#poor kitt

“Kitt…?”

Brithel’s looking down at me and I see his mouth moving, but it sounds like he is under water. I’m fumbling in my jacket pocket for the commission note when the room tips ever so slightly to the left.

“Whoa girl, steady yerself.” He’s got my elbow and I shrug it off. He’s been trying to get me to drink with him since I joined Naldiq & Vymelli's as an apprentice, many long moons ago. “Yer bleedin’ sick girl, get off yer feet.”

I scowl, “Healers don’t get sick” and pass the slip of paper to him. “Send for me when it’s cleaned up?”

“O'course, but … Kitt …”

I’m already out the door. I have to get down to Hawker’s Alley. I find myself weaving towards the Drowning Wench. Limsa’s streets mystify me on a good day, and to be fair, this is not a good day. I’m edging down the stairs, leaning up against the stonework. The sun is hot and the press of people is unbearable.

I stumble into a Roe woman clad in an impossibly bright, sunshine yellow dress. She catches me up with a large hand, steadying me. “Tis a bit early, t'be in yer cups!”

I blush. “Pardon me. I’m terribly sorry,” I murmur, inadvertently clutching her sleeve. I think she’s annoyed, but I can’t let go, the Wench is just ahead and if I can just …

“Och, let me get you to a table. Are ye sick then?” I look up at her, but the sun is eclipsing her face and I can’t seem to tell her. So many people. My head is throbbing, I feel I cannot breathe and she’s pulling me along. The sky is so blue ….

“I think I’m going to vomit” I close my eyes willing myself to stay upright.

“Oi! ‘ere’s a table. Sit,” she says, clearly horrified, swishing away.