[P] we've smashed to smithereens;

[Pavetta]

p a v e t t a - - - Pavetta drifted along like smoke, neither here nor there, just flowing with the sway of the crowd, lingering at the vendors and booths in the dreamy glow of lantern light. For no other reason than she felt like it, Pavetta had decided to wear her best this evening—the intricate and flowing garb she received as a gift from the night of her initiation into her husband’s clan, marking her as a high ranking bride and worthy fighter. Not that anyone here knew that. Here, she was just another face in the crowd swathed in festival attire, another Dawn court lady out to celebrate music and art. But mostly she was here for the drink. As was her former drinking accomplice from Denocte, it would appear. She had not planned on seeing him ever again, quite frankly. But she instantly recalled his voice: the careless drawl, the hint of easy laughter on his lips, and gauging by the loud tone, he’d only just begin his nightly run. That made two of them. Nameless girl. She smiled demurely, moving to meet him. The firelight brought out the bold colors of his skin, the gleam of his eyes. Yes, she recalled his cleverness more clearly now, despite the hazy cloud of drink they had last met under. “So we meet again.” She remembered very little about the later hours of the night, only that she hadn’t wanted it to end. “It didn’t end happily ever after, that’s for sure,” she said with a huff as she settled in beside him. “No prince anywhere to speak of and I woke up lost in the bushes of Denocte with a severe hangover.” Admittedly, it was not her finest hour. “And what of you? Come to relive that night over again and buy me pretty things?" a pearl in pigshit, a diamond on the finger of a rotting corpse, creature in whom nothing, but nothing, remains of an elven woman ---

art by the lovely sid

@Acton