Speak to The Governess

Though The Governess's mansion had a layout akin to a maze, Liz found her way to the woman unexpected easy. There was a central hallway with the distinction of an artery in it's height and breadth, that could be found winding through the contemporary palace. At one end the main entrance had been placed, while at the other the double doors opened to a small yet not entirely humble office. Restrained grandeur pervaded The Governess's room of occupation like a salt dabbled about and blended into a well seasoned pork. It's furniture was made from embellished wrought iron and a ruddy tropical wood that Liz could only speculate the origin of. Lace drapes, embroidered pillows and a tasseled rug administered a welcoming visage in duet with the luxury, but gave Liz the uncanny need to wipe her boots prior to entering. In one corner the familiar curtain-closet that stored instant transportation though this too had it's scaffolding upscaled to match it's care-crafted surroundings.

The rooms dedication herself, sat not behind a desk, but rather in a parlor chair reading a novel. The delicate administrator read serenely for a half minute more before closing her book and gingerly tabling it. "Already being true to thine self? I am pleased," she complimented in tones gentler than ocean surf. "And now you've come looking for an adventure? Well isn't that properly wonderful."

Liz was taken aback. The Governess spoke with such assurance and correctness that one might conclude her recent reading was a disguised spymaster whispering hints, but such a fact would not be complete nonsense in this new world of tongue demons and self loading firearms. Closing her mouth with effort, the pirate nodded her agreement.

"Lovely," beamed the opalescent governess. She uncrossed her legs and rose, imperceptibly straightening her bouquet of hair as she did. "What calls thine fancy?" She tapped a stone statue that depicted a warrior woman with sheathed sword and leaning with head arest upon a squat pillar. Upon the delicate touch thin sheets of light, which could have been made from sliced flames or flattened ghosts for all Liz could imaging, splayed out from the statue's forehead.

"Something quick to start I should say," suggested The Governess while she waved through the incorporeal blades, the gentle glide of her fingers seeming to cycle the pages of light. "Tossing at the Dunk Tank," she read aloud. "That's always merry." With mischief hooking her cheek, she added, "so long as thine doesn't mind getting wet. Or there's an eating contest..." Absently she continued to fling through the offers.