Viola surveyed the group from a distance, peering through heavy-lidded eyes that spoke of fatigue just as much as her lethargic slouch on the hard stone wall. Tacitus was present, of course, floating as he did in slow and steady arcs around his mistress, an elaborate orbit that took him from her head to her toe and back up again. The coruscating spherical spirit caught the light on his metallic surface and flashed in Viola’s eye, but she was well used to the uncomfortable sensation. It was a motley crew, dangerous enough. Sagant stuck out vividly enough, as did the flamboyant and diminutive guard.

“Do you know her?”

Tacitus’ voice slipped through the silence like a stiletto, reaching only her with its quiet drone. She appreciated her partner matching her fatigue with deference. Aeolia thought before responding, like her father had always taught her.

“…She’s familiar. Ferrari, I think?”

“A relative?”

Aeolia shook her head, a light chuckle scoffing past her lips as she adjusted her heavy lean. “No, no I don’t think so. She’s well dressed for an enlistee, I think she’s been on the bulletins. Upstart hero of the people?”

Tacitus gave no reply. With a preparatory sigh, she hefted herself from the wall and began to make her weary way towards the assembled group. She bore the marks of her all-night work, with a red burn on her left hand and a few specks of ink on her right. Her long hair was more messy than usual, her complexion a shade more pallid, her practical, if unflattering, trousers and shirt in good need of ironing. Her satchel rattled as she walked ever so slightly, the bottles of poultices and concoctions clinking through their cotton padding, the nib of her favorite pen scratching at a metal rod.

She fell into place behind Sagant with a smile, resting a hand on his shoulder to draw attention to herself tacitly. She gave the rest of the party smiles, of course: weak and subtle, but genuine in their intent. White teeth were just barely visible through the gap in cherry lips. She was just in time to hear the grumble of a stomach, the proclamation of preparedness, and a question regarding cards that drew her eyes.

She sent a wink to Corporal Ferrari when she reached the group, and flicked her eyes towards the unruly stomach just to make sure there was no confusion of meaning.  She returned her attention to the cards. “Apologies for being late. Aeolia Ferrar, of the University, at your service.” Her soft lilting alto carried clear enough in the emptying environs. “I assume we’re all working together? If so, then I’m glad to make all acquaintances. Especially with a seer: I’ve never had the pleasure of working with someone who could read the Tarot, I can’t wait to see it in action.”

Patting Sagant once more on the shoulder, she took a step to the side, finding her place within the small crowd, and silenced herself as Tacitus’ fist-sized metal ball came to hover just beside her head in a braggadocious whirl.

[@CelticSoldier][@KoL][@Themerlinhawk][@Mega Birb]