THE TRAGEDY OF THE CROW

01.

Cara hates this apartment. 

It smells like rat droppings, and the dockworkers that live in the rest of the building spaces never give a thought to quiet on their way out at sunrise. Their heavy steel-toed boots rattle the floorboards, and she tries to ignore their chatter in the halls as she rolls over on the little cot shoved in the corner of the room. She only kept it for these odd times in between contracts, when she is on her own and better employment -- and housing -- is hopefully close on the horizon. The rent is a meager fraction of her pay, and it means she never has to search for a new place when a contract ends.

Rolling onto her back in acceptance of the loss of any future sleep, Cara squints at the cracked plaster on the ceiling, wondering why she lets herself come back to this dump every single time, instead of just investing in a better apartment in a nicer district of the city. While the Harbor District is loud, smells like shit, and full of remarkably unsavory characters, Cara prefers it to the still silence of the East, much less the filthy extravagance of the Palatial District and the Central Quarter. She highly doubts the nobles who have their townhomes in the Palatial District will take kindly to having an over-glorified mercenary living next door, anyway.

Standing up, she makes her way over to the desk squashed in the corner, overflowing with books and littered with half-written papers. More books are stacked on the floor and haphazardly on the few shelves she has, while loose papers and half-bound notebooks are nailed to the wall or pressed between books for keeping. They were the remnants of the last days she actively lived here, frozen in time. Nearly three years she served as the personal guard of a minor noble in a small port town in the western state, not doing much of anything really other than widely traveling, and studying even more than that. Cara nails some miscellaneous notes to the wall from the little pile of tacks loose on the desk, and promises herself she'll get around to cleaning it up at some point before her next contract arrives. She hadn't last time, and she probably wouldn't this time either, if she was being honest with herself.

Admittedly, she isn't sure when that will be. Most of hers had been long term with short waiting times in between due to recommendations from previous employers, but she'd heard of others in the business that waited months, even years, for new work. She's young, but popular. A pretty young woman that can hide within a lady's entourage is far more dangerous than a grizzled older man who stands out like a sore thumb. Digging around for a pen and free paper, she begins writing:

"Young bodyguard-for-hire free of contract. Competent at hand-to-hand, espionage, nannying, and as a lady's companion. Speaks 3 languages, trained in ballroom dance and equestrian. Long or short, any region or household. Inquire for details."

Leaving her postal information at the bottom, she slides the note into an empty envelope to bring to the newspaper shop in the Zentrüm on the next workday. Even though her contracts usually came from recommendations, it didn't hurt to advertise her services in the newspaper either. Work is work, whether it is as a lady's companion for a baroness, or as the escort of a visiting merchant who needs both protection and a translator. Sighing, she tilts her chair back on its legs, staring up at the ceiling. Being out of work was boring. She was so used to always having something to do at this point, whether it was just studying as her lady spent the afternoon in court with her husband, or preparing for a spontaneous riding trip across the grounds.

"I might as well get something done around here." She mutters to herself, tilting her chair back to the floor.

She had arrived back in Druhlk from Aalen mid-day yesterday, forgoing unpacking her luggage in favor of finding a quick meal and sleeping away the travel weariness. Her things still rested in the pile by the front door where she's dropped them, crates and trunks strewn about the floor. Cara starts first by shoving the crates of her weapons and assorted gear into a corner -- she won't need anything out of there until she has a new contract, and there is no sense unpacking it into an apartment that doesn't have the space for it. Her weathered trunk of clothing is next, and she takes the time to put away all of her things into the dresser and closet, taking care with her traveling cloak and boots. Fancy dresses for balls and other events remain at the bottom of the trunk, which then finds itself underneath her bed. As things make their way into their places, Cara finds herself breathing a little bit easier as the rooms become more familiar, and more comfortable. Her new books add to the stacks, and she folds up and puts away papers and old contract inquiries.

By the time she finishes, her apartment looks more lived in than it actually is, and the sun is high on the horizon. Sailors take their midday breaks on the docks, and the Harbor District is in full motion. Lunch time, then, while the shops are all open and serving. Dressing in her usual black pants and a short sleeved green tunic, Cara makes her way out of her building and out to the street in search of a meal.

Only a few blocks away is Helmstraße, one of the major streets of the Harbor district, and, in her personal opinion, the best for a cheap and ready meal. The Sinking Ship on Haleberalli right off the main street is one of her favorite taverns whenever she is in the city, and upon seeing that it is open and staffed by her favorite bartender, makes her way in. The pub is crowded for midday, and Cara squeezes past dockworkers and visiting sailors to snatch up a seat on the bar. Stuffed with more tables than reasonably should have fit in the space, the Sinking Ship has the comfortable atmosphere of being attended by mostly regulars, and people who have more interest in eating than brawling in the gaps between tables.

Felli is the bartender on duty, and, when she spots Cara in the corner her eyes light up, going right over to her friend. "Cara! Is that really you?"

"My contract ended, so I'm back in Druhlk until I get a new one." She replies, propping her elbow up on the bar and resting her head in her hands. "It's only been a day, and I'm already bored."

Felli laughs, and slides her a drink and a menu. "Sounds like you for sure. Hoping to stay in the country, or get an escort contract?"

"I don't really care, honestly. An escort contract would be nice to get out of Kriga, and I haven't had one of those in a while. Any contract honestly, as long as I get back to work," She slid the menu back to her friend, "The potatoes please."

Felli goes off to tell the cook about the new order, and Cara leans back in her chair in the corner, looking around at the other patrons in the tavern. She hasn't been back to Druhlk in a while, and sitting quietly in a popular pub is often the best way to learn new goings-on about the city that only the layfolk are willing to discuss. Usually the gossip is about the affairs of the nobles and the expected ships in the harbor, but as Felli drops off her meal, one piece catches her ear.

"-said the prince is getting betrothed! To the daughter of the Baron of Ostfall, no less! Apparently she'll be coming to live at the palace!"

Now wasn't that interesting? The Lady of Ostfall marrying the Prince of Kriga? What an unexpected match.