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Princess Ribbon Bud
470289
High Prelan Gavrie doesn’t look up from his paperwork as I enter his office and softly shut the wooden door behind me. His scribbling is the loudest sound in the room and I stand in between the chairs set out for guests, back straight and eyes focused on the ornate stained-glass window just behind his head. The room smells rich, varnish and Gravies own incense mixing inside the room. It’s better than the oily and sour odor that the last High Prelan gave off the last time I was called into this room, but I can already tell the smell will stick to my clothes just as fiercely as the last. The finery in the room hasn’t changed however, and Gravie is surrounded by the same wealth as his predecessor. The bookshelves are filled with tomes that look both well-dusted and unread, without a single crack in any of their spines, and the furniture that isn’t plush is inlaid with buffed gold and allomantically useless silver. He writes on a massive hardwood table strewn with papers in orderly piles.
Minutes after I’ve entered his pen stops, and he places a few sheets on one of the piles. His gaze raises and give me a clear view of the intricate tattoos encircling his eyes and extending past his temples and forehead. The few lines dedicated to noting him as an obligator of the Canton of Finance are still slightly red from their modification into the notations of our Canton of Orthodoxy. My own simple circles and lines mark the gulf in our positions for anyone with eyes to see. He takes another sheet of the pile and dips his pen in ink once more before dropping his eyes again.
“Where is Acolyte Alanaïs? I told Ulvrin to send her in an hour ago, not another messenger.”
“I am Acolyte Alanaïs, High Prelan. I came as soon as I received the summons.”
He looks up at me again and registers that my tattoos aren’t so sparse as to be an Initiate. His eyes rake over my slight stature and I can see a doubt shade his face.
“How old are you?” His voice sounds younger than I expected.
“Eighteen, sir. in a few months.”
For a moment I think he’s going to call in his secretary to double-check my rank and identity, which has happened before, but gives a slight shake of his head and goes back to his papers.
“You’re a seeker, correct?” He asks.
“Yes, High Prelan.”
“Good. I require a liaison between us and any of the ilk our colleagues at the Canton of Inquisition see fit to send. Wardef used to suffice, but he wrangled himself another position at the Canton of Finance. You knew him, yes?”
Wardef was a slob, letting his hair grow out so you could feel the fuzz and hitting on any girl who had the misfortune to cross his path. He was excellent at using both his powers and position as a Misting to his political advantage. He likely had dirt on every middle manager in the building before he left. He ignored me because I fell outside his preferred type, but we had attended some classes together.
“We were acquainted, High Prelan.”
“So, you know why we put up with him. Tineyes are often useful as liasons. They miss so little.” He sighs deeply. “Unfortunately, we lack another with his ability. You will have to suffice. I expect you to keep me aware of our guests needs once he arrives.”
He scribbles another line before moving the paper and starting on another. I’m… not sure if he’s dismissed me.
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