"I do not mind, truly, Smoke," Blackwood protested.
"Umm." Licorice blinked, taken aback. Say no, tell them you're busy, say no, say no.
"Please?" Their ears canted back and to the side, whiskers spread optimistically.
"I'm not exactly a tour guide, honored ... " Against her will, Licorice considered the idea. Hanging around the new enchanter would be one way to find out what they were planning to do with the wards, after all.
"But I'll bet you do know every possible entrance. Even the ones that no one ever uses and are supposed to be blocked off but, perhaps, haven't been?"
"I am pretty good at getting around," Licorice admitted. This is a terrible idea. Angels and demons, you idiot, do not let yourself be swayed by a beguiling smile from the tall gorgeous enby. Say no.
"Perfect! Thank you so much, Licorice. Would you mind flying us over to the House of Chambers, please, Blackwood? I want to set up a new gatherer where it won't conflict with this one." Smoke turned that irresistible smile on the draka, who of course agreed. Which is how Licorice found herself seated on a dragon's back with her arms around the enby kith's waist, clinging for dear life as they glided across the gap. Oh, this is such a bad idea.
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What does Smoke do next?
The job at hand: evaluate the wards, figure out how to get and keep the vermin out
Put Licorice at ease with idle conversation. Ask her about her family or hobbies, share their own.
Ask Licorice about her view of Courthall, and what she thinks of both the staff and the politicians.
Ask Licorice about maintenance issues. Keep probing for holes in her story.