If Amalia had any suspicion Wessex has Ascended, she’s just voiced it. Her mouth quirks up a little at the quip, but doesn’t respond. She’s made an effort, that’s what matters. But then the older woman remembers when Amalia was born, and always liked the girl’s Nani - not only was she kind to Wessex, but her bread was to die for. The would-be baker may not remember it, but Wessex and her sister played babysitter from time to time for the girl’s mother. Their people were never short of caretakers, that’s for sure.
Anyway, she’s directed down to the basement with Deimos, and it’s the perfect assignment: cool and dark and with someone she can relate to. They can probably work in silence and good lord, that suits Wessex juuuuuust fine. Following Deimos down the stairs into the dark, dusty cellar, they find flour drums, wood, pans, and some other odds and ends. She grabs the first set of pans and immediately goes back upstairs, placing them down at the top, where she grimaces to herself.
Fuck this pervading sense of loyalty, she feels wretched right now, compared to her evening activities.
But Wessex does not complain, nor does she shirk what she signed up for. Call it a personal code, if you will, but the woman is reliable when friends or money are involved.
She ducks back downstairs, just in time to hear Deimos point out the scratching and rustling coming from behind a bunch of rocks, which seem to the the remnant of a wall dividing off a smaller room. She makes a face. Of course there’s something else down here. There’s no use wasting time; Wessex sighs softly and grabs a knife from the hilt at her waist, drawing it and walking towards the area. “Let’s have at it, then. Do you want to uncover or attack?”
WESSEX
She whispered back, I am the storm
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