Ilithyia sat at the bar, alone, nursing a alcohol-free starfly. If there were ever a day for hard liquor, this was it. Passing a hand over her tightly pulled back hair, she sighed, eyes boring into the richly reflective auburn counter. Still decked in her uniform greens, she glared at the face staring back at her. Big blue eyes, tightly-drawn but full lips. High cheeks and furrowed brow. Not a face she liked to see; anger made her already unlovely face even less attractive.

Damn clocking wick. She remembered the boy's face, his eyes. She took another swallow of the sweet drink, the saccharine juice turning to tar and worse on her tongue. If she could have, she would ave found Alstair and cried on his shoulder. Instead, she was going to do something she regretted. Smiling bitterly at the barkeep, she unbuttoned her collar.

"A straight Blushing Hingle, please."

Fion turned from cleaning glasses to look at her newest customer. She recognised Ilithyia immediately but the uniform was a shock to the system. She'd only seen her in plainclothes before. Seeing the wicks be shuffled out of the city made her hate the Seventen more and more. Being faced with one of their number cleared the smile from her face. She retreated to a safer place, hidden beneath an emotionless, stoney mask.

"Of course, ma'am." Fion said, lips tilted in a manner that was entirely neutral.

She served the drink in record time before turning away. If someone like her saw Piran on the streets, they would take him away. Stealing a child because of orders. She wanted to rage and spit but she kept it back.

She mumbled a few expletives in tek under her breath.

Una strode purposefully towards the bar, it was getting dark and technically the night was young. She had work to do, no clients to please and no-one to follow. Boredom was creeping in her mind, like a vine at an old house. Remembering her airs and graces she slid onto the stool in a fluid motion carefully adjusting her dress all the while. Once satisfied she gestured toward the barkeep, already tasting the sweet liquor.

Whilst waiting Una idly inspected her nails, and brushed the few stray strands out of her eyes. She was wearing one of her favourite dresses, the type that just makes everything look perfect. It was a midnight blue halter neck gown that came down to the floor, not the most practical of pieces but it did really do wonders for her br…

“Oh hel-oh” Una thought to herself. Not too far away from her a figure decked in Seventen uniform was nursing a drink. She cocked an eye at the woman and thought she remembered that person from somewhere. Her brain whirred into action, she carelessly let her small purse slide off her leg and onto the floor.
Una giggled aloud “These dresses are ever so slippery..” and reached down to pick up the forlorn bag. Her eyes locked on the woman. As she righted herself on the stool, it came back to her. It was that horrendously tall girl from school. Maybe Una could still have some fun after all.

Scooting off her stool Una sashayed towards her former classmate and with an icy smile questioned “ Don’t I know you from somewhere?” emphasizing her splendid body.

Ilithyia noticed the strange woman's field, but hadn't bothered to look up from her drink. Alcohol coursed through her system without barrier; she hadn't eaten in awhile, and her skin suddenly felt electrified and she was jittery. It was like adrenaline, but instead of jolting both body and mind into feverish activity, her brain felt slower, more relaxed.

She smiled at the barmaid and seamstress, recalling her marvelous work on the dress and kindness in the shop. She never looked at me like I was all the evils of the world. Maybe I'm not so bad after all...

"Thank you so much, Fion. Hard day... for everyone. " She sighed, taking another sip of the Blushing Hingle. She wanted to say more, but she wasn't sure how the human would take the whines of a galdor.


Iliya look up from her drink to the galdor next to her, hand slowly coming to grip the stool. Oh goddess no. She finally recognized the redhead from school; in fact, she had been a particular bane to the young Ilithyia. She had been a social queen, the axle of popularity in Brunnhold. Everything that the fat, hideously tall and overly strong Ilithyia had wanted to be. While she wondered why the well-to-do woman would even remember her, Ilithyia's inborn manners and politeness forced her to smile warmly and duck her head respectfully.

"Yes, I do believe we went to school together." She noticed, rather inadvertently, how Una's frame had gone from good to brilliant. Ilithyia knew she had improved since school, but she was still gawky, too large in too many areas. Oh Alioe, it's quite unfair.

((psst, Ilithyia knows Fion from her seamstressing work, remember that dress ))

((Fixed it! Whew, out of it))

Siduri was in a bad state. His nerves were frayed already without the added stress of a hectic day at work. With all of the new political movements coming through, he was suddenly up to his ears in paperwork, and despite his diligent and consistent work habits, he still hadn't managed to complete the day's tasks which had been allotted to him. Consequently, he was making plans to either arrive early or stay late the next day. . .depending on how much he had to drink.

Normally, he was not much of a drinker; for one thing, he had a rather painfully low tolerance for alcohol, and though he had yet to show himself as a chatty drunk, he couldn't risk spilling any of the numerous secrets he currently held. Not to anyone. Besides, growing up in the Stacks, Siduri had seen plenty of drunks who got themselves into bad situations, and alcoholics who did so consistently. Unlike his comrades at school perceived it, alcohol had never been a fun and wildly exciting commodity to him. Even so, there were some days which just called for something to take the edge off them. This happened to be one of them.

Siduri stalked moodily into the Paper Tiger and went straight to the bar, ignoring the other customers around him. He slid onto a bar stool and immediately slouched, a far departure from the ramrod-straight posture to which he was accustomed. Impatiently, he drummed his fingers on the counter, waiting to catch the barmaid's attention.

Fion gave the new galdor a look of interest as she started to needle at Ilithyia. She recognised this dance and wondered just how it would end. In the Stacks such competitions were often decided by contest, darts or pool for preference. The glow of winning was softened by owing everyone a round. It was a good sytem, though she doubted it would work here.

She felt a pointed gaze upon her back and turned to serve a new customer, slumped unhappily against the bar. She mustered a smile, trying to ignore the tart conversation behind her.

"Hello Sir, what can I serve for you... today..." Fion was stabbed by a piercing sense of deja vu. The man almost looked familiar.

She was mistaken, maybe he'd been a student at Brunnhold while she was still working in the Stacks.

Siduri would have been utterly mortified had he even remotely suspected that Fion might recognize him. Instead, however, he brushed some loose strands of dark hair back from his face and scowled. "Something that will get me drunk fast, preferably without putting me in a coma," he replied flatly. "Beyond that, I don't care."

As it happened, this was absolutely true. Noticing that the barmaid was a human, he found himself half tempted to take out some of his frustration on her in the form of a sharp tongue-lashing, but thought better of it. After all, he still needed her to serve him drinks. In a paroxysm of both irritation and despair, he let the bag he had carried over his shoulder drop to the floor beside him with a thud, not even caring what was in it.

“That my dear is simply splendid and how charming!” exclaimed Una. Mentally scrabbling around to find the woman’s name. “So my darling, what have you been doing all these years?”

Una was trying to buy time, it was in plain sight what the woman had been shoving her ugly body into. Ok Una think clearly. YOU. ARE. A. DETECTIVE. For clocks sake.

DETECT AND PRY.

The clock hand struck 12 in Una’s mind. Cutting in before the fool could open her mouth and resting a manicured hand on her shoulder, mentally reminding herself to wash her hands later. She gushed “Pray tell Illy Lar…” Una faltered. Oh crap. She could only remember the deliciously cruel childhood nickname she had given her...

Fion pulled a bottle out from onder the bar. It was labelled entirely in foreign, she'd yet to meet anyone who could read the label. It had an alcohol content high enough to put Fion down.

She knew, they'd all tried it one night.

The liquid was clear with an undercurrent of blue. She poured Siduri a shot carefully, respectful of the hell brew. She stood back and waited for him to take a sip.

Illy wondered how to answer that question. Well, I was so horridly scarred after school I joined the Seventen academy, where I turned my strength and height to my advantage and worked out all of my anger by absolutely throwing myself into workouts. I finally got into the Seventen proper only to be charmed by an older man who wants to take over the world, and be so absolutely enchanted that I slept with him. And that today I kicked wicks out of the city who had as much right to be here as I did. What in the world can I say to you, Una? But her thoughts were interrupted by the other woman.


Ilithyia didn't turn red, nor did anything about her change physically. Even her field didn't register the emotion. She had gotten good at hiding in school, and it didn't fail her now. But the old nickname was as close as she could get to remembering what it was like to be back at school, alone and unwanted. Her hand drifted to her snap, and she twisted it, recalling ill-fitting uniforms and cold-eyed peers.

Every step forward she had taken in the last few days glowed in her mind; she was ugly, she was undesirable, she had brailed, but she was strong as hell, Alstair obviously wanted her, and she was all grown up. So, instead of fading into herself like she would have as a kid, or yelling at the woman like she could have, she smiled, holding herself behind a shield. It was a loose one, but after today, she needed all the internal defense she could get.

"Oh, you know. Just the usual kinds of thing." She waved at her uniform, a small smile on her lips. "I usually go by Ilithyia nowadays, Una." She grinned lightly, like she was letting her in on an old joke. "Decided to join the Seventen, if you can believe it. The bookworm became a law-woman!" She glanced at the man, wondering why he needed such a strong drink, but mostly distracted by her old 'friend.' "What have you been doing since school?"

He watched with marked disinterest as she set about getting his drink. Normally, being rather attentive by nature, he might have noticed the care she took in retrieving the bottle and pouring a shot for him. . . care which bordered on wariness. However, the distractions of his foul mood, an oncoming stress headache, and the simple fact that she was a human and thus not worthy of his attention caused the circumstances to change. Even though his eyes were more or less on Fion, his mind was elsewhere, on the very same dilemma which had consumed his waking moments ever since Alstair Murdoh had first approached him on the street. He was not even aware of having attracted Ilithyia's attention, although it was only a glance.

Whenever he let his guard down, the words What have I done? What have I gotten myself into? ran through his head like a mantra. He knew he had the capacity for ruthlessness, for cruelty even. After all, what was it but a natural extension of his fierce competitive streak? Even so, he found himself anticipating his next run-in with either the Seventen leaders or the rebellious upstarts with a mixture of eagerness and dread. He was convinced that his own undesirable lack of fortitude was responsible for most of the troubles which currently plagued him; falling behind in his work, his frayed nerves, his increasing desire for isolation.

He took the shot glass as it was slid towards him across the bar, without bothering to acknowledge the barmaid. Eying the drink warily, he lifted it and sniffed it once, his long nose wrinkling slightly. The color was certainly a bit off-putting, but he had, literally, asked for it. As such, it would hardly do to appear too hesitant. He took a moderate sip, downing about a third of the liquid in the glass--and nearly died. Unsure of how many people might be watching him, he struggled to maintain a straight face as the alcohol scorched its way down his esophagus. In order to keep himself from coughing and hacking, he held his breath, face reddening with the effort of doing so. It was a long moment before he felt secure enough to breathe, taking in a deep, slow lungful of air and resisting the intensely self-conscious temptation to glance around and make sure no one had noticed him.

"Jerk." Fion thought to herself.



Fion watched Siduri with interest as he tried to avoid choking on the liquid. In a fit of pique she poured herself a shot, looked him in the eye and downed it.

"Yum." She said blandly. "Would you like another one Sir, once you're done, or perhaps something else?"

If he dared her into drinking two she'd fall over.

As he regained his composure, he narrowed his green eyes at her obvious insolence. Then, he raised a single eyebrow. "Drinking on the job," he muttered under his breath, although he made no attempt to keep Fion from hearing. In fact, he went to far as to direct his next expression of bitterness towards her, making absolutely no attempt to hide his disdain. "Par for the course, I'm sure, among pox-ridden plowfeet such as yourself. If I need anything else, I'll order it, and until then, I'll ask you not to address me."

Fion lent over a little closer and whispered. "That's what barmaids do."



Fion lent back and nodded, no longer attempting to speak. It wasn't as though this was new and he was annoyed enough for it to not bother her. She'd dealt with Dom Leon and no one else really compared to that level of annoyance.

She walked a few steps away and began to sing a song under her breath, softly enough that Siduri would only have been able to catch a word or two.

"Oh there once was a lightweight camped by a Billabong, under the shade of a Coolabah tree and he sat and he scowled and waited 'til his temper boiled, oh who'll come a waltzing Mathilda with me..."

Una thought a little before replying to Ilithya’s statements. Evidently this mouse did not want to play with the cat. But then the mouse being Seventen added a whole new level to the game. She reminded herself she was not invincible, however she was clocking good with words and so the game went on.

Affectionately rubbing her old preys shoulder with Una grinned and pouted “But… but you’ll always be Illy to me… and the Seventen sounds simply thrilling it’s nice that you have put your extraordinary height to such a good use!”

In one swift movement she seemed to have drawn a small yet elegant business card out of thin air and with a flourish presented it to her friend. “Una Stillwater Private Dectective.” And with a cocky wink Una added “Can I use my insurmountable riches to buy a law-woman a drink to assist in forgetting the old times and to bring in the new?”

This time the words struck home. pinkness clouding her face, Ilithyia grabbed her drink and downed most of it in one gulp, trying to hide her sudden shame. Una... was always too good at cutting someone down. The Seventen tried to grin off the old insult, but found this one much, much harder to muster. The vodka rushed through her bloodstream, and she was now regretting the addition of alcohol to her day. You clocking fool girl.

"Yes, well, I knew I was going to find my niche somewhere. Being in the Seventen really lets me do some good." She flushed, remembering the wick boy. Well... maybe not good. At least orders. She sighed and smoothed a hand over her hair.


"Oh, um, thats awfully kind of you." She didn't dare turn down the drink, politeness ruling her, but she was wary of drinking more. She had been completely sober when she had... on the roof... well. She didn't know how well she would hold her liquor. "A detective, really? That's wonderful, Una." You're using your skills at prying into people for a job. You... really are a piece of work. She smiled, hoping that somehow the negative thoughts would go away before she said something she regretted.

The tune that Fion mumbled caught her attention, and Ilithyia looked down the bar again. He was... certainly going to be regretting that shot tomorrow.

Siduri sat stewing for a moment as he tried to decide what to do next. Frustratingly enough, he could already feel the alcohol taking effect, and it was certainly slowing his already deliberate decision-making process. Confronting the irritating woman would probably be more trouble than it was worth, but ignoring her would be almost tantamount to encouraging her, giving her more fodder with which to humiliate him. No, the best course of action would be to find out her name and add it to his list of people in need of comeuppance. . . .It was a rather long list.

However, this train of thought was suddenly interrupted when he heard a snatch of the conversation which was going on beside him at the bar.



Seventen. The last thing he wanted to hear right now. In the back of his slightly alcohol-fuzzed mind, he wondered whether she was in on the conspiracy, too. . . and suddenly, belatedly, everything clicked into place. Illy. . . Ilithyia. This was her, the Seventen initiate that Alstair had mentioned by name. He shifted slowly, trying to make himself inconspicuous as he leaned forward over his drink and let his dark bangs slip forward over his eyes. Under the cover of his own hair, he chanced a glance at her from the corner of his eye, taking a moment to size her up, no pun intended. However, like most of the new faces he'd been dealing with in recent days, she looked as though she would have no problem beating him to a bloody pulp. Fantastic.

A tingle of satisfaction graced Una’s face as she watched her quarry flush with shame and then guzzle down her drink. Even if she did look more like a woman now Lardgardis still hasn’t grasped the finer points of being a lady. Una was winning the battle, and let a satisfied smirk play on her lips.



“I know it is wonderful, I’m the luckiest girl in the world and the salary isn’t too pitiful either.” Una tossed one of her lustrous curls over her shoulder and with a gleam in her eyes asked Illy “So what’s your poison? I know mines always a Balshem’s Chrove. Spicy yet gorgeously smooth. Hmm I think a Hatcher Piss for you maybe. Always so sour…” Una’s voice was laden with sarcasm that only the bitchiest of women can achieve.

Una was so intent on bringing the giant down to size she had only just noticed the foolish boy that couldn’t handle his drink. Oh well best let the idiot suffer the consequences, Illy was much more fun to play with.

Ilithyia could only take so much, before something of the claws she had earned from the academy started to show. With a rich chuckle, she touched her snap, grinning with many teeth but no feeling.

"Heh, if I'm going to be drinking something real, it'll have to be a magma. I can't abide weakness of any kind." There was a certain trill at the end, an emphasis on weak, that normally Illy would have been mortified at insinuating. But she'd taken ten years of abuse, and now she that she was finally crawling out of that hole, she could only take so much more.

Smiling, she wondered how far the alcohol would take her when it came to insults. There weren't many physically cruel ones Una had, but there were certainly rumors from back int he old days...

"It's quite grand that you're doing well for yourself, Una." It looked like you were going to die in a bottle back in school, she though maliciously. And yet here you are. Funny world it is.

Damn that clocking wench. Being a Seventen had given the bitch some bite. This was so ruining her fun, after all the game is only good when you’re winning. Maybe it was time for Una to play that card she had hidden in her clutch.



Una laughed a laugh that could shatter ice. She let the blood run cool in her veins, every ounce of evil was about to be unleashed. Seventen or not she was still Lardgardis and she needed to be put in her rightful place. Under the darling “jewels of galdor society”.

“So Illy-kins, you have picked your poison, no?” Una leant in closer to the fat poxy fool. “How about we play a little game, me and you? Sort the women from the pigs. I know a rather splendid one that we will certainly enjoy” Una couldn’t help the giggle escape from her throat. “ So shall we let the games begin?” And with a malicious grin she laid a shill on the bar.

Alioe, really? This is something they used to do in school. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to keep her expression from showing the disgust she felt. I know how this'll end... then again, I have more mass. I should be able to take more than she ever could dream of.

She smoothed a hand over her hair, and suddenly a very fey wind brushed at her slightly intoxicated brain. Oh, clocking hell why not? Undoing the bun, her thigh length auburn hair cascaded down, and she knew it was beautiful because it was the only thing she obsessed over regularly.

"Oh, it's my time off. I see no reason not to, Una. If we are sorting the real women apart..." Her smile became that of a cougar who has a wolf in its sight; amused, guarded, but unafraid. Time to show you what the Seventen is made of, you hounding bitch.

Smiling roguishly at Una, Illy pushed the shill across the counter and waved a hand towards Fion. "A Balshem's Cream and a shot of magma, please." There was a special emphasis on please that made the word a prayer instead of a request, hopefully only discernible to the older woman. Although her smile was still in place, her eyes gave Fion a semi-pleading look. She didn't want to look like the idiot around the human... but she had her honor to keep up.

Turning back to Una, she flicked at her long hair, smiling with forced grace. "So, whats the game?"

Fion wondered which she was supposed to hate more. She'd never liked people who were willfully mean, which clearly this Una was. She also wasn't fond of people that helped kick an entire race out of a city. At least Piran was at Khymarah's now.

And Illthyia had said please.

Fion poured the drinks and placed them in front of their respective owners. She waited in front of them, tempted to raise her teatowel and bring it down like a start flag.

((Do you guys want me to mod your drunkeness competition?))

Siduri listened to the two women going at one another in some of the most bitter verbal sparring he'd heard in a very long time. It was obvious to him, even though he was hardly operating at full capacity, that there was a great deal of pent-up spite between the two of them. It was the first time he had really taken note of Ilithyia's companion, but now his attention was drawn to her as well. After a moment, he redirected his gaze down towards the still half-full glass before him; although being a pessimist by nature, Siduri would normally have assumed the glass to be half-empty, the prospect of taking even one more sip of the nefarious demon booze was by far the less attractive prospect of the two.

The women beside him, he realized, were about to embark on some sort of drinking contest. For clock's sake, was this really how the Seventen spent their free time? If so, it was quite possible he had been worrying far too much. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly to steady himself. It was beginning to feel as though some of the weight on his shoulders had lifted. A drinking contest, really. . .how utterly juvenile. . .

And it was then that it struck him. He knew them. He knew both of them. Not personally of course, not exactly, but they'd all been at Brunnhold together. Granted, they had been a few years ahead of him, but he still recognized them. Siduri had very mixed feelings about this latest realization of his. Surely they hadn't recognized him, as well. . .or at least he hoped not. . . The worst thing he could possibly imagine him was that they would remember him as he was during his first year or so, particularly in the first few months: introverted, weak, and mercilessly teased. He ducked his head again, as inconspicuously as possible in an attempt to evade being recognized, and hoped that the two of them would be far too absorbed in their own feud and subsequent drinking contest to pay him any mind.