working on the HH transcript again and there's a lot more war crimes happening because the pov character is alan, and alan is on the front lines of a literal and political war and running from assassins

Tilla: isn’t that just killing people?

Marvelia had been sitting tucked away in the rafters of an abandoned train station for three hours now, perfectly still, well oiled crossbow at the ready. She thrived on hits like this. Hours of perfect stillness, nothing in her head, meditative, and fully aware. She could react faster than anyone else, she was one of the best on the continent. A careful secret among Rayorca's Gold Hand branch.

She didn't so much as twitch when she heard a quiet footstep. She did tilt slightly to the left as the sound came from a different direction than she had been expecting. The man was jumpy, hesitant, he looked around himself and over his shoulder, but not up. They never look up.

He hurried over to the bag placed conspicuously in the middle of the rusted tracks and snatched it up. Marvelia waited until she had a clear view of his face, it wouldn't do to get the wrong man. Having confirmed his identity, she fired.

The bolt whizzed through the air so fast it didn't make a sound until it cut through the target's head and passed through the other side, slamming into the ground, covered in gore.

Marvelia didn't move, waiting for the sounds of backup or passers by, for the sounds of death throes to end, and when his body stopped writing, and the station remained silent, she unfolded. Stretching out her legs until she felt less like a statue, she was careful to make sure her body would hold its own weight when she leapt from the rafters.

"I appreciate you coming out here, today," Randall said again.

Marvelia's smile was tight-lipped. "It's no trouble. I'm getting paid after all."

Randall hurried ahead to open the door for her, which made her uncomfortable, until she turned around to see he was also holding open the door for the couple that had been behind them... and an old lady, and a chatty group of orens, and- Marvelia yanked him inside. He just grinned sheepishly at her and led her to a table.

He pointed at several decorations and honestly sounded a bit like the Lady Registrar as complimented the interior design. Marvelia wished he'd do it a bit quieter. Some people were staring. She straightened her spine and shook off the discomfort, years of working undercover had changed her instincts so badly. She was a Gold Hand mercenary, or at least she used to be. Technically she had cut ties with the Rayorcan branch along with the government. She wasn't sure she would be welcome in the branch here, or that she would be safe from them either. Best not to tempt fate.

Which is why she'd taken up doing odd jobs. Being a mercenary leaves you with a very specific skill set, not well suited to much else. It was getting painful to watch the Lady Registrar take time out of her harried schedule of placating nobles and fixing Finsel just to try and help Marvelia search for jobs. It wasn't the Registrar's job to fix Marvelia's life, it was her own. She made her decisions and she would live with them.

A server brought them four cups in decorated tumblers. The smell of coffee was stronger now with drinks at the table. Marvelia's nose wrinkled a little. She wasn't a stranger to coffee, but she'd never liked the taste herself.

"What do you think of the glasses?" Randall asked curiously. Marvelia blinked at him dumbly for a moment, but he didn't relent, and he really did seem to want an answer. So Marvelia looked at the damn glasses. They were Rayorcan in make, the thin seam line spoke to mass production, but here in Finsel it would be a novelty. The many detailed grapevines were annoying to hold, and lacking anything else to say, she told Randall so. He wrote it down with intensity in his little notebook.

"Should I drink it now?" she asked after an uncertain moment.

Randall looked back up at her, "Oh, I apologize. Go ahead."

She took a sip and grimaced at the familiar bitter taste. It was a stronger blend than she was used to, and said so. Randall really did seem interested in her every inane comment. He had said that her having lived in Rayorca before becoming a citizen of Finsel would offer "a unique perspective", whatever that means.

Randall pushed another tumbler her way. Marvelia picked it up and took a sip. She hummed in surprise and took another sip. It was sweet, almost sickeningly so, just the way she liked it. It was lighter in color than she expected and tasted faintly of pie, it was also cool on her tongue and smelled faintly of magic. Oh, that was interesting. A magical cafe.

"It's good. Almost... syrupy. It tastes almost like pie, but I can't name the flavor. It smells a bit of magic." Maybe it was bad she gave reviews like a report.

Randall nods intently as he scribbles. "Not yet perfected the technique..." he mumbles to himself as Marvelia drinks deep this time.

She looks around them at the tables. It's mostly young couples mooning over each other. It occurs to her then that Randall has taken her to a date spot and is paying for the food and drinks. Her heart jumps before she remembers that Randall is Raoyrcan. He stated clearly and plainly what he wanted and offered pay for it. It's not like she hasn't been offered pay as an escort and an "escort" before, but if this is a date, he's doing a piss poor job of it. She relaxes at that. She would have to go into hiding if the Lady Registrar decided her love life was her next big project. Maybe just pack up and move to Hondo. There's little in life as inescapable as Lady Magda Ellenstein when she's got it into her head that she's going to do something.

Marvelia was going to take her own life at her own pace, with all the stumbling blocks that entails.

"Go ahead and try that one to your right," Randall instructed.