Good Help is Hard to Find - Part 1

The air of the Stockades was foul, even the above ground parts were permeated by the stench that crept up from the dungeons below to mix with the odor of sewage from the canals.  Belmilia Carrington-Howell sniffed as she waited.  The smell was decidedly vile, she thought, but oddly comforting in a way.  So very ... human.  Certainly more so than some of the things she had smelt recently.

The tramp of heavy boots signaled the arrival of the parcel she had come to retrieve.  A parcel in the shape of a rather battered red haired Sin'dorei, paid for in bribes and minor threats.  Cheap, really.  Given the miserable wages Stormwind paid its jailers, it was perhaps surprising that more prisoners did not escape.  Or perhaps it was not surprising that the prisoners seemed to control the prison.

The elf the guards casually flung at her feet fit the description she had been given; wiry and red haired.  He knelt before her where he'd been dropped, clutching a small bundle of belonging to his chest.  She sniffed again, noting with amusement that he added his own distinct note to the prevailing stench.

The guards moved off, pausing just within eavesdropping range.  Belmilia looked up, giving them a sharp glance that encouraged them to keep walking.  The elf at her feet looked up, sharp green eyes trailing over her, the flicker of something distantly dangerous and alert there. He licked a pink tongue over dry, cracked lips and rasped. "'Oo are you, then?"

Her face might have been pretty if it showed any trace of warmth.  She regarded him for a long minute before speaking.  "Do you have a name?"

He sat back on his heels, wincing slightly at the injuries hidden beneath his cheap grey wool shirt.   A quirk of his head as he squinted at her.  "Do you always answer a question with a question?"

"So you have spirit.  Good."  Her lips moved upward in a cold smile.  "I am Lady Howell."

His expression was odd, somewhere between surprised and amused.  "Lady Howell? Alliance sending Ladies as executioners these days?"

"While I do believe the authorities plan to hang you as a spy."  She examined the fingers of her gloved hand.  "I am not the executioner."  Her gaze shifted to him, appraising.  "Instead, I have come to make you an offer."

He gave a dry, humorless laugh, tinged with hopelessness and exhaustion.  "An offer? Is that so? Well, I tell you what, Crumpet ... if it involves a good cup of tea and a warm bath the answer is yes."

"Very well." She signaled, then nodded at the large men who appeared out of the shadows. "Bring him." Belmilia turned on her heel and walked out. The elf protested weakly as a hooded cloak was dropped over his head and he was half dragged, half carried in her wake, out of the prison and into a coach.

Belmilia stood on the other side of a heavy table, running her fingertips over the disturbing stains that marred its surface and watched as her men dragged the elf into the room and set him roughly in the heavy chair that sat across the table from her.

"Careful."  He grunted as he hit the chair. "I may want grandchildren one day you know."

Iloam sat still, head tilted to one side as he listened. She watched impassively, secretly pleased that he appeared professional, then nodded and a guard jerked back the hood.  The room was windowless, walled and floored in stone, the walls bare except for hangings of black and red velvet.  It was silent, save for a faint clicking sound and the nervous shuffling of her guards behind the prisoner.  The smell of food wafted through the air.

His eyes roamed taking in the scene, but there was otherwise no reaction.  Then he sniffed, his  eyes watering and nose going into the air, a manic smile pulling at the corners of his cracked lips. His stomach gurgled audibly. twisting in his gut hard enough that he grimaced against the pain.

"Is that ..."  He sniffed again.  "Is that roasted moongraze tenderloin?"

"Yes, I do believe it is.  However, I do not think you have introduced yourself.  I am not in the habit of guesting total strangers."

His eyes turned back to her, glancing over the table and the stains as his fingers tightened against the ball of his belongings in his arms. He licks his lips, stalling as he considers lying.

"Liam."

"Liam.  Do you have a last name, Liam?"

"Sunstrider."

She chuckled inwardly at the transparent lie as he coughed into a fist, the sound echoing off the walls of the room.

A servant appeared bearing a covered tray.  At her signal he set it before the elf and removed the cover with a flourish, revealing a meal of sauced roast meat, bread, cheese, fruit, and a steaming cup of tea.

"Very well, 'Liam Sunstrider', please eat."

His hands trailed over everything, as if he could taster his food with their touch, his fingers touching every item before plucking up a few slices of meat and pressing them between his lips and teeth reverently, his eyes sliding shut as he chewed, seeming to count as his head nodded with each bob of his jaw until he finally, finally swallowed. The ritual continued with the cheese, breaking off small bites with his fingers. As he ate in silence, slowly and with the rapture like a child on Winter's Veil morning.

Belmilia watched curiously.  His method of eating was unusual; checking for poisons, perhaps?  No matter.

Saving the best for last, his hands cradled the tea cup as if holding a gem encrusted crown.  His long fingers wrap around the porcelain and bring it to his lips, inhaling, as a smile cracked his lips.

He glanced up at Belmilia, mirth in his tired eyes, as he tipped the tea into his mouth and moaned, the sound almost sexual in its intensity.  His thirst overcame him and tipped the entire cup back, taking the burns in stride, swallowing it in loud gulps.  There was a clink as he set the it down on the saucer, shaking his head.

"May have been a .. bit much all at once ... I feel stuffed as a Winter's Veil quail."

He squinted, resting a palm on the table as his head dipped slightly.  "Definitely.. too much at once ..."

His eyelids drooped, smoothing out the slight crease of alarm that had been forming between his eyebrows, and suddenly he looked too exhausted to care.  "You don't mind if I ..."  He slurred, his brogue thickening with fatigue.  "... drop off for a wee nap..."

He rested his cheek on the table, mumbling something she couldn't make out.  His eyes fought to stay open, small green slits, before they finally closed and his other hand slid limply off his lap.

Belmilia smiled.