[Capite Censi]

[[In the case that this eventually develops mature themes...Uh...This may eventually develop mature themes. ]]

A single pebble skittered across the pavement, getting stuck between the next two blocks of cement. From the origin of the pebble a young woman, dressed slightly peculiarly in clothes that didn’t quite match, tilted her head and spoke in a quiet, but obviously falsely high voice, “Grab some tea for us, Ell. Shine the brooms, Ell. There’s a howler from your mum, Ell. Go get some knotgrass, Ell.” Her face contorted into something just slightly milder than disgust as she approached the pebble, kicking it forward once more, “I swear, if washing their pants is next I’m hexing the lot of them.” She was used to the constant task running at this point. She’d been a part of the department for a couple of years and the relentless had never stopped.

She sighed heavily and pulled a crinkled piece of parchment from the pocket of her heavy green coat, squinting at her own hasty writing. When she looked up again she wiped a stray piece of light brown hair away from her good eye, looking to the nearest street sign. With a humpf she put the parchment back into her pocket and continued down the street. Absently she pushed another stray piece of hair away from the opposite side of her face as before, her fingers brushing over the three vertical scars that ran from above her eyebrow nearly to her jaw. Two of the three went right over her left eye, causing permanent damage to the pupil and her vision. Aside from the pupil damage it was impossible to tell that she had no vision in that eye any longer as there was no other outward difference to the bright blue eye.

After a few more blocks the young woman pulled the parchment from her pocket again and looked at the address she had scribbled down. She looked to the house at her left and smiled smugly. She had almost thought that the others had made up an address to waste her time, but apparently not. As she walked up the small path to the house she hoped that someone of the knotgrass selling persuasion actually lived there. She smoothed her hands over her rough canvas jacket, as if that would help her look a bit less disheveled, and knocked loudly.