<strong>Name:</strong>Peregrine<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Reception Hall, Civic Festhall, Sigil<br/><strong>Time:</strong>Mid-morning<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Suspicious Characters<br/><br/>Even to many of those who knew the Civic Festhall well the place could be a little confusing. The mishmash of styles and materials didn't come together in an unpleasant way — which was something of a surprise in itself, really — but it certainly was a little dazzling at the very least. And Perrin was convinced she had it worse than anyone else. She<em>worked</em>at the Festhall half the time, and while she'd never get lost there she did find moving around the great building to be an overwhelming experience.<br/><br/>It was the floors that were the problem. Everyone noticed how diverse and varied the floors were, carved in a hundred different ways out of as many different stones and woods, and it was said that with a little pracitse you could tell exactly where you were just by wiggling your feet a little.<br/><br/>Which was all in good for those who wanted to practise the skill, but at least they had the option. And even when they did there was a world of difference between a pair of dainty feet and twenty odd feet of body length. It wouldn't have been too bad if it were just a transition from tile to flagstones to hardwood to whatever else had been cheap, but whomever had designed the Festhall had decided to get<em>creative</em>. There were certain spots that were so bad, whether so smooth as to be slick or whatever else had gone wrong, that she had to abandon her usual lateral undulation in exchange for a sidewind, or even a concertina or rectilinear push here and there.<br/><br/>At least the most travelled areas tended not to be too bad, some spots even feeling rather nice as she undulated over them. And the broad stone sheets by the entrance, she had to admit, where absolutely brilliant at drying off her coils as she came in from the drizzle. A good thing, as it was bad enough making sure she wasn't tracking mud all over. On a day like this it must have saved half an hour's work toweling off before she could get down to work.<br/><br/>Which was more valuable than it appeared. She didn't quite have a reputation for being a lazy worker. A lazy person, certainly, but not when it came to her responsibilities around the Festhall. That, however, was a carefully maintained bit of deceit, and while she was productive enough to sometimes even manage to almost catch up on everything that came her way, it was not for diligent labour. She barely spent two-thirds of her time actually seeing to<em>that</em>.<br/><br/>But that didn't mean she was simply coiling up and wasting time. Take today, or really the entire previous week, spent turning an idea about risk over in her mind in between signatures to this document or her seal added to a summary report, and the thousand other details that soaked up her official attention. There were a hundred ways to deal with risk that the Society employed, of course, but they by and large had more to do with how to avoid being eaten by a glabrezu than the sorts of risks Perrin was more familiar with.<br/><br/>A few hours into the day and Perrin couldn't take it anymore. Undulating back to through the building she raised the human part of her up an extra foot or two for a better view as she scanned the crowds milling by.<br/><br/>Aha, Cuatha was remarkably easy to find, and easy to corner as well, chained to a desk as she was, slowly eating through paperwork in between being pestered by passers by. Perrin put on her best smile, fangs gleaming — the one so pretty that it actually made people feel nervous being on the receiving end — and sped up, straightening out her body to weave through the crowd.<br/><br/>…and of course she was headed off before she even got close, a pack of half a dozen lost looking snack-sized things sans shoes clustering around the woman's seat. Perrin stuck around the edges for a minute or two, but by the sounds of things they were going nowhere in a hurry. She huffed, the tip of her tail vibrating in annoyance as she uncoiled. Well, Cuatha probably wouldn't have had more than a few minutes for her anyhow. She'd just have to find someone else important. Where did all the important people congregate at this time of day, anyhow? That was the problem with the Society. Everyone kept peculiar hours, and there weren't exactly reliable guidelines as to which party room they'd be in anyhow.<br/><br/>She had gone just a few bodylengths onwards, chewing over this latest problem when she was drawn up short. The accent was weird enough, but the content of the words was weirder.<br/><br/>Normally it would hardly have been any scales off Perrin's tail what odd things were said, and indeed, she could barely go a day without hearing something that left her baffled, offended, or puzzled-yet-aroused. But concentrate on what it felt like to no longer be a modron? Okay, so perhaps it<em>could</em>have been innocent. And perhaps they weren't referring to the only sort-of-former modron she knew, and even if they were they really were simply curious how it felt. And maybe they hadn't done their research and managed to track down the signed in triplicate court proceedings that had led to the feeling of no longer being a modron. And it could be that even if they had they still had only the best of intentions.<br/><br/>And as long as she were chaining together that many ifs, maybe someday she'd return home, quit her position at university, and skip off to be a Sea Beggar captain.<br/><br/>Perrin ran her tongue over her fangs as she did an abrupt about face. No point in sticking around to eavesdrop, not with the way she managed to be the complete opposite of inconspicuous.<br/><br/>Well then, time to find Harmony, find out if this was all above the board, and if not start worrying about what kind of hot water her well-documented stint in Mechanus might have landed her in this time. And the modron too, she supposed, but mostly her.