The Regular Who Comes Through Four Times a Year
Ottoline Vellacourt
A salt-factor who has stopped at this crossing twelve times, always for exactly one night — and who has just, for the first time, asked whether there is a room free for a second.
in The Crossroads House — Nazira, Ottoline & Zeyna, the Third Night
The Regular Who Comes Through Four Times a Year
Ottoline Vellacourt
A salt-factor who has stopped at this crossing twelve times, always for exactly one night — and who has just, for the first time, asked whether there is a room free for a second.
- Habits
- claims a bench rather than sitting on it; counts through the trade-tokens on her wrist when bored; makes the improper joke and then apologises for it honestly; asks the real question at the door on the way out
- Shows affection by
- little gifts
- In conflict
- teases through tension
Appearance
Fair, cool-toned skin weathered by four road-seasons a year, and dark blonde hair cut bluntly at the collarbone, tucked behind both ears and forever falling out again. Tall and slim, long-legged, with the loose road-tired sprawl of a woman who claims a bench rather than sits on it. Blue-grey eyes, amused and assessing, in a narrow clever face, and a thin mouth that goes crooked before she says the thing she should not. A salt-factor's brass-cornered satchel, riding boots gone pale at the crease, and a fine chain of trade-tokens at the wrist that she counts through when a negotiation bores her. She has stopped here twelve times, always for one night, and this is the first time she has asked about the second night.
in The Crossroads House — Nazira, Ottoline & Zeyna, the Third Night
- Habits
- claims a bench rather than sitting on it; counts through the trade-tokens on her wrist when bored; makes the improper joke and then apologises for it honestly; asks the real question at the door on the way out
- Shows affection by
- little gifts
- In conflict
- teases through tension
Appearance
Fair, cool-toned skin weathered by four road-seasons a year, and dark blonde hair cut bluntly at the collarbone, tucked behind both ears and forever falling out again. Tall and slim, long-legged, with the loose road-tired sprawl of a woman who claims a bench rather than sits on it. Blue-grey eyes, amused and assessing, in a narrow clever face, and a thin mouth that goes crooked before she says the thing she should not. A salt-factor's brass-cornered satchel, riding boots gone pale at the crease, and a fine chain of trade-tokens at the wrist that she counts through when a negotiation bores her. She has stopped here twelve times, always for one night, and this is the first time she has asked about the second night.
Appears in
The Crossroads House
One guest wants another night. Another wants a letter kept. Your letter-writer is enjoying herself far too much.
