Washing a stinky uniform wasn’t Agnes’s first choice. Nor her second. Not even her third. Despite the charm St. Loomis lacked, she was determined to do better.
Then the mist came.
Those sacks she had packed never lifted from their spot by the door. Now, here she was, hands raw and cracked from lye, her back aching from bending over a washtub. Not much to lose.
So when a little old hunched lady, too dark and with a sweet smile, suggested a special treatment for the captain’s uniform, why would Agnes object? Especially when a small pile of coins was involved?
------
A little petty revenge never hurts.
The idea sparked during some long-overdue sorting through her dried herbs to calm her mind. As Firouzeh rummaged through the usual mints and fragrant leaves, her fingers brushed against something unexpected—milder in scent but stingy to the touch. She thumbed the remnants of tiny hairs that once covered the fresh leaves, a gnawing annoyance blooming at her pruned fingertips.
“Hm. Forgot I had this.”
It would do just fine.
Never hurts to push things a touch further. An old scrap of linen would be sacrificed to a pot rolling with thick, deep red– a special gift for the captain’s uniform. Almost an easy mix-up, some stray colored fabric finding its way unfortunately into his wash.
When the day came, she wrapped it all up neatly and tucked the bundle under her arm before stepping into the washroom.
Agnes was wary, and rightly so.
"Poor Captain Larth," Firouzeh sighed, her voice shaky and sweet. "Works so hard, doesn’t he?"
Agness eyed her and that awkward Ilexi...
"And in such a stiff uniform! I brought something to help." She laid the parcel down. "From my homeland. It softens the fabric and is good for the skin. I’d be happy to finish up the wash with it for you."
...then her gaze flicked to the coins.
The rest was simple: a quiet evening, a light meal, and a full night’s rest.
The uniform itself was still decent-- the lighter fabrics had taken on a faint pink tinge, just enough to annoy but not enough to ruin. Not Firouzeh’s best work. But that wasn’t the real trouble. The real trouble came as the day dragged on, and sweat soaked through the stiff fabric, setting the powder deep into his skin.
By evening, the whole town had seen the man scratching and squirming, red around the collar and everywhere else.