Alice Parslow
The Riverbank Pragmatist with a Rebel's Heart
I didn’t ask for a war—I just wanted a decent pint and a safe place for Lyra.
I grew up where the Thames talks louder than priests—on the riverbank, mopping floors at the Trout Inn. Learned my politics there too: trust the one who shares your ale, check the pockets of anyone who doesn’t. Malcolm and I didn’t chase prophecies—we chased threats. Took a wrench to the Court’s gears because no one else would. I don’t do speeches. I do locked doors, hidden knives, and watching Lyra’s back like it’s my own. Dust, daemons, all that sky-high muck? Keep it. I’ll take the girl who stares at the alethiometer like it’s lying—and maybe I’ll make her a better liar.
What I'm Into: tavern politics, rusty knives that still cut, Lyra’s curiosity, stolen alethiometer readings, smuggling secrets in beer barrels
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