One teen stupid enough to ingest a fake blueglow sample is even more unfortunate to be found by Divale… No sympathy is to be found.

allusions to mild poisoning and unpleasant results


It is evening of the twenty-second day of the first month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Bazaar Side Alleyway, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 25 Jan 2018 05:00



Bazaar Side Alleyway

Somewhere in one of the countless alleyways in the Bazaar…

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Clipped, dry and cold spoken are the words as they drift across wintry air in one of the many Bazaar alleyways; a healthy dose of pure sighed exasperation from the one who voiced them soon follows.

An answer comes in the form of garbled whimpers and dry heaving from a figure doubled over in pain. No coherency needed to read the message there.

Divale stares down at the young teen with little sympathy, dark gaze neutral and expressionless. Annoyed, no doubt, to be finding yet another case of this fad of utter stupidity — and she’s dabbled in ingesting some pretty potent ingredients (not always of her choice).

But this?

Is just plain, childish, idiocy.

“You’re not dying.” Divale sighs in near bored tones, when the teen begins to gibber and whine in renewed panic as another wave of retching hits them. She merely waits for the episode to pass, picking idly at the edges of her gloves. When there is a lull of silence, she continues. “Might feel like dying, but fortunately for you… you’ve somehow managed to evade death.” This time.

Deciding enough is enough, the Wingsecond signals for the Guards who first alerted her to come and gather the latest victim. It’s become frequent enough that Divale doesn’t even have to give further instructions: they know where to bring the teen and the procedures to follow afterwards.

Divale lingers only for a small fraction of duty’s sake; the largest drive is her own personal curiosity. Crouching down, she’ll carefully pick up the empty vial left behind (another full one is still on the teen for the Healers to investigate) and tilt it; just enough of the substance remains.

She won’t even have to hazard much of a guess. One delicate sniff tells her much and instantly she wipes the offending liquid away, hissing under breath and between clenched teeth. The vial itself is tossed aside to clatter mutely against the hard-packed ground.

“Idiots. Fucking idiots.”

At least the ingredients used are uncommon enough to trace back — she already has a list of names in her head and which ‘establishments’ to hit first. It will make her night much more interesting and far more pleasurable.

Straightening, she’ll fade back into shadow with renewed purpose of stalking the alleyways on her little nighttime hunt.

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