#apcthecary

Send ‘!!’ and I’ll write a para description of your muse from mine’s perspective.

                  Wioletta held to the base of the foot ladder keeping it steady as Manfred the local carpenter installed the new sign. The old one had become rather out dated and with the storm that wrought havoc to the old board it now seemed an opportune time for a new one. She was staring up at the man’s handy work when a chill slithered its way down her spine. Alongside all the familiar scents of the market street something new worked its way to her nose. 

No. New wasn’t the word for she felt she had smelt something like it a long time ago. It was more the surprise of smelling something so familiar again that caught her interest; it was practically nostalgic. Green eyes scanned the crowd. There were always plenty of travellers passing through Riedbrune so picking out what or who had caught her attention so was no easy task. Suddenly her focus was snatched away by a more familiar voice. “That should stay” She heard Manfred mutter from above as slowly he let himself down from the ladder. 

                          “Oh. Excellent”

She chimed in a little distant compared to her usual tone. She was distracted and anxious. She wanted or even needed to find the source of the presence that had so baffled her. “So about my pay” Manfred’s words cut through once more. The woman reached into her pouch pulling out a number of Florens and exchanging them with the human male. 

                        “ Here is the first half, Pa is sending over the rest                           along side the payment for this month’s coffin work. “

There was no such following small talk. Manfred was a direct and gruff man. He merely grunted before taking his payment, and with tools and ladder in hand he was on his way. She supposed she respected that about him. Compared to most within the Town there was never any beating around the bush. If he wanted or needed something he would state it, if he could or couldn’t get a job done you’d be first to know. He was humble and held few words. She liked doing business with him. It was in Manfred’s retreat that a pair of eyes caught her attention, an older man with a balding head and fluffy greying mutton chops. He had tired eyes but a kind face. For a moment they seemed to lock gaze until finally he pulled away and disappeared into the crowd. To Wioletta she became certain that this was whom she had been seeking prior. And from what she could tell; he had noticed her as much as she had sensed him. A curious case the woman was not about to let go. 

Despite being followed in small numbers, it proved too great for him in his deteriorating state. It was sloppy work that he made out of the monsters, bloody & messy, his collection of wounds  i n c r e a s i n g.  The amount of blood which surrounded him was fated to draw more monsters, & as he leaned heavily upon a tree, vision blurring & awareness SLIPPING, he couldn’t assemble enough energy to care --------- At least, not until the shape of a person approached, & his senses returned momentarily.

Fear. A word that she had forced to the back of her mind as she’d moved towards the vampire. All witchers were too think more than twice when challenging a higher vampire, few would survive one and none would ever truly succeed. All words buried deep under her mind only to be brought up to light by that word, reminding her of her own mortality, fearing it.

"I saw the bodies... their wounds,” she said through clenched jaws, an attempt to ignore his words. “They were killed by something incredibly strong, powerful and yet, no one had neither seen nor heard anything. All evidence is pointing towards you. You can’t deny it.”

  Too trusting: a phrase that often had fallen upon ears. Born from the lips of her twin. Their presence meant to wound more than help her. Even though she could not see - she felt the way his face would contort in sheer disgust. She was too trusting, it was true. All were capable of kind deeds and a good heart, were they not? One but needed the opportunity to soar. Else all would remain within their cages.

  And besides, Toussaint proved rather secure. A hand upon her wrist, lightly tugging her in a direction she was unfamiliar with. Thick brows knitting together in obvious confusion. Perhaps she should pull away...not follow this sort in their trail. Gentle -- her arm began to pull itself back. An excuse forming on her lips. She had to leave? No, that wouldn't work. Too vague. How was she to excuse herself without seeming fearful or rude?

      " I truly do believe it'd be best I don't come along. I'm certain I've someone back home awaiting me I really- " The words stumbled forward in a surprised gasp as the man jerked hard on her arm. Sending a small frame stumbling forward before she could catch her footing.

For a moment she silently observed him as he gathered his tools for his satchel before her gaze move on towards the newly dressed wound. It was foolish of her to head out for the hunt without the right potions at hand. “I’m a witcher. We hunt monsters for a living, to put it plainly.”

Put a flower crown on Gwyn!

Gwyn noticed Regis collecting from the underbrush, which wasn’t an uncommon sight by now though not all were the usual medicinal herbs. Nevertheless she paid it no more mind. That is, until she felt something be carefully placed on the top of her head.

Quickly she turned around to face Regis before reaching her scalp with her hand, to feel what he had done. The touch of course leaves and wines met her finger tips. Though her hand was too rough and she accidentally tore something. In her hand was now a single mauve colored flower petal.