“Ay,” said Hannah. “We both work in service to others, by our natures. Better in the dungeons or worse, do you think?”
“Better,” said Verity. “I consider you my friends.” It felt slightly embarrassing to say that out loud so soon, though they’d been spending quite a bit of their days together, and it had gotten quite intensive quite quickly. Hannah gave a smile, and the embarrassment faded. “So far, no one has made demands of me. Even Alfric has been understanding. He thinks I know my job better than he ever possibly could and is content to let me do what I think is best. I have to admit that it wasn’t what I’d expected of him, especially after our first meeting.”
“He’s given me no notes either,” said Hannah.
“You know, I never thought about how similar our professions were,” said Verity. “I would suppose we have similar stories.”
“Ay?” asked Hannah, who seemed doubtful.
“Are there ever people who come in for healing and think they know more than you?” asked Verity.
“Oh,” said Hannah. She let out a little laugh. “Oh, ay, well, it comes with the territory. I won’t call them idiots, but there’s some role-play we do at the seminary, and you get to hear all kinds of stories to prepare you for what you might run into. I understand it, I do, it’s their body, which they’ve known their whole life, but some of that confidence people have is quite misplaced.”
“Well, people have their own ideas about bardic magic,” said Verity. “And usually they’re arguing with me while I’m trying to play a song and can’t respond to them. So the choice is to stop and have it out with them, or attempt to communicate without words, or speak to them within the lyrics, or—there’s no good way to do it.”
“I’d thought you liked bein’ a tavern bard,” said Hannah, putting a bit of question in her voice.
“I did,” said Verity. “But mostly when it’s going smoothly, when I’m allowed to do whatever I want and read the room in the way I choose. I like the freedom and choice, and yes, I like to help people with their woes or at least to help them enjoy their meals.” She sighed. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do with myself when Cynthia replaces me at the Fig and Gristle.”
“You’ll be with us,” said Hannah, shrugging. “Grow food in the garden, practice your music, find a nice boy in the village… Seems like we’ve got the tools now to do the five dungeons left around Pucklechurch without all that much hassle. So far as travel time goes, that means Pucklechurch can be our base for quite a bit longer, enough that we can do two hexes out without needin’ to camp.”
Verity nodded. Her eyebrow had gone up at the ‘nice boy’ comment, but it seemed incidental and not worth correcting. She’d have expected a cleric of Garos to use the neutral ‘partner’, and a small part of her wondered if she was a bit too unobvious about her inclinations. “And this is how I become a dungeoneer, slowly, without even realizing it.”
“Ay,” said Hannah, smiling. “But it’s not a bad life.”
“You’ll back me up, if I tell Alfric I need time to rest?” asked Verity.
“Of course,” Hannah said with a nod. “Though I don’t expect you’ll need backup, he’s a good lad. Now I need to go tend to him and make sure he isn’t fumbling the sales.”
Verity nodded. It was good to talk to Hannah. It was good to have all of them, even Alfric, though he sometimes rubbed her the wrong way.
Thus far, Verity had spent next to no money from the first dungeon, let alone what they’d get from the second, even if it seemed like the payout would be lower. As she walked along, she entertained the notion of actually purchasing one of these things, even if there was no direct need for it or even if it was just for fun. She thought it was the kind of thing that Alfric would hate, but perhaps she was being a bit too harsh on him.
The person that Alfric reminded her most of was her mother and a few people that her mother surrounded herself with. It wasn’t enough to grow plants in the greenroom; they needed to be displayed for guests and entered into competitions. Verity entered into the Dondrian Gardening Society, not against her will, exactly, but after a bout of coercion and a discussion with her mother about the importance of being seen and making connections. Of course, the Gardening Society was really only tangentially about gardening, and Verity had grown to hate it. There had been a particular day when she’d come to one of their luncheons with a pot full of succulents and received exactly two comments on it (both compliments, thankfully) followed by several hours of discussion about the latest fashions, the newest places to eat, the events of the last week’s society ball, the theme of the upcoming party, on and on until it felt like her ears would bleed. It wasn’t enough to like plants, you needed to like plants with a purpose, and in fact, forget the plants, devote yourself instead to the purpose with the plants only as set dressing.
In fact, the things that Verity had taken an interest in seemed to fall into two distinct categories. The first were things that would look good for the family, which were lauded and praised, given trainers and tutors, and made into something proper and perfect. The second were things that wouldn’t look good for the family. Those Verity was simply not allowed to do. If she ever pressed the issue, there would be a talk, and she would eventually back down. Martial arts had been a particular weakness of hers, and while she was at the conservatory, she had snuck out to see bare-knuckle brawls on three occasions until she’d been caught by the conservatory’s housing director. It hadn’t been the violence she’d been so attracted to, nor the men (as the director had opined), but the idea of throwing yourself into something, pitting yourself against danger using nothing but your will and training.
When Verity’s mother had found out, they’d had a talk about it, and the suggestion had come up that perhaps if this were Verity’s new area of interest, she might enjoy being a part of the Greater Dondrian Fencing Club or at least attend a few of their exhibitions. Verity hadn’t thought that sounded all that nice, but she’d gone to one with her mother all the same, partly by way of apology. Fencing was perfectly all right, but not so different from any other sport, where the rules seemed like they got in the way of things. The injuries sustained in fencing were tiny things, barely even worthy of a healer, and they stopped for them every time. With a cleric of Garos and a cleric of Xuphin on hand, it seemed like they should have been able to go much further, but no, it was tightly constrained. While she was certain that it had its own rich history and depth of technique, as most sports did, she couldn’t help but be bored.
Verity kept looking at the entads in the shop, hoping that one of them would spark her interest. There were a few articles of clothing, carefully hung on mannequins, of which the shop seemed to have a few. Most of the clothes seemed a little redundant, like a shirt that would go rigid as steel if you tried to pierce it, or a sweater that would keep you warm in a snowstorm. They did what clothes and armor already did, but a little bit better or easier. There was a pair of pants that would kill any bug that got within ten feet of it, which seemed a bit excessive. Only a third of the entads could resize themselves in any way, and they were carefully marked. Thinking back on what Hannah had said, it seemed likely that resizing was a more common property, but that it was easier for resizing items to find a home and go into active use.
“Those pants are amazing,” said Alfric as he came over. He looked at the tag on them and frowned. “Not resizing though.”
“They’re probably too small for you,” said Verity. “They look like a better fit for someone Mizuki’s size. Or smaller. A child’s pants.”