Captain Wilson fought back tears as she slipped nimbly out of the modest dwelling, pulling the door closed as swiftly as she could behind her, without slamming it. She cringed as something heavy hit the other side of the wood, the endless string of slurred abuse accompanying it audible still. Swallowing the lump in her dry throat, she took a wavery breath and moved off down the path at a modest pace, wanting to be as far away from her father’s building as quickly as possible, without being too obvious about it. She didn’t think it would benefit her father or herself to be recognised as his daughter but it wouldn’t do to run.
After she’d turned a few corners and was back on the main path leading towards the Innerkeep’s southern gate she slowed down, her mind doing the racing instead. Her father had been particularly drunk this Worship Day, and she of no mind to tolerate his brittle words after seeing Dagger approach some dark skinned, exotic-looking strumpet after service (what the consequence of Dagger’s approach had been were lost on her, as she had exited the temple before them and had gone on about her business so as not to attract any unwanted attention on the way to the poorer section of town).
She’d grown impatient with her father, disgusted by the slovenly way he chose to live – she’d spent an hour tidying the house – and exasperated with his determination to aggravate her. Or so it seemed. He knew she wasn’t interested in hearing tales of his glorious guarding days or the special beauty of her mother, but on he rambled regardless, until she was forced to request his silence. Her prompts for information about his life now went unanswered and he became ill-tempered, cursing her intrusion on his life, her superior attitude, her fancy clothes, her face, so like her mother’s…
So she’d told him he’d do better getting some air, even in the snow, and letting go of a dead past. Dead past. Those were the words she’d used and they’d been a mistake, by Talon. He’d slammed his mug down, shattering it, shoving at the furniture and at her when she went to pick up the pieces, eventually throwing all the large chunks at her – and anything else within his reach on the table, especially the posy of winter tulips she’d brought – while he ranted about how ungrateful and evil she was, how she didn’t care or understand and didn’t deserve to be living.
Thus, here she was; crunching miserably through the snow, unable to enjoy the loveliness of the clear sky and lack of snowfall when there was nothing but jagged shards inside her. Eventually she ran into people moving about in the centre of the Innerkeep, most on their way to and from worship services, and her expression blanked, firming into a mask despite her turmoil. She tried to stare downwards to pretend she needed to watch where she was going, but as a public figure she was recognised and forced to look people in the eye when they addressed her. She nodded and offered the hint of a smile to all but kept on walking, not interested in engaging in conversation.
One person, however, did not respect her business-like bustle and decided to waylay her.
