Moving On

[Atreyo]

A bowl with ravaged quail wings lay on the table, probably a meal fit for two people on average. Nivellen wolfed down the entire plate nonetheless and would keep eating if it helped put her anxiety in check. They were done with a stupid amount of garlic, and whichever novice cook Kelley had on hand botched the salt horribly, but mindless chewing was a good pastime as any; bad food didn't faze her, at that point it was more like a faithful companion.

Every time the doors creaked, it'd send a jolt running all over her, drawing her eyes towards the entrance: the gypsy saloon served bad meals and passable spirits, the odd customer usually seeking neither of those when driven by the compulsion to sink a little deeper in debt playing cards with money most of them didn't have. The door moaned again, and this time Nivellen felt it in her gut a moment sooner than landing her gaze at Trevor as the light outlined his silhouette.

"Good evening", he said, making his way to the table and sitting across from her, carrying a quaint leather briefcase. She let her eyes linger on the briefcase way longer than needed, now realizing what it meant when locking gazes with the merchant.

"You're leaving", she leaned back, half-sinking in the wicker chair.

"Yes, it's time", a trace of a smile appeared, though it didn't comfort her a bit. "The store has now long outlived its usefulness and our dwindling returns struggle to justify maintaining the spot. Besides, other salespeople yearn for room for their wares".

"Is that it? You're extending a hand for our fellow merchants?", she pursed her still greasy lips.

"Not quite", he shrugged, "but even though coin was never the main focus for our venture, we amassed quite comfortable lifestyles in the process, and then some. However, I made contact with the interested party I was sent here for, miss".

Nivellen just looked at him, though her disgust wasn't directed at Trevor specifically: she hasn't seen color nor shadow of the ranger in months now, Wesley has been cocooned in that studio for ages and her ward is nowhere to be seen...and now Trevor; the list of people she can rely on kept shrinking, and the pressure never let up.

"And all you need is in there?", she waved her hand towards the briefcase.

"Give or take", he nodded and brought the thing to his lap. She has always been impressed by the acute intelligence behind those glasses, and that ridiculous briefcase was yet another proof of that: everything else was comfortably stored inside the most gifted mind Nivellen was likely to meet.

"What's that?".

"For your protégé", he offered a cylindrical map case before the briefcase clicked closed again. "Consider it a parting gift in good faith".

Nivellen rubbed her fingers in a dirty cloth and peered inside, finding a couple rolled parchments with runic symbols drawn in the proper places. She had her doubts in the past about missing Trevor's presence, but the sentiment was clear when she flicked her gaze back up to meet his.

"We'll never bump into each other again, will we?", she followed his shape as he rose from his seat.

"Good luck, miss".