"Stand still," Seraphina commanded, adjusting the fabric around Thristle's shoulders with practiced precision. The morning light caught the dust motes dancing around them as she worked, making the scene almost ethereal. "And stop fidgeting with the buttons."

"But it's so stiff," Thristle whined, rolling her shoulders against the constraint of the formal attire. "How do you humans wear these torture devices? I feel like a wrapped present."

"That's because it's properly fitted," Seraphina replied, her tone clipped but her touch gentle as she smoothed down the collar. "And you should be grateful we finally found something suitable. The green silk made you look sickly, the blue was too matronly, and that pink-" She shuddered delicately. "We won't speak of that one."

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" Thristle accused. "Playing dress-up with me like some noble lady's doll. I saw you hiding those smirks behind your hand every time I tripped over yet another petticoat."

"I was merely being thorough," Seraphina sniffed, though her eyes sparkled with barely concealed amusement. "Unlike those raggedy clothes you insist on wearing. A guest of Lord Blackbriar's manor must maintain certain standards."

Thristle pulled a face at her reflection in the full-length mirror. "I look like a fancy cream puff."

"You look presentable," Seraphina corrected, though her lips twitched slightly at the comparison. She reached for a brush, hesitating for a moment before beginning to work through Thristle's tangled hair. "Though I suppose that's quite an achievement, considering your usual state."

"Ow!" Thristle yelped as the brush caught a particularly stubborn knot. "I'll have you know my usual state is perfectly fine for adventuring. Can't exactly run through the forest in silk and lace."

"Perhaps if you'd worn proper attire, you wouldn't have ended up in quite such a state," Seraphina remarked, her fingers working deftly to untangle a particularly stubborn section. Her touch lingered perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary, but she quickly caught herself.

"Though I suppose I should thank you. For everything. The healing, the clothes, the..." She gestured vaguely, encompassing all the unspoken things between them.

Seraphina's hands stilled for a moment. "I'm simply doing my duty," she said stiffly, though a faint blush colored her cheeks. "Now, hold still while I pin this section."

"Your duty included using an expensive healing potion on me?" Thristle asked innocently, watching Seraphina's reflection in the mirror.

"The Lord felt obligated to your mother," Seraphina replied promptly, though her blush deepened. "It would be improper-"

"Of course," Thristle agreed, her tone suspiciously agreeable. "Just like it would be improper for a proper maid to be caught smiling at a guest's terrible jokes?"

"I did no such thing," Seraphina protested, though her reflection betrayed the smallest quirk of her lips. "I was merely... clearing my throat."

"Three times during breakfast?"

"The air is very dry today," Seraphina insisted, giving Thristle's hair a slightly firmer tug than necessary. "

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Lord Blackbriar's study was exactly what one might expect from a nobleman who took himself entirely too seriously: all dark wood paneling, leather-bound books, and portraits of stern-faced ancestors who seemed to judge Thristle collectively from their gilded frames. The morning sun streaming through tall windows did little to soften the room's gravitas.

"Ah, our chaos-bringer," Lord Blackbriar announced as Thristle entered, not looking up from the lengthy scroll he was examining. His newly-polished desk bore the scars of hasty repairs, and a decanter of brandy sat conspicuously within arm's reach. "I trust you're feeling better after yesterday's... excitement?"

Tristle tugged nervously at her borrowed finery, feeling rather like a street performer who'd accidentally wandered into a royal court. "Much better, my lord. Thank you for your hospitality. And the healing potion. And not having me executed." She winced. "Though in my defense, the slime did help with your bandit problem."

"Yes, by eating half my garden in the process." Lord Blackbriar finally looked up, his mustache twitching with barely contained exasperation. "Though I suppose I should be grateful it didn't develop a taste for my guard captain. Joseph is still rather put out about his dissolved arrow collection."

"About the damages..." Thristle began, then faltered as Lord Blackbriar raised a hand.

"Let's see," he consulted his scroll, which Thristle now realized was an itemized list of destruction. "One grand entrance door, stairwell, decorative vases, imported tapestry, a priceless sundial, blown up shed, my great-grandmother's white rose bush – may she forgive us all – and my garden..." He peered at Thristle over his spectacles. "Not to mention the emotional distress caused to my staff by having that blob of acid wandering the grounds."

Thristle's shoulders slumped. "I don't suppose saying 'I'm sorry' would cover it?"

"Ah, about that." Lord Blackbriar's smile took on a distinctly predatory edge as he pulled out another scroll. "I've taken the liberty of calculating the damages. The total sum is... substantial." He cleared his throat. "However, I'm a reasonable man. Given your assistance with our uninvited guests – who are now enthusiastically pursuing new careers in coal extraction – I'm willing to reduce the amount by half."

He spread the scroll across his desk with a theatrical flourish. "You have three options for settlement." He raised one finger. "First, you can pay the sum immediately." His eyes flickered to Thristle's borrowed clothes and conspicuous lack of money pouches. "Though I suspect that's not feasible unless you're hiding a dragon's hoard in a pocket."

A second finger joined the first. "Second, you could join our... former bandits in their mining endeavors. I hear the deeper tunnels are particularly exciting."

Thristle blanched. "And the third option?"

"Ah yes." Lord Blackbriar's eyes took on that calculating gleam again. "I find myself in a rather delicate situation with a minor infestation requiring someone with your unique talents. Specifically, your apparent expertise in handling unusual creatures."

"You mean the slime that's currently treating your garden like its personal playground?" Thristle asked dubiously.

"My dear girl, you managed to control a creature that, by all accounts, should have dissolved you on sight. Either you're incredibly lucky, or there's more to you than meets the eye." He smiled thinly. "Besides, Seraphina speaks quite highly of your... unique problem-solving abilities."

"When you say infestation..." Thristle began cautiously.

"Oh, nothing too concerning," Lord Blackbriar waved dismissively. "Hardly worth mentioning, really. Just a few minor disturbances. Strange noises, missing suppliers." His tongue caught oddly on that last word. "Though I'm sure someone with your particular... experience... will handle it admirably."

Something in his tone made Thristle's thoughts skitter toward memories she'd rather not examine.

"So, there's only one option here, isn't there?" Thristle sighed.

"I do so appreciate how quickly you grasp things," Lord Blackbriar beamed, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Another crash echoed from the garden, mercifully breaking the moment's tension.

"Perhaps," Thristle suggested weakly, "we should start with getting my new friend to stop redecorating your garden?"

"Quite right," Lord Blackbriar agreed, rising from his desk. "One chaos at a time. Though do keep in mind, the mines are always an option if this doesn't work out."

Thristle gulped. Suddenly, dealing with a semi-sentient slime seemed like the safer choice.

"Lord Blackbriar," she said, forcing her voice to stay steady as she pushed aside her growing suspicions. "I would require some honey."