“These aren’t exactly shining credentials.” Noami pursued her lips for a moment, considering, and then rubbed the side of her nose. Her eye contact with the butler did not falter, however, and for a long minute she held his gaze until he began to shift uncomfortably. Finally, he shoved the papers back into her hands and said; “I don’t think the Lord Rowan will want a cook who has had house-fires in her ledger, my apologies.” 

“I get it,” she said, her frustration layered thick onto her words. “You’re the kind of man who controls every little detail, right? Micromanagement, that’s the term. You want someone whose leash is a little shorter.” There was a quick nod in reply, and a motion towards the gate of the estate. Grabbing the papers, Naomi stuffed them into her boot carelessly and turned on her heels to exit. With one last thought she turned again.

“You wouldn’t happen to need an alchemist, though?”

“I’m afraid that job is one for academies, and not estates. Good day, ma’am.”

And a good day it was not. Three times already Naomi had been turned down in this town. The first attempt, of course, was at the university. There, a rather shriveled old creature gazed down at her from a seat that was a foot too high to be practical and dismissed her application with practiced ease. A tavern run by a woman who found mothering to be more than she bargained for simply could not spare the money to hire another cook. And no, wizards did not have that kind of coin either. 

Naomi dug a furious hole in the snow with the heel of her shoe. It was far too cold to seek out another job offer before nightfall, and she couldn’t afford the inn where she was now. Trekking onwards was her best option. She pulled her cloak around her a little more tightly and asked a merchant who was packing his wares where the next inn would be. After a shake of his head he pointed north, and north Naomi went. She went for hours, gathering snow on her shoulders and in her boots. And finally, as her toes were numbing, she caught site of a building. Above its rickety-looking door hung the words “The Unorthodoxy.” Upon entering she was greeted by a dwarfish man, and she took a moment to appreciate the dry, heated air and orange tones of the room. This would certainly do.