(Oh, I just decided to take a break. I was feeling creatively drained and in a foul mood all week and whenever you guys slack, it encourages me to slack more often than I already do.)
Timeline: Hours 1-12 of 36 Hours of DarkTikka: Streetwise Check.
Ragjen: Aside from the very real possibility that Lily will throw a brick through your window when she gets tired of waiting for you to visit, you also promised to visit Zita when you got back, from Pelor's sect.
Bertram: As you fall asleep, you dream of a council of incandescent light beings discussing things in a language you can't understand. Whenever something is spoken, it appears literally in the air before them as a line of runes. They debate for several minutes, often gesturing towards the sky. Your own physical responses go unanswered and you're forced to witness everything from the same view-point, which occasionally shifts of it's own accord. You wake up with the Eye manifested at your forehead briefly, but by thinking to calm yourself you can will it to hide.
As you enter the cafeteria for some needed grub, you detect an idle surface thought. "<... Metal and treated wood are much cuter than stone.>" What? Wanda sets a bowl of oatmeal down before you and blinks a few times at your blank response. "Bertram?"
Karvan: Gran does not respond again and eventually it's time to rest. Perhaps you could try again when you rise in the "morning."
Latir: Elizabeth smiles radiantly and offers you a cup of tea!
Morgiana: Did you have anyone or any place in mind? Otherwise, you're free to attend the Academy grounds.
Maximilian: Latir headed out the door in a haze, giving you a general answer! Obviously the thing to do is to follow him to
visit Miss Duval. Or to ask somebody else in the HQ for some tips on your job. Or in fact... just head out into the city and try your own hand! My word, an entire city without your mother's watching eyes. Scandalous.
Azura: Everybody seems unusually busy and glum, except for Veihj, who has retired to his "room", which he claimed himself: a closet in the cafeteria. He has stitched up a little hammock and poorly constructed a tiny shelf to place his meager belongings on, including his back-pack, Story Tome, his swords and armor, and what appears to be a mold-eaten copy of a Warden Sewers System Manual, book-marked.
He is lying down in his hammock with one arm in a sling, using his battered arm to hold an armful of thick scrolls and his free hand to feverishly write!