aubergines... and in, er, nightshade. It occurs naturally in any part of the plant, including the leaves, fruit, and roots. If I reduce it down to a base, the poison can be used to cause nausea, diarrhea, vomiting, stomach cramps, burning of the throat, nightmares, headache, dizziness, itching, lots of things. This is very basic stuff. Just stop by House Dragana in the next few days and I'll have a few vials ready for you." Quintessa pauses for a moment to look her over, "I know I shouldn't ask why you are doing this, but if you need to poison I larger group of people I'll need more time. I only have one cauldron."


Arlyeon wriggles her fingers in a farewell to the fading vestige of what she only can assume is a murderous hobo bloodsucker, "Alas. I hardly knew ye. Never change that." And then she's spinning in her seat, to provide twin finger crossbows at at Quintessa, "Soooo. What's large? Because I'm just thinkin' like, muckin' up a taverns food for what'd be like, maybe a cauldrons worth 'a soup, 'n maybe a ...roast. Whatever. S'not like they're picky. Jus' everything must be fussed with fer a time, s'all. But, uh, lemme back this up a sec." She pauses at that, actively counting on her fingers, and then finally her toes when she starts to go over what 'Lots of things' probably entails. "I mean, that sounds about right. Whether it's coming up from their throats, or out their behinds, as look as it's an explosive mess that's awful ta clean up, n' likely a have em lookin' fer anywhere ta heave so they can keep their dignity. I jus' preferred the latter because it meant they'd probably be more likely ta look for privacy, but I'll take what I can get. I'm not gonna be too finicky, since you're doin' the leg work on an artisanal culinary disaster." There's a pause here, before she reconsiders, "Well. I'm doing the legwork, I guess yer doing tha', uh. chef...? work. . . .Brewer? Mixologist! ...No. No. Mmm. I'll get this. Just, lemme. . . ." Ina's hands move to her ears, tugging on them slightly as her brows furrow into a look of utmost concentration. Her tails, likewise, are currently in the process of lashing around her as she mumbles her way through fitting descriptions.


Quintessa thinks for a long moment. Poisoning food? This would work perfectly. "Large, like over two dozen. If you want me to poison the food for an entire dinning hall, I'll have to use a stronger mix. I warn you though, making a potion this potent may yield undesired results. Nothing too major. Hallucinations, loss of sensation, paralysis, fever, jaundice... ahem- death. But that's okay. What's a western omelet without breaking a few owl-bear eggs? By the time these fools realize what's hit them you'll be long gone, right? Right?"


Arlyeon is looking fairly thoughtful at that line of inquiry, but after a few long moments, she begins to nod her head. After all, she was intending on 'seasoning' the food, and then extricating herself to observe from what she'd deem a safe distance- so unless it was a particularly fast acting draught, it's not like she was overly liable to be caught up in things. And really, once their proper target ingested the special addition to their drink, it's not like they'd have to be overly mindful of things. Everything would be resolved, right? Owait, but the employer. . ."Uuuh. So, also, there is, entirely a small, but potentially possibility that payment may hinge on the survival of an individual that -might- be peripheral to all of this occurring. So uh, if we can hold our horses on death, and settle for just the devastation of digestive tracts, that might be good." There's a loud exhale there, the foxkin wiping at her forehead as it dawns on her just how close she came to forgetting that detail, "Is thatta thing?"


Quintessa glowers at the foxkin, the air around her body dimming as she narrows her eyes. "Payment?" the changeling knew nothing about gold being exchanged. "Are you trying to make me complicit in some shadowy job and you didn't have to decency to tell me?" It seems like for a moment that Quintessa is angry, but then the shadows hanging over her dissipate and she snickers. "Okay, I'll modify the mixture with lavender as a base so they'll fall asleep instead. Any other details that you've conveniently left out?" The dark spellcaster crosses her arms as her hip leans against the bar, "You'd better tell your employer that I helped you. I might be interested in whatever business you're in as well, and when this mission is successful they'll know I'm useful to them."


Arlyeon is shuffling side to side in her seat when Quintessa glowers, whiskers twitching as things grow theatrically dark around the changeling. She might also already be in the process of unhelpfully adding, "I am neva not doin' shady things. ...I think." That makes sense, right? In any case, her tails flick together and fall at ease when the snicker occurs, the foxkin planting her elbows onto her knees, and then propping her head up on her hands, "So like, still sickness 'n distress n' all- they're just more apt ta take a doze with their pants down or their heads in a toilet, instead of barfing up their insides?" There's twin thumbs up reserved for the Changeling if that's the case, alongside an altogether considerate (and maybe a bit overly abundant) bit of nodding on her part, "'Course. I can always pass on the name of a decent ...cauldroner? ..Herbologist ...?" Is she back on this tangent again, "Chemist?" Warmer. "... Potion slinger!" ...Goddamnit.


Quintessa can't help but smile at the way Ina goes on and on about what she should refer to Quintessa as in terms of her skills with potions and poisons. "Alchemist, I guess? Apothecary? Whatever, but don't give them my real name..." Quintessa leans in to whipser something to Ina.

Quintessa whispered to Arlyeon, "Call me Visha. Visha Kanya, the poison maker. I can't go around with people knowing who I am."


Arlyeon nods sagely in regards to this tidbit of knowledge, as well as what ensues. "Mmm. That works, that works. Arcane Apothecary has a ring to it, too. But yes, okay. I think that's sorted! So, a few days then, 'n I pass alla this on to them folks that 'm currently working for, so they can float more gin n' tonic jobs your way." This is the best worst designation for brewing badness for peeps, but the foxkin's not a fan of the drink, so it's fine. "Uh. Anyways, it occurred ta me- since yer using that hammerhead fer a paperweight, or doorstop, or what have ya." She pauses, before helpfully clarifying, "Like, tha stone thing, not da shark. Anyways." Her hands begin to rotate around each other in front of herself, slowly gathering speed as she continues, "Does this mean Imma be heading off on my ownsome, ta offload this stuff to house Torradorks. Like, Ta-daaaa?" Which is about the point where her hands flourish forward, "I mean, that's fine, if ya got beef. Just figured I'd clarify. Y'know, set tha ol' expectations."


Quintessa thinks about her rival house that she knows little about and decides to make the foxkin an offer. "Whatever they are paying you, I'll beat it. Bring that junk with you and I'll give you- what? A thousand? Two thousand gold? That should cover those minor artifacts."


Arlyeon pretends to mull over this offer for a few long moments, her face quirking into a number of odd contortions, her tongue even sticking out to the side at one point - all while her mind internally counts those gold coins. This was definitely not the time to mention that a set price had not been established for her junk, as it were- and that she'd merely been -hoping- to pawn these off onto house Torradorks by virtue of their reputation as collectors of art and oddities. And sure, whilst these could be considered memorabilia contingent to an act of performance art - this definitely seems like the surer bet. "Whilst I'd been hoping to mint a relationship with them, I'd be remiss in turning down a generous employer, especially one so knowledgeable on, uh, mixology. I just hope they aren't too sour at me, that I allowed this fine reminder of Cenril getting the bird yet again, for the low cost of," Cough, ahem, splutter, fast talking bits, "2,500 gold." She's giving such a cherubic smile right now, with her hands clapped together and folded over her lap.


Quintessa nods her head slowly. "Fine, two-thousand and five-hundred gold pieces, but only -after- you deliver the goods to House Dragana. You get the memorabilia, I'll start collecting green potatoes, we'll convene in the next few days at my manor. Now..." the changeling turns to snatch her bottle of wine from the counter, "If there is nothing else to discuss, I'd like to get started. Poisons are a passion of mine. An art. I'd like to get started as soon as possible."


Arlyeon may have stashed the goods in the room she was currently renting out at the tavern, so she's basically good to go. That said, advertising the ease of the journey is never recommended, so what she instead does it provide the changeling with a smile, a cheeky "Okie Dokie, n' catch ya later, then." before sliding off the seat and sauntering up the stairs. "Nice doin' business wit'cha."


Quintessa is already taking a long drink from the bottle when she turns back to look upon the foxkin with her mismatched eyes. "Hm? Oh, yes, yes. The pleasure is all mine and all that." And with that, the Baroness is off into the night, likely headed to fish around in a market place for the ingredients she needed.