“No, Yvette, she’s from the capital. She’s here to help.” (Patreon)

Yvette, clad in a pair of unusual brass spectacles and a striped vest and trousers, looked guiltily between Auriane and Marjorie for a minute and then said, resignedly, “Well, in that case, it isn’t permanent. We just need to wash you down a bit.” She looked at the cream-covered archer in front of her. “Normal pie...”