[center][color=#ff39d6]Wistful Weaver — Curse Corrector — Deathly Doctor — Ashley Wycliffe[/color][/center] [i]Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.[/i] It was a busy day at the Devil Busters clinic. In fact, it was the busiest day she'd had in months, but that was how Ashley liked it. Ashley was hard at work, focused and working fast—not that an outside observer would know. The room she now stood in, bedding only a single patient, was filled with the sounds of turning gears and rattling chains. There were no clockworks in her clinic, however—such noise, as was indeed the best term for it, would only muddy the results of her work. The short, black-haired, dreary-eyed mage stood atop a small stool, inspecting a collection of magic circles floating above her unfortunate client. Rotating. Intersecting. Ticking, like clockworks. Ashley sighed. A lifeless sigh, from which neither disappointment nor relief could be discerned. "W-Well? Can you help him?" asked the worried mother, standing beside the mage, intimidated by the collection of illegible runes. [color=#ff39d6]"Faster than I could explain what's wrong with him, at any rate,"[/color] Ashley replied dryly, in what she had hoped was—approximately—a reassuring tone. With a wave of her hand, a möbius strip of magical symbols made itself available to her. Pressing her finger against one of the magic circles, it made a harsh, mechanical sound, and the whole "machine" ground to a screeching halt. [i]Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.[/i] The ticking grew louder. So loud, in fact, that the room began to vibrate, and glassware flasks of various medicines resting on a nearby cart became visibly disturbed, their contents sloshing, but their wide bases thankfully holding them in place. A silky-black, sleeping cat with bright yellow eyes raised its head with a soft "mrrp," saw the chaos unfolding in front of it, and quietly lowered its head to reclaim its disturbed rest, as though nothing at all were happening. [i]Swish, swish, swish, swish.[/i] Ashley began swiftly removing the rogue runes from their places, replacing them with her own from the möbius strip, ignoring the distressed cries of the woman beside her, who did not know why Ashley had suddenly gone from doing nothing but staring at the circles in silence for several minutes to rapidly changing them, all while the sounds of doomsday all around them grew louder and louder. What must have felt like several minutes of swapping out runes had probably only lasted about twenty seconds, and then, suddenly, with one last swish of a finger, the magic circles she had halted earlier began rotating in the opposite direction, and the ordeal was over—or so it seemed. "I-Is it over?" the woman asked, her voice shaking. [color=#ff39d6]"How long ago did his symptoms start?"[/color] Ashley demanded, ignoring the question. "Eh?" the woman responded with surprise mixed with dread. Was it not over yet? "Almost two days ago, now." [color=#ff39d6]"Is that so? Then, his symptoms will disappear in about that time. You're free to go."[/color] "Truly?" The woman began weeping, and pulled the mage into a fierce embrace, threatening to yank her from her perch. [color=#ff39d6]"Woah, easy there,"[/color] Ashley protested, feigning surprise. This was par for the course. Few "normal" civilians ever had any contact with curse magic, and when they did, the risk of being found out usually kept them from seeking treatment, for a multitude of reasons—social stigma, sure, but mostly ignorance. Where did curses come from? Were they cast down by the Goddess, or by witches? Were they contagious? Could they even be cured to begin with? The answers to these questions were everywhere and nowhere, both and neither, sometimes, and yes but actually no. Eventually, the dense scholar had given up trying to explain it in technical terms, and just told people what they needed to hear. Yes, it can be fixed. No, you will not have to drink a yucky potion. No, it will not hurt—but it usually will not be quick, either. [color=#ff39d6][i]This is the fifth time I've seen this same curse today,[/i][/color] Ashley thought darkly. [color=#ff39d6][i]Lady Madeline must know I have somewhere to be later today.[/i][/color] "How can I ever repay you?" the woman sobbed. [color=#ff39d6]"Just the usual fee is fine, thanks,"[/color] Ashley replied flatly. "Eh? Are you sure?" [color=#ff39d6]"Yes, yes. If you have a hole in your purse, pay an orphan to sew it shut for you."[/color] Suddenly, the cat was roused again. "Mrea-e-e-e-e-rw!" it exclaimed, bounding toward the door. That could only mean one thing: Lord Clive has arrived. [color=#ff39d6]"Right on cue,"[/color] Ashley groaned, with the fatally resigned tone of someone about to take a beating. [color=#ff39d6]"In my office,"[/color] she sighs, gesturing at the blonde-haired, green-eyed, silver-armored lordling standing in her doorway, before he can get a word in edgewise. "Good morning to you, too, Ashley," he replies smoothly, with an invincible smile, waving to the woman and her son as he walks down the hall. "...I guess I'll just... leave it here?" the woman muses to herself, leaving some silver coins on the medicine cart. Ashley unlocks the office door—not with a knob and keyhole, but with a combination-style magic sigil—and enters a room that, were she in her manor, would qualify as a library. She deftly weaves between stacks of tomes, following a rat-trail from the door to her desk, with scattered papers on either side of the well-trodden path. She then sits down in her leather-bound chair and watches Lord Clive carefully follow the same path, being much more careful than she was to not step on anything. [color=#ff39d6]"Come to sweep me off my feet and carry me away to some conjured-up, suspiciously easy 'emergency' mission?"[/color] Ashley inquires with forced interest. "I won't lie to you; I've considered that angle," Clive responds with a dash of [i]please remember that I'm your superior.[/i] [color=#ff39d6]"Oh, is that right? Perhaps I've taught you well,"[/color] she remarks with feigned surprise. "Is there nothing I can do to convince you not to go?" [color=#ff39d6]"Oh, there are plenty of options for one with fewer scruples than you. I know a surefire way to keep a woman off the front lines for, oh, six or seven months."[/color] "I get the picture," Clive politely cuts her off with a raised hand. "—and I think that ship has sailed." [color=#ff39d6]"Hopefully, my ship sails today, too. I have a few scruples myself, but I'm a paragon study of evil. I guarantee I've thought about the risks I'll face more than you have, and weighed them more accurately. Besides, no matter how you look at it, I am the only one who can take this assignment. I'm—"[/color] "a liability in the noble court—a stain on your reputation—the most expendable curse expert in all of Mokata. Is that it?!" The two met each other's eyes with fierce glares. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut—but something else was in the air, too. As the ringing in Clive's ears grows louder, he realizes what it is. [i]Magic.[/i] "Not this time! [i]Ararat![/i]" he shouts, pointing at Ashley, and causing more than a few loose papers on the ground to be shuffled. [color=#ff39d6]"Tch! I had those organized a particular way, you know? Now my system is a~ll messed up,"[/color] Ashley groans sarcastically. "How does it feel, witch, having your own hex turned against you?" Clive taunts, having been successfully distracted from the topic at hand. [color=#ff39d6]"I feel pretty good, actually, m'lord..."[/color] Ashley taunts back with a sultry voice. "Oy. What kind of hex was that?" [color=#ff39d6]"Oh, nothing special. Just something to make you a bit... bolder,"[/color] she continues suggestively. Clive shoots her a completely unamused look, calling her bluff. [color=#ff39d6]"You're such a bore! [i]Leonhardt,[/i] the contagious-courage hex,"[/color] she replies, giving up. "Oh, is that all. ...Wait. How many times have you used that on me?" he asks suspiciously. [color=#ff39d6]"So you admit that you're a worrywart,"[/color] she ambushes. "I said nothing of the sort," he fires back, immediately and bluntly. "I want you to reassure me with words, not witchcraft." [color=#ff39d6]"It's a hex, not [i]witchcraft[/i],"[/color] Ashley corrects in a voice dripping with manufactured condescension. [color=#ff39d6]"Like I've told you before, witchcraft is the domain of potions, pharmaceuticals—"[/color] "That's beside the point!" Clive exclaims, making time to consider his next avenue of attack. "You should know, Lord Mikhail is going too." [color=#ff39d6]"Mikhail? ...Oh, your sulky friend,"[/color] Ashley pretends to realize, a little on the back foot now. "I think you meant, 'hunky' friend," he replies with his trademark, winsome smile. Ashley's face twists into a fiendish grimace—the first genuine spark of emotion she's had all day. [color=#ff39d6]"You mock me, [i]boy?[/i] If you're so inclined, I can re-activate your curse at any time—all I need is ONE finger!"[/color] "Oh, no, not mocking," the Lord replies cordially, giving Ashley no territory. "I'm just saying—hypothetically—if you [i]did[/i] have a crush on my dear friend, that would be one of your cute points." [color=#ff39d6]"...Actually, I think your curse may have re-activated on its own. Here, let me treat you. Don't be shy. Just gird your loins, and come over here..."[/color] "Sorry, but I'll have to exercise my right to refuse treatment this time. I want my daughter to have siblings, after all." Ashley's mask disappears like the morning dew. [color=#ff39d6]"Eh? You—you have a daughter? Your wife is with child?"[/color] "That's right. If she's so inclined to learn magic, I'd like you to tutor her. So, you have to promise to come back safe, alright?" [color=#ff39d6]"Ugh, fine, you sappy fool. Just don't name her after me or something stupid like that. You'll turn the court into a dumpster fire."[/color] "All right, then. It's a promise," Clive replies with more than an ounce of smug. [color=#ff39d6]"...You win this bout. You guard your heart well from my hexes. I fear that soon I will have nothing left to teach you."[/color] "Oh, no. It's you who has improved, in the art of banter. You lost when you threatened to curse me, though." [color=#ff39d6]"...Sorry,"[/color] Ashley whispers, trying not to look sheepish. "See? You can be cute when you're honest." [color=#ff39d6]"Maybe I'll curse you, after all,"[/color] she threatens in an unconvincing tone. "Save it for later. We have a job to do, after all." [color=#ff39d6]"Indeed. Shall we go?"[/color] [hr] [center]~Departure~[/center] "Make way for Lord Clive Maxwell Carradine IV! Make way!" As the cry rang out, the civilians flocked to the sides of the street. Clive rode atop a white horse, as the top nobles do. Behind him, and with a handful of Knight Commanders at either side who outranked her, Ashley rode atop a dark, reddish brown horse. With her disheveled civilian physician's robe discarded and casual Monday bedhead sorted, she was now in her sharp black cloak and purple vest, with her ponytail tied, and her rank proudly displayed on her arm. She looked like a proper knight, now, and no less intimidating than the ones in full armor. She was obviously a warlock of some kind—though if even one of the commoners knew what kind, they were extremely privileged to know. As another knight riding atop a light brown horse emerges from a nearby alley, Ashley signals him, and he merges into the formation. [color=#ff39d6]"Report."[/color] "Sir! It's as you said. Lady Madeline's mercenaries are following us." [color=#ff39d6]"I knew it. The poisoned drink at that last party, the sheer number of patients today... she shows her hand too plainly."[/color] "What do you want to do?" Lord Clive interjects, continuing to face forward to maintain his appearance. "She may know which ship you plan to board." [color=#ff39d6]"I've anticipated that. I already know what I want to do—lose her,"[/color] Ashley replies as she breaks formation, heading to a tavern near the square. "Ashley! I've told you not to talk to me so casually in public! ...Did she just call me a loser?" Clive asks his right-hand man, befuddled. "My Lord. I believe she said, 'lose, her,'" the knight clarifies, as respectfully as a knight could. "Ah." As she enters the tavern, the usual hustle and bustle stops abruptly at the arrival of this stern-tempered, high-ticket customer. [color=#ff39d6]"Barkeep! Attend me!"[/color] she barks in as privileged a tone as she can, clapping her hands together. "And what can I fix you with, sir?" growled the bearded, dark-skinned man at least 2 heads taller than her. "I have need of a fireman, and a coffee—black," she orders, speed-walking around the bar to the stairs to access the second floor—for nobility only—not bothering to correct the "sir" on her way up. "Right away, sir." Ashley had barely begun to take stock of the situation in the square from her vantage point on the balcony, before her coffee arrived in record time—with all the complimentary extras she could expect for her social status. "Your coffee, sir," the maid says simply, as though the honey and cakes weren't there, bowing low as she did. [color=#ff39d6]"I won't need the milk—but thank you for thinking of me, my dear,"[/color] Ashley says smoothly, thanking the maid the only way she knew how. "Oh my. You're quite welcome." The maid scurries away, hiding her blush. Ashley listens to the herald's announcement, narrowing her eyebrows a little at the news. [color=#ff39d6][i]State of emergency? Likely destroyed? You're not mincing words, are you?[/i][/color] She is distracted a little by the mage, making herself the center of attention. Ashley couldn't quite make out what she was saying, but her energy was plain to see—both with physical eyes, and spiritual ones. [color=#ff39d6][i]Ah... such a rich quintessence. How enviable,[/i][/color] she thought. After a few more sips of her coffee, a man who could only be described as the average of all the men in the realm walked up to Ashley. "You sent for me?" [color=#ff39d6]"Fireman. From which way does the wind blow, and how swift?"[/color] she asks innocuously. "Thirty knots from the southeast. Your ship would be lucky to reach her destination anytime soon," the man replied, his expression even blanker than hers. [color=#ff39d6][i]Thirty?[/i][/color] Ashley thought, baffled. [color=#ff39d6][i]That's enough high-class sellswords to fill a deck's worth of men's quarters... and women's quarters, just to be safe. Surely she's not so bold as to stage a mutiny? I'll have to change ships after all... and delay the one she's hijacked, too. What a pain.[/i] "Thank you. You are dismissed,"[/color] she casually tells her code-speaking friend. "My pleasure," the man drawls, bowing low and taking his leave. To the outside observer, Ashley looked just the slightest bit annoyed, like a typical lordling whose extravagant vacation just got slightly delayed for a day or two. But her inexpressive face was doing her a favor for once. Inside, her mind was racing. Her high rank afforded her one slight advantage: she could board a peasant ship dead last—no one would be allowed to follow her, unless they were of a higher rank—but she would need to fabricate an excuse to board a peasant ship instead, ideally one that left her with her dignity as a knight intact. Perhaps... an inspection? On the other hand, she would lose any chance of remaining anonymous. What to do... She plays with her hair using her left hand, as if she could physically pluck ideas from it—not noticing her bad manners, with her elbow on the table, greedily wolfing down cakes with her right hand. She looked troubled, not that anyone was likely to notice or care.