all the good girls go to hell

She felt it in her bones before it happened.

A sort of unease had settled over her on the first day of that week. A shadow over her shoulder she couldn’t shake. It had been enough to keep her on edge—though, most things kept her on edge nowadays. On the third night of the week, she woke up with a start, scrambling for the dagger hidden in her bedframe, only to find the room empty. A nightmare. She wasn’t a person that got nightmares...or...she hadn’t been.

On the fifth day, the darkness came.

Adri had been with her and that was...that was something else. The time they spent together was...untarnishable. Unlike so much of the rest of her life. Zelda couldn’t bear to complicate it by bringing up what had happened in the black.

But they were together. And it was back. Ari was behind them and Zelda prayed to every god she could think of that she would be able to make it back a second time.

       ❛  darling,  you  look  exquisite,  as  always,  ❜    his  smile  is  wide  and  sweet  as  the  sticky-sweet  citrus  scent  of  the  air  around  them.  the  flower  trees  are  in  full  blossom  in  ari  just  as  they  are  in  medinah,  it  would  seem.  julien  tips  the  wide  brim  hat  that  shelters  him  from  the  high  western  sun  as  he  pulls  back  a  chair  to  take  his  seat  across  from  his  old  friend.    ❛  this  better  be  good.  i’d  say  i  left  my  beloved  at  home,  but  you  know  my  one  true  love  has  always  been  myself.  ❜ 

“I wouldn’t dare send word if it was anything less,” she smiles and takes another little sip of tea before setting the glass down, watching the ring of condensation form on the dark wooden table. “Our good friend Hanlon Clarke is no longer, I’m afraid. It seems his daughter, Isobel, has taken over the family business, and she’s already set her mind on...larger goals.” She pauses and takes another sip of tea. The Clarke organized crime family had always been one of Zelda’s most prominent partners and while Hanlon had been ambitious, Isobel had something to prove and that, well, that was dangerous.

The day Zelda returns to Ari is the first day the orange trees blossom and the entire city is blanketed in their sweet perfume.

Two weeks after that, she has been in contact with an associate from a lifetime ago with a job and for the first time in a long time she feels a semblance of control. This is something she knows how to do.

It’s time to get the gang back together.

She’d sent word north and today she sits in one of her favorite cafés downtown, sipping chilled mint tea and waiting for her companion to arrive.

Grayson blinks owlishly in surprise at that, Reshdva’s ears perk up in curiosity, and the only thing left for Grayson to do is try not to go bright red from embarrassment.

“Thanks?” he tries, as awkward as her blurted statement. And he knows he’s being stupid. Like, yeah, they had that one night, but that was over four years ago, and Grayson’s not nursing a crush and Zelda does seem to be nursing a crush on a certain magician, so really, why does he still feel super awkward?

Unbidden, a laugh bubbles up. Shit, they’ve faced certain death together now, that really should wipe away lingering awkwardness. Grayson steps back from the door, and Reshdva slinks back onto the couch. They’re still tired, but some company couldn’t hurt.

“Wanna come in? I was thinking about making some food,” he offers. “I’m… not good at cooking. At all. But I can probably manage sandwiches.”

Zelda smiles hesitantly when Grayson laughs, still a bit spooked and more than poised to just turn tail and leave. She didn’t know exactly what she’d expected when she’d knocked on Grayson’s door and, honestly, so far it was going better than she’d hoped.

When Grayson invites Zelda in, a tension she didn’t know she’d been holding dissipates and her shoulders slump. “Yeah. Sandwiches sound good,” she says with a small but sincere grin as she slips past Grayson into the apartment.

She dips her head in greeting to Reshdva before glancing around the rest of the apartment curiously. For the most part, it is a mirror of her own, with slightly different furniture and accents to give it the guise of originality.

“Settling in okay?”

It has been eating at her ever since the company had met. The awkwardness. Zelda hates awkwardness. She hates feeling like she was tied to a person, whether by happenstance or otherwise. She hates owing people things and she’s felt like she’s own Grayson something for far too long.

She doesn’t know what her plan is when she knocks on Grayson’s door. 

When he opens, there is a moment of silence where she just stares at him before blurting out:

“I’m glad you’re not dead.”

The apartments Jackal had provided were new and modern and Zelda approved immensely. She’d spent perhaps too long bathing the grime of the road off of herself with prickling hot water and soaps that smelled of sandalwood and orange blossom, running jasmine-infused argan oil through her hair. She felt better than she had in weeks.

After an appropriate time spent laying face down on the crisp white comforter, Zelda dresses and goes about fixing herself tea—Jackal had left her favorite, the mint tea that reminded her of home. Tea, however, is not meant to be drunk alone, and as she sets the leaves to steep, Zelda pads barefoot to the apartment beside hers.

She knocks on the door and smiles when it opens. “I was just making tea and was wondering if you’d like some?”

The tavern that Zelda enters is off the beaten path enough to not be a tourist spot but popular enough to be a hit with the locals—as such it’s bustling on a night like this. 

Her clothes are elegant in their simplicity, airy fabric of black and deep purple covering her from head to toe, but it is the mask that stands out, the bleached bone and pointed teeth. It is not a mask her company has seen before. She intends to keep it that way.

Her reputation proceeds her and those who recognize her mask give her faint nods as she whisks through the crowd. She stops to greet the bartender—an old friend and retired accomplice—before proceeding down a side hallway...and through the hidden door that lay at the end of it.

The chambers beneath the tavern send a pang of familiarity through her chest and she grins. The room she is looking for is two doors down; golden light spills from the ajar door. On silent feet, she closes and distance and knocks twice before pushing the door open.

“Jackal,” she smiles. “It’s been too long.”

there was a feeling sitting in her gut that she knew only as guilt. guilt that maybe she had not done enough to help save one of the company. he was not dead, only taken. which meant they could get them back and adri was ready to do just that.

adri was doing what she could for now, cleaning up the campsite and getting it ready. if the group was leaving now or if they were going to leave in the morning she wanted to be ready. but throughout all of this she felt the comforting presence of zelda close by. “yes, it was. i should have known to get rid of the smoke faster. i just froze….i don’t know why.”

Zelda frowns and scuffs her feet through the dry soil, kicking up a cloud of dust. “Maybe that was part of the magic,” she suggests. “You know, not being able to react quickly?” She doesn’t know much about magic, only from stories, but she was certain you could do some fairly dark things with it and that seemed like it could be one of them. 

“We’re going to have to find him, aren’t we?” she asks after a moment, voice carefully neutral, almost to the point of being cold.

After the smoke had cleared, taking Grayson along with it, Zelda was left in shock. She was in good company—the rest of the group didn't seem to know what had happened either. It had been jarring, that was for sure, and the sudden spike of unfamiliar danger had only served to further jumble up the emotions tangling in Zelda’s chest. 

As she often did, she found herself by Adri’s side, shifting her weight from side to side as she shoved her hands into her pockets. “That was magic, right?” she mumbles.

“Emerald would be fine,” Aurelio says solemnly. “Better for hiding in the woods, though I doubt I’d make it far in a skirt that wide.”

If he’s joking at all, it’s impossible to tell. 

His gaze goes from the crowd over to Zelda, curious. She looks like she fits right in; her bearing is as regal as any of the regular guests. It prompts the question of whether she’s used to being in spaces like this, or just an excellent chameleon. It could go either way, he thinks. She’s certainly smart enough for the latter.

“So what is the purpose of these parties?” he asks, because he can’t help himself, he has to know. “I’ve never seen anything like this. The manner of dress, the food. It seems… excessive. And everything they’re talking about is… inconsequential. I don’t understand any of this.”

Zelda adjusts her wristband to stop it from digging into the back of her hand as she shrugs. “Everything. Nothing. Lets the elite flaunt their money to each other and their power to those beneath them. For the smarter ones, it’s a game, one that’s spanned generations. Wear this mask now with this person by your side to show this person one thing or another. But always smile, of course; never show your hand, only hint at it. For the not-so-smart ones, well, they’re just the pawns in the smarter ones’ games.”

She pauses and shakes her head. “Most of these people have known anything else.”

rogue for sure. 90% thief, 10% inquisitive. arguably you could throw in a dash of bard for the aesthetique™

2. what aspect of their class are they strongest in? magic? stealth? charisma?

sleight of hand, insight

3. what are their weaknesses? 

she’s not a good fighter in the literal sense of the word; in a test of pure strength she’ll lose more often than not. she doesn’t know how to make stable connections with people as all her interactions are surface level. 

4. are they used to working in a team? 

she is used to fighting with the same “team” of three other people. outside of them, she doesn’t truly trust a single person. even within her little group, there are limits to her trust.

5. do they perform well under pressure?

she thrives under pressure. she doesn’t know life without it.

6. what area of their class are they hoping to/you hoping they will specialize in? 

zelda’s specialty will always be sleight of hand. honestly, it’s more of a compulsion than a skill, but she’s damn good at it.

7. how would you describe their combat style?

“I’ve never understood money as a concept,” Aurelio admits.

It just doesn’t seem to make any sense. He understands trading – he does it a few times a year, when he ventures into the closest towns. Trading something of value for another thing of equal value. That makes sense. But trading a material item for gold or silver, what practical use does the latter have?

Then again, maybe that question is being answered right here. So many of the patrons are wreathed with gold and silver, merely to look nice.

He’s not sure if they look lovely. But his eye is caught on one woman in particular with a massive hoop skirt, it’s got to be six feet in diameter. Highly impractical. And yet. “If we have to attend another of these in the future?” Aurelio proclaims, nodding at the woman and her skirt, “I’m wearing one of those.” He could sneak a whole person into the party with that thing!

Zelda shrugged. Money was everything in the city, but she imagined it didn’t mean much in the forest. It was clear in the way she adorned herself that she was used to being draped in finery.

Then her gaze follows Aurelio’s and her grin widens. “I think you would look quite lovely in one,” she says. “Though...” she says with a pause, looking back at Aurelio. “I think an emerald would be much more your color than a red.”

˗ˏˋ task 1 pt 1 ˎˊ˗ • what is zelda wearing?