Appearance: Average height, slight of figure, Bret has auburn hair she usually keeps slicked into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her features are sharp (aside from the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks), her brown eyes dark and appraising. Occasionally wears glasses, often wears long sleeved garments to hide various burns, abrasions, and scrapes from her experiments.
History: Bret grew up in Doriel, youngest of four daughters and three sons in the dying house of Geffenry. Bret is one of three Mistings in her family; her father, Lord Merriman Geffenry is a Rioter (not a very good one), and one of Bret’s older brothers was a Tineye, before he was involved in an accident where his Allomatic abilities were used against him during a prank gone wrong. Bret’s gifts manifested soon afterwards, a result of fear and paranoia in the weeks following her brother’s accident, which left him permanently blinded, and half deaf. Bret didn’t receive much Allomatic training, mostly due to her father’s own lack of attention. She learned most of her Allomatic skills from a Rioter from another house in Doriel, a boy her own age. From him, Bret learned the value of the barest of emotional touches, as well as the power of slamming an adversary with gale-force power. While not a widely-known Allomancer, Bret became a force to be reckoned with in her Doriel circles, both familial and social, using her cognitive and Allomatic abilities to achieve status in business and social politics.
She was married to the youngest Tekiel son, Serren, in part an effort of the Geffenrys to reclaim some influence through an alliance (however weak), in part an effort of the Tekiels to grab up some of the Geffenry wealth. Unfortunately, Serren was killed in a carriage accident six months after their wedding. Though a young widow, Bret chose to stay in Elendel, taking advantage of all the city has to offer, especially the quality education she now pursues, a far better opportunity than she ever came across in Doriel. She’s become a bit of a recluse, preferring to keep to the Tekiel estate, though she doesn’t mingle much with her dead husband’s family. Bret has informed that family of her intentions to become a history teacher at a college, but her true passion is the study of botany and chemistry, particularly herbal remedies and poisons. Bret has recently begun putting her herbal findings to use, mostly for her few newfound friends (the remedies), and, undercover, on local undesirables (the poisons).
Personality: Introverted, studious, naturally suspicious of strangers (and her in-laws), Bret is calculated, and a little cold. While externally adept at social situations, her ideal afternoon (or day, or week, or month, or year) would be spent in her laboratory/library, where she could be alone, concoct new potions and elixirs, and if happened upon by the unwelcome family member or slightly welcome rare friend, Soothe them into letting her continue her work in peace.
Strengths: Able to keep her head in sticky situations, able to blend into a crowd and appear harmless (or at least dull-witted). Able to read people’s emotions well. Well-versed on the history of the city of Elendel, avid and eager learner of all new information. Her Allomancy has become well-developed in recent years, and she can give the subtlest touch of calm to a situation, or flare Brass so heavily, the object of her power will immediately feel crushed by debilitating emotion.
Weaknesses: While excellent at reading others, Bret is terrible at reading her own emotions, and often bottles up or casts aside her own feelings and instincts, which can get her into trouble if a situation becomes overwhelming. Her lack of trust also forbids her from making meaningful and genuine connections and allies. Her small-town sensibilities have been challenged by her move, abruptly ended marriage, and subsequent adjustment to city life and widowhood. She often doesn’t think ahead, remaining calculated and in the moment, and her actions are sometimes on the fringe of the law, and/or result in consequences she didn’t give a single thought to before.
Personal items: A pouch of her Brass metal stores tucked into a pocket at her hip, a Brass ring for backup reserves, a satchel containing a few books, a few pouches of herbs, and sometimes her homemade concoctions. Her eyeglasses are often tucked into a pocket of her blouse. She also carries a small glass dagger, usually strapped to the inside of her right forearm. One can never be too careful in a large city.
Introduction:
Brettia leaned back, stretching her arms overhead, and yawned. The muscles in her back and shoulders ached from sitting at the workbench for too long, but after just a brief moment of indulgence, she hunched forward again, putting her bespectacled eyes back to work.
Her long fingers carefully pinned down a few fresh mint leaves as she chopped them into a fine, fragrant mush, then carefully scraped it into a glass vial. She quickly added a bit of water, corked it, and shook it vigorously for a moment before smiling at the result. It was a rather thick solution, and the color lurked somewhere between a grayish green and a depressing shade of brown. By the time the concoction set (the brown came from flecks of powdered bark, which would soon dissolve), the potion would look like spring sludge and taste gloriously of bitter mint. Bret quickly tucked the vial into a pocket at her breast as she heard footsteps approach. Removing her eyeglasses for a moment, feigning cleaning them with a cloth, she looked up as her friend and (sort of) colleague Seban Hothwick strode down the hallway and into the laboratory.
“Ah! Bret!” he said, his tone annoyingly loud and cheerful. “Good morning! You haven’t been here all damned night, have you?”
“No,” Bret said mildly, slipping her glasses on again as she turned to clean up her herby mess. “I got here maybe an hour ago.”
Seban’s arms folded across his rather unmuscled, professor’s chest. “You look dreadfully tired, and you’re wearing the same garments as when I saw you here yesterday afternoon,” he accused.
Bret sighed, resisting the urge to Soothe the man, rising to her feet and moving to the wash basin across the room. The college’s laboratory was small, but had far better lighting than her own little experiment room at the Tekiel estate. The college had a delightful, window-lined lab full of fine instruments, endless supplies of the common herbs, and best of all, a whole battalion of those handy little vials. Bret often worked through the night in her own quarters, then traversed the short distance between the Tekiel estate and the college in the wee hours of the morning, so as to put the finishing touches on her work. Tonight (or rather, this morning), she’d run out of mint, and had made the trek just before sunup.
“Please, Mister Hothwick, you should know better than to accuse a lady of inadequate dress. Besides,” she said, giving him a pointed look, “we don’t all have your fashion sense.”
Seban guffawed. Bret made sure she was facing away from him as she rinsed her cutting board so she could roll her eyes in peace.
“Very well. So what are you working on, then? Anything exciting?”
Whatever his faults, Bret had to smile at the anticipation that leaked into the professor’s voice. He was one of the very few people she knew who she could actually talk to about her love of botany. However, much of her ‘work’ had to be kept secret from him. Like the potion that rested in her pocket. Instead, she allowed herself a quiet smile, and crossed the room to a small shelf she’d claimed as her own. She opened one of the little drawers and removed a square vial filled with a milky substance. Holding it up to the light, she looked to Seban.
“Guess what this is.”
Seban crossed to her, and took the vial from her fingers. He peered at it, squinting. “Can I smell it?”
Bret smirked. “No. It’s along the lines of your studies, though.”
Seban was and avid scientist and researcher, and for the last several years he’d turned his studies on the mysteries of Allomancy, and whether science could play a larger role in understanding and emulating it. Not an Allomancer himself, he’d been thrilled to learn of Bret’s own status as a Misting, and even more thrilled to learn of her interest in his studies of “artificial Allomancy.”
“Tell me!” Seban’s enthusiasm was palpable.
Abruptly, Bret snatched the vial from his hand, and threw it forcefully to the marble floor, shattering the glass. Immediately, a plume of curling gray smoke burst forth, billowing upwards and concealing both of them in the fog. Bret stepped back out of the cloud, which produced a foul stench, and waved her hands about, clearing the air, while Seban’s laughter erupted just as eagerly as the smoke had. Eventually the clouds dissipated, and Seban’s grin was huge, like a child who’d just been tossed a bag of silver coins in the street.
“Artificial Mist,” Bret said, unable to keep a twinge of pride from her voice. “It needs some work yet, but there’s promise. I want to try and minimize the smell, and see what I can do about increasing the height of the initial plume.”
A few hours later, Bret emerged from the college laboratory, exhausted from her sleepless night and early morning, but energized by her mentor’s enthusiasm for her work on artificial Mist. She’d washed up as best she could at the college facilities rather than head home (was the Tekiel estate home to her now? She still wasn’t sure) straight away. The market nearby would be a good place to pick up something to eat, and she still had that delivery to make, she thought, considering the hidden vial in her pocket.
A quarter of an hour later, Bret had a small parcel of bread and cheese, and was heading to an outdoor cafe, where she would meet the Lady Giana, a relatively new acquaintance. The young woman was recently married (Giana’s new husband was a friend of Bret’s late husband, Serren, and so Bret had been dragged along to the wedding), and had a deep fear of becoming pregnant too young. Brettia hoped to ease the young woman’s nerves as best she could.
Lady Giana looked up from her little oudoor table, where she was sipping tea and reading from a novel (How silly, Bret thought). A timid smile lit Giana’s face. “Lady Tekiel! Please, sit with me?” The woman’s nervousness rolled off her in waves.
Bret flinched at the title the girl had used. But she produced what she hoped would be a reassuring smile, and began a slow, subtle burn of her Brass, Soothing Giana’s nerves with the gentlest of touches. Almost immediately, the girl’s smile became more genuine, and she didn’t sit so stiffly in her chair. “Please call me Brettia, or Bret,” she said. “And I’m afraid I don’t have much time to linger today.” Still, she eased into the chair across from Giana, smoothly plucking the minty-brown vial from her pocket, and slipping it onto the girl’s saucer plate. Giana’s cheeks flushed, and she immediately grabbed up the vial and pocketed it.
“Thank you,” the girl whispered.
Bret shrugged. “I’m happy to help. I’ll see you again in a month.” She moved to leave, but Giana caught her wrist. Bret paused, unsure of whether or not she should be alarmed by the new earnestness coloring Giana’s emotions. She certainly wears her emotions on her sleeve.
“Perhaps I could see you sooner? My h-husband wants to have a social function, some party or other, in the next couple of weeks. Perhaps you could come and keep me company?” Giana’s words came out in a jumble.
Bret hesitated. Was Giana trying to bridge the gap between helpful acquaintances to friends? Bret felt something akin to panic stir in her gut. But she composed her face carefully. “Perhaps you could send me an invitation,” she said calmly. She quickly bade the Lady a good day, and walked away, uneasiness clawing at her. She didn’t like becoming attached to others she’d known only a short time, especially when those ‘others’ were buying possibly illegal potions off her. The anti-pregnancy potion was nothing compared to some of the other experiments Bret had conducted over the past few months, though. Childsbane for warding off pregnancy. Sleeplock for a gradual (three days to be exact) death. And Bret had more such potions in development. One for decreasing the libido (to be given to the wives of overzealous husbands) was in need of testing, and one for energy sustainment was nearing completion.
Botanist, historian, widow, amateur murderer. Bret was quickly adding to her list of potential titles.
She felt a tug at her skirts, and looked down, startled.
“‘Scuse me, m’lady, I’ve got a message!” A youthful messenger waved grubby fingers in Bret’s face.
“Yes, what is it?” Bret asked impatiently, eyeing Tekiel mansion, which jutted up sharply a few blocks away. She needed sleep.
“Yer wanted at the station. The captain sent for you. Over on Byrod Street, ma’am.”
Bret felt her heart plummet. Wanted? At the station? Had she been found out already? She cleared her throat nervously, and thanked the messenger. Then, with heavy feet, she turned and made her way towards the station.
—
By the time she reached it, Bret wished it were possible to Soothe herself. Her next best option was to surround herself in a bubble of her Allomancy, so that anyone who came near her would immediately feel calmer, more at ease, less likely to view her as a threat, if indeed she was wanted for crimes committed. She stepped inside the door, and was immediately met by a tall man who introduced himself as Captain Guffon Trenchant. Rather than immediately throwing her to the ground in arrest, the man ushered her into a nearly empty room, saying something or other about a coppercloud. Bret felt in a daze. What the bloody hell was going on? Only one other person was in the room, and she entered timidly, half wishing she’d brought some of her artificial Mist vials in case she had to make an escape. She cast a look about the room, then eyed its occupant suspiciously.
