• Memory • Out with the Old [ Part II ]

[Yndira]

Cylus 20th 717, 9th Break

follows the events of this thread

The key to this plan was that Edmund would be gone with little room for speculation regarding Yndira. The dark-haired woman in question was convinced that one way of doing so would be to make the body indiscernible to the naked eye. As a matter of fact, she worked on that very idea as she traversed the streets in the early breaks of the trial. The roads and walkways were blanketed by a thick downing of snow, cold seeping into her with each step she took. Shudders rippled through her as she approached the waking market. While she could have visited upstanding merchants with the coin that filled her purse, Yndira did no such thing. Dressed simply, she could better blend in with the common people of the less reputable markets.

There was also the matter of discretion that needed to be accounted for. Much could be said for reasons why she needed it, one of which was currently in multiple portions in her apartment. The wind fussed with her hair for a moment, left down to create a shield from the chill at her neck. The Naer's gaze shifted to either side of the street as she went. There didn't appear to be quite as many people milling about as she had thought. Perhaps this trial had been one for rest. Perhaps it was the cold; she would have readily stayed indoors if not for her previous actions. But, as it was, she needed ingredients for the stew and she had a few she was missing. It was imperative that she get what she need and return home to clean up after herself.

It was a task easier said than done. She hissed as the wind hit her with renewed force, tucking her chin into her coat. It would have been better to have waited to dispatch of the man in a warmer season. Or think of a less violent means of separation. Regardless, it was too late for the decision to be recanted. As the market began to take up the streets around her, Yndira mentally listed all that she needed. It was only a few spices and vegetables that she needed, but in a market like this she might need to procure alternatives. She stepped up to the nearest food stall, gaze trained on the small array of spices offered. Nothing fancy or over the top, but sufficient. With pursed lips,
she looked up at the seller. Her eyelids drooped, lips now turning up into a lazy smile before she returned to browsing. Best to make herself seem unmentionable, forgettable in that she wasn't an unpleasant customer.

But who would forget a face so pretty?

[Yndira]

Yndira had no time to haggle, and thus she did not. The Naer was far more concerned with getting a move on. It did get her peculiar looks from those nearby, though. They watched as she took goods at asking price, no hesitation as she squandered her money. And she didn't care. Not for the money, at least. That could be gained once more or she could supplement her lifestyle with favors from another patron. It meant little to her as long as she could return to comfort at the end of the day. And she would always have that. If the last few arcs of her life had not made that clear, going forward it would.

She held her wares in her hands, having not made time to carry a basket. It wasn't much, though. A few sprigs of parsley, a small pouch of paprika; they were minimal seasonings, but enough to mask any offensive tastes. The vegetables, tucked in another pouch, would distract well enough. Her only hope was that she made no errors in making the stew. It would be a shame considering how compliant Edmund had been. Or rather, how easy it had been to kill him. At least now he served a purpose where he once did not. Surely his father would be proud if he ever found out that he had fed someone else with all his heart. And she meant all in the most literal sense. It would be chewy if she screwed up, but tender and melty if she cooked it right. She closed her eyes for a moment, a sigh leaving her.

Yndira's walk was far, but not too much so. The foot traffic on the street had picked up, but it wasn't too much to worry about. She scanned the faces with little interest as she walked, occupying herself with little observations. The dark-haired woman supposed that she could at least take a small break from thinking so deeply on her plans. They had been laid well, and thus she had little to truly worry about aside from the actual cooking. That would be the only problem if she mucked things up royally.

At last, she arrived back home. Her steps were not hurried, but not slow. She did not need to draw attention to herself now. Once inside the confines of her apartment, she tossed the ingredients she had gone out to buy onto the blood stained rug. Time to get cooking.