Imagery belongs to the Witcher series. I've edited its color but all due credit belongs to CD Project Red artists.
A black and tan cat lounged on the windowsill, lazily watching raindrops trickle down the glass pane. Another stormy evening, another afternoon of mud-sodden boots and another bucket near to filling at the center of the room.
Drip, drip, drip.
It was a steady rhythm that sometimes drove her to madness, other times lent a pleasant pace at which to write. Today it was the latter, as Eodette sat at her ledger's desk, carefully penning that week's entries into a thick black book. Her dark mane of touseled curls was pinned prettily at the back of her neck, framing her face in the amber glow of the candlelight as she worked in silence. She was half a state, the somber day bringing little in the way of company, and inciting no wish for a stroll. Her attire was lax, a grey silken robe that draped across her shoulders and puddled at the foot of her throne. Truth be told she always had preferred darker colors.
Through the rainfall she heard it, heavy footsteps squelching along the muddied path outside - right up to her front door, but she made no move from her desk. Pyewacket turned his attention from the meticulous detail of counting water droplets just before the little bell above the threshold jingled merrily. The sound of a stormy Bree-land afternoon ushered in a tall, burly and almost handsome man whose rugged good looks seemed enhanced by the way the water kissed his skin so delicately.
"Miss Thistling," he addressed her as he stepped inside, taking care to close the door behind him.
"Good evening," she responded coolly, her icy blue gaze slipping up from her work only long enough to regard him fully. She noticed how he kept to the floorboards, lest he leave tracks on the rugs that scattered the room. He smelled of sweet green grass and hickory smoke.
"I've seen to it that the shipment was brought from the Chetwood, first of three." His voice was deep and smooth, the sort of voice that could fill a hall if it so chose. Eodette continued scribbling as he spoke, the concentration on her work reflected in her candlelit silhouette.
"Thank you. Your payment is there, on the table. I'm afraid I'm rather too busy to entertain a guest at the moment, but if you're hungry there's bread next to the -"
Before she could finish her sentence, she heard the scraping of the coin pouch being drug across the tabletop, and the clanking of a pewter plate as he snatched up the offered loaf. Footsteps, and then the sound of rain filled the shopfront of Roanhorse as he abruptly made his leave.
Eodette smiled to herself, her pen still diligently working at the ledger. She didn't need them to like her, she only needed them to need her.
