<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Sarya Melisandra</div><div class="spoiler_body">"Y--your d--d--daughter...?" the man blinks a time, twice, thrice, his eyes show confusion and his words coming thick with fear, or perhaps from the effects of the rain soaking into his clothes and covering his face with a wet, almost slick sheen... though that might well be sweat. "What are you talking about!?" he thunders back, anger forcing his fear away. "My daughter Tiha has been with me for close to ten years! Her mother, whoever she may be, left her on the orphanage doorstep over a decade ago, and she was in that wretched place for less than a fortnight before I was able to save her from there!"<br/><br/>The man remembers where he is as he feels the knife touch his bare throat, his jowls and triple chin wobbling as his eyes widen once more. "Please, let me return home to see my daughter, I haven't seen her in almost a month! She's all that I have... Without her... without her..." he wheezes, and finds it hard to swallow with the knife at his throat, fear stark in his eyes.</div></div><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Anli Revell</div><div class="spoiler_body">"Danger, well..." the young man starts hesitantly before the sergeant interrupts him, "Not as such. Not anymore, at any rate. Still, Miss, it's best you bundle up against a night like this," he throws a glance at the rain still pouring from the sky which causes the potholes in the road to grow, and then back at Anli, "and come with us down to the station. I can't promise you much, but at least a cup o' hot razorvine tea with a spoon of sugar is the least we can do--if the FUNGs haven't had it all yet," he throws an irritated glance at the young man, whose one eye snaps to the sergeant while the other lazily rests somewhere near Anli.<br/><br/>"Ummm, no sir, I mean, yes sir," the younger of the two blurts out, straightening his back and raising his arm in a sloppy salute, the umbrella wavering unsteadily in the rain. Sergeant Wick sighs to himself, shaking his head in disappointment. "Regardless of the state of the Watch officers in this day and age, I'm going to ask you to get something suitable on, and come with us. Will five minutes do for you to prepare?" he asks, fishing into his pocket for a razorvine cigar.</div></div>