Spring, 122PW
Iarei had waited, but her boy did not show up. She had sat downstairs in the common room when the authorities had rolled through, feeling numb and a little shaky. She did not see Caiomhe again and Alter. . .well. . . it wasn't that she'd not ever seen death before. She had been involved with peoples' deaths before -- you could not be squeamish if you wanted to grow power -- but she hadn't quite ever seen anything like the blurred explosion of death that she'd been witness to the night before. By music and devils, it really had been the night before. There was the morning sun, dawning so that its light glinted off the street and into the thick-paned windows of what had been the inn Iarei was staying at.
She didn't really plan on staying there any longer. She needed her boy to come and help her sort through what was left of their things. Her lute was undamaged. That was a boon. And she'd gotten cup after cup of hot tea, and several apologies. She didn't know what they were apologizing for, it wasn't their fault. But she still left them with a grunt and a few words about needing to move on, and the owners of the Inn watched helplessly as several of their clientele streamed away to pay coin to the rival Inns and Taverns.
Just bad luck, was all.
She moved away from the Inn with her lute in hand and a disheveled bag on her back. Her hair was a frizzed mess, but she hadn't had the presence of mind to rebraid it when boy was still who knew where. She was upset, and in more than one way, but mostly she was angry that the little brat had not come back to the Inn when clearly he knew he was not to cause trouble. That was the only reason why he had not come back. So, she took a turn towards the shabbier districts, stern faced and with a throaty growl that kept the more obvious punks out of her face, and went on her search for the boy.
In for a Bishan
In for a Bishan
Last edited by Iarei on Thu Dec 24, 2009 5:33 am, edited 2 times in total.
Re: In for a Bishani
Erryl walked slowly, with no real destination in mind. He was, as usual, searching for entertainment and his eyes, alert and observant, examined everything he passed, from the filthy pavement beneath his feet to the shoddy establishments either side of the streets he traversed. As he wandered, he glanced over the people he passed and peered down every street, moving gradually and aimlessly towards the more neglected part of town.
But the further he walked, the more disappointed he became. Erryl had to admit, he was getting rather tired of his mundane, uneventful life. Surely Marn has more to offer, he mused, catching sight of himself in a shop window as he passed it. His pale skin and hair was obvious, even through the grime that coated the glass, and he smiled at his reflection. Even his tunic was a pale shade of grey. "I guess my life needs a little colour," he said to himself as he continued on his way.
He knew what Koran would do if he ever found out that his little brother had been walking around this part of the city alone, but his half-brother had left early this morning, as he often did, and what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Erryl had told Sharanen that he was going to visit the university and that had been his original intention, but an impatient desire for stimulation had led him here, to downtown Marn, instead. He needed excitement; not to become involved in himself, of course, but to observe and learn.
He could sense that his curiosity was likely to cause him trouble today, but he tried not to think about it too much. It was an urge he could not resist and he simply had to let his subconscious mind lead him wherever it wished to.
But the further he walked, the more disappointed he became. Erryl had to admit, he was getting rather tired of his mundane, uneventful life. Surely Marn has more to offer, he mused, catching sight of himself in a shop window as he passed it. His pale skin and hair was obvious, even through the grime that coated the glass, and he smiled at his reflection. Even his tunic was a pale shade of grey. "I guess my life needs a little colour," he said to himself as he continued on his way.
He knew what Koran would do if he ever found out that his little brother had been walking around this part of the city alone, but his half-brother had left early this morning, as he often did, and what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Erryl had told Sharanen that he was going to visit the university and that had been his original intention, but an impatient desire for stimulation had led him here, to downtown Marn, instead. He needed excitement; not to become involved in himself, of course, but to observe and learn.
He could sense that his curiosity was likely to cause him trouble today, but he tried not to think about it too much. It was an urge he could not resist and he simply had to let his subconscious mind lead him wherever it wished to.
Re: In for a Bishani
The early morning air was only just starting to warm up, and the same could be said of the early morning crowd. Only a few people lingered in the streets, and Jester was, unfortunately, among them. The rest were hurried-looking folks with jobs to do, and a few casual strollers that could be out for any reason. Not nearly enough of a crowd to do any sort of decent act with.
Jester's stomach gurgled emptily, reminding her not to be so picky. She ignored it, frowning fiercely at the ground in front of her, as though it was the ground's fault she didn't have enough Bishani to buy a breath of fresh air. As though it was the ground's fault that those throwing knives had flashed so prettily that she had to spend the last of her traveling money on them. No, that had been that damn weasel of knife vendor's fault.
Now she was stuck between going hungry and performing when she was stiff, irritated, and unlikely to get very much Bishani. The chances of not getting any Bishani at all and ending up hungrier for the work were higher than she'd like, too...
Her stomach rumbled ominously, squeezing painfully as it looked for something to digest. The way things were going, it would probably start eating itself soon.
Right. Performing it was.
First is stretching. Jester repeated the mantra of the Will-o'-Wisps as she reached for her toes, gingerly sliding her legs out to the side until she was as close to a full split as she was going to get this early in the morning. Next were calves, very important, and shoulders. Then thighs, stomach, arms, neck, hands. . .
She ignored everything but the motions as she bent backwards, then flipped her legs over her head. The stretch was a slow burn, painful in a good way. She much preferred it to the next part of the routine.
Second is the smile. And this was always the hardest. She was not a naturally smiley person. Smile as long as you are performing. Keep smiling even when the crowd jeers and boos. Don't let the thought of lashing back at them even cross your mind. That was what the ringmaster had said. Jester's smile pulled at her cheeks and made her squint unattractively, she'd always thought, but it was the most important part; if the performer wasn't willing to enjoy the show for the crowd's sake, they couldn't expect the crowd to enjoy it either. All she had to do was think of how, soon, everyone on this street would know her name, would be begging to see her perform. That could bring a smile to her lips any day.
A dusty crate in the mouth of an alleyway, probably left over from the previous day's market, provided the third step: Location. She plunked it down on the side of the street and climbed on top, ignoring how she was only slightly taller than the passersby now.
And fourth is the crowd. She took a deep breath, put a smile into her voice, and shouted "Ladies and Gentlemen, if you'll spare some time, I have a marvelous show for you today. Acrobatic feats to dazzle your senses and leave you wondering, tricks to delight and amaze you. You won't be disappointed if you come and watch, I promise you that."
Her low tone carried easily and smoothly, the tiniest seed of magic giving it weight, coaxing the curious bystanders in her direction.
Jester's stomach gurgled emptily, reminding her not to be so picky. She ignored it, frowning fiercely at the ground in front of her, as though it was the ground's fault she didn't have enough Bishani to buy a breath of fresh air. As though it was the ground's fault that those throwing knives had flashed so prettily that she had to spend the last of her traveling money on them. No, that had been that damn weasel of knife vendor's fault.
Now she was stuck between going hungry and performing when she was stiff, irritated, and unlikely to get very much Bishani. The chances of not getting any Bishani at all and ending up hungrier for the work were higher than she'd like, too...
Her stomach rumbled ominously, squeezing painfully as it looked for something to digest. The way things were going, it would probably start eating itself soon.
Right. Performing it was.
First is stretching. Jester repeated the mantra of the Will-o'-Wisps as she reached for her toes, gingerly sliding her legs out to the side until she was as close to a full split as she was going to get this early in the morning. Next were calves, very important, and shoulders. Then thighs, stomach, arms, neck, hands. . .
She ignored everything but the motions as she bent backwards, then flipped her legs over her head. The stretch was a slow burn, painful in a good way. She much preferred it to the next part of the routine.
Second is the smile. And this was always the hardest. She was not a naturally smiley person. Smile as long as you are performing. Keep smiling even when the crowd jeers and boos. Don't let the thought of lashing back at them even cross your mind. That was what the ringmaster had said. Jester's smile pulled at her cheeks and made her squint unattractively, she'd always thought, but it was the most important part; if the performer wasn't willing to enjoy the show for the crowd's sake, they couldn't expect the crowd to enjoy it either. All she had to do was think of how, soon, everyone on this street would know her name, would be begging to see her perform. That could bring a smile to her lips any day.
A dusty crate in the mouth of an alleyway, probably left over from the previous day's market, provided the third step: Location. She plunked it down on the side of the street and climbed on top, ignoring how she was only slightly taller than the passersby now.
And fourth is the crowd. She took a deep breath, put a smile into her voice, and shouted "Ladies and Gentlemen, if you'll spare some time, I have a marvelous show for you today. Acrobatic feats to dazzle your senses and leave you wondering, tricks to delight and amaze you. You won't be disappointed if you come and watch, I promise you that."
Her low tone carried easily and smoothly, the tiniest seed of magic giving it weight, coaxing the curious bystanders in her direction.
Re: In for a Bishani
Dirken strode briskly through the town, his sure footsteps not hinting at all as to just how lost he was. There was... um... maybe it had been the last left... who was he kidding? He was probably on the wrong side of town by now.
Dirk hated new towns.
After several minutes of wandering, he paused to watch an entertainer who was apparently just beginning her act. He really should find the inn, but a few minutes one way or another wouldn't hurt. besides, observing the local culture would be beneficial. Yeah.
He threw a bishani at the performer's feet. Most people paid for a performance after they'd enjoyed it for a bit, but Dirk liked to make his contributions stand out... it felt like a waste of money otherwise. He tried to meet the performer's eye and gave her his most dashing smile as he waited to see her act.
Dirk hated new towns.
After several minutes of wandering, he paused to watch an entertainer who was apparently just beginning her act. He really should find the inn, but a few minutes one way or another wouldn't hurt. besides, observing the local culture would be beneficial. Yeah.
He threw a bishani at the performer's feet. Most people paid for a performance after they'd enjoyed it for a bit, but Dirk liked to make his contributions stand out... it felt like a waste of money otherwise. He tried to meet the performer's eye and gave her his most dashing smile as he waited to see her act.
Re: In for a Bishani
Boy had never really asked to be taken out of the streets. He'd been a thief before he'd really met Iarei, tried to steal from her, gotten caught. He'd been caught before, he'd always run dagger quick through crowds and alleys he'd known like the back of his hands. There'd been precision to Iarei, and she had gripped his wrist with calloused fingers: his wrist connected to his hand inside of her pocket, and they'd stared at eachother for awhile. He figured she was like them snakes that stared down their prey, down deep so they never saw the sun again. He'd heard some tavern bawler talking sweet 'bout it some night when the rains had soaked through the streets and he, plumped and prissy with his new take, had snuck inside 'til he was thrown out again.
He'd been taken down by her, and she'd taken him with her. He didn't think she knew why, and it made him resentful. He didn't want to be stalking cows in her shadow, no more'n he wanted to be in the streets with the rain tearin' the sky up and washing the streets until the mud was thick.
There'd been something to it when she'd told him to go have fun. He wasn't an idiot brat and he knew when he did good. To have her reward him though like he was in lace and ribbons, that stuck him good. It angered him he couldn't leave her for no how slip off the streets, and she did nothin' more than shove books and food at him, and he couldn't leave. So he hadn't gone back to the inn, where she'd paid and told him where to sleep, where to eat, what to do. He knew cities, and hadn't been long when he'd tipped up towards the bad part. He didn't need to know names or read signs or know any more fancy than how to look around. He weren't no dunder.
He'd been exploring old ramshackle places he'd no business around when he found the shop -- and what else'd it be? -- stocked with an odd assortment of random idols, a mish-mash of figures and strange, curving wires and water smooth ivory. It'd taken him hours to find it, creeping through holes only a boy could. The area had been empty like a butcher's hovel, no animals around for miles if they'd help to it. They smelt blood. Boy didn't heed the warning.
He'd stuffed two into his clothes when he heard the growl. Another was dangling from lax fingers when the teeth punctured his right calf, and he was screaming bloody murder, kick and kick and kick the thing in the face with his good boots, boots Iarei had spent too long gettin' him fit for like he had any need of boots but she'd said he hadda have em and sinners there was blood and then he got the dog in the eye with his other foot and the thing yelped and skitted back so he could get up and run with shouts thick and hot in his ears.
Oh he ran. Back the way he'd come with no more direction than sheer pure instinct, gulping air in time to his strides, not lookin back and trying to hear over the blood singing in his ears and soon his lungs burned and his throat burned. Rest of him was numb to the thought of a hand closing over him and tearin him back screaming to cut off a finger or a hand. Maybe worse. He had to find Iarei, he was furiously desperate, and he turned back to the downtown area with his strength flagging hard and they were still right there. He had to blend back in with the crowds somehow and he quick toed it in the thick of the morning crowds, streaming along so that when he dared to look back at the vague shapes hunting him down he collided into someone he didn't know, someone named Erryl who he didn't know, but who would be a good distraction.
His hands were busy. "I got em, I got em, I did as y'asked!" He yelled loud enough to turn heads, and he faked a sob as he unloaded two of them onto his unsuspecting victim and let his fingers search around for any promising lump -- there was one! -- and he didn't stop to ask what it was when he lifted it and let the stranger see a sneer and then he would try to keep running, running, don't get caught!
He'd been taken down by her, and she'd taken him with her. He didn't think she knew why, and it made him resentful. He didn't want to be stalking cows in her shadow, no more'n he wanted to be in the streets with the rain tearin' the sky up and washing the streets until the mud was thick.
There'd been something to it when she'd told him to go have fun. He wasn't an idiot brat and he knew when he did good. To have her reward him though like he was in lace and ribbons, that stuck him good. It angered him he couldn't leave her for no how slip off the streets, and she did nothin' more than shove books and food at him, and he couldn't leave. So he hadn't gone back to the inn, where she'd paid and told him where to sleep, where to eat, what to do. He knew cities, and hadn't been long when he'd tipped up towards the bad part. He didn't need to know names or read signs or know any more fancy than how to look around. He weren't no dunder.
He'd been exploring old ramshackle places he'd no business around when he found the shop -- and what else'd it be? -- stocked with an odd assortment of random idols, a mish-mash of figures and strange, curving wires and water smooth ivory. It'd taken him hours to find it, creeping through holes only a boy could. The area had been empty like a butcher's hovel, no animals around for miles if they'd help to it. They smelt blood. Boy didn't heed the warning.
He'd stuffed two into his clothes when he heard the growl. Another was dangling from lax fingers when the teeth punctured his right calf, and he was screaming bloody murder, kick and kick and kick the thing in the face with his good boots, boots Iarei had spent too long gettin' him fit for like he had any need of boots but she'd said he hadda have em and sinners there was blood and then he got the dog in the eye with his other foot and the thing yelped and skitted back so he could get up and run with shouts thick and hot in his ears.
Oh he ran. Back the way he'd come with no more direction than sheer pure instinct, gulping air in time to his strides, not lookin back and trying to hear over the blood singing in his ears and soon his lungs burned and his throat burned. Rest of him was numb to the thought of a hand closing over him and tearin him back screaming to cut off a finger or a hand. Maybe worse. He had to find Iarei, he was furiously desperate, and he turned back to the downtown area with his strength flagging hard and they were still right there. He had to blend back in with the crowds somehow and he quick toed it in the thick of the morning crowds, streaming along so that when he dared to look back at the vague shapes hunting him down he collided into someone he didn't know, someone named Erryl who he didn't know, but who would be a good distraction.
His hands were busy. "I got em, I got em, I did as y'asked!" He yelled loud enough to turn heads, and he faked a sob as he unloaded two of them onto his unsuspecting victim and let his fingers search around for any promising lump -- there was one! -- and he didn't stop to ask what it was when he lifted it and let the stranger see a sneer and then he would try to keep running, running, don't get caught!
Re: In for a Bishan
The morning continued on, more and more people gradually joining those already going about their business until the streets were, if not quite crowded, then certainly busy. Despite the increase in activity, Erryl still had not found very much entertainment, and his slight enjoyment at watching others go about their lives was the only reason he chose not to venture elsewhere.
For a moment, he stopped in front of an old bookstore, contemplating whether or not it would be worth perusing -- whether or not he had the Bishani to spare -- but a sudden feeling of distress interrupted his thoughts and he instinctively turned left, towards its source.
Before his gaze had even reached the direction of this sudden wave of emotion, however, he found himself almost knocked off his feet. He looked down to see a young boy, shouting and sobbing, and at first, he was too shocked to move. He didn't even have time to take note of the child's appearance before something else caught his attention.
He felt the anger before he heard the footsteps, and looked up to see several large men running towards him, appearing rather murderous. And looking at me, he realized with horror, cursing aloud. He glanced down long enough to notice the contemptuous expression on the boy's face, before he was gone, running off in the opposite direction to the approaching danger.
Without a second thought, Erryl followed his lead, trying to keep the little brat in sight, but the boy was quick and the crowd seemed to be growing. Eventually he could feel the distance between himself and the men hunting him down gradually lengthen, the cover of bodies aiding his escape, but his legs, unfit for sprinting such a distance, were already beginning to ache from the stress. If I ever get out of this alive, he thought to himself as he weaved his way through the crowd, I am definitely going to start running more often.
For a moment, he stopped in front of an old bookstore, contemplating whether or not it would be worth perusing -- whether or not he had the Bishani to spare -- but a sudden feeling of distress interrupted his thoughts and he instinctively turned left, towards its source.
Before his gaze had even reached the direction of this sudden wave of emotion, however, he found himself almost knocked off his feet. He looked down to see a young boy, shouting and sobbing, and at first, he was too shocked to move. He didn't even have time to take note of the child's appearance before something else caught his attention.
He felt the anger before he heard the footsteps, and looked up to see several large men running towards him, appearing rather murderous. And looking at me, he realized with horror, cursing aloud. He glanced down long enough to notice the contemptuous expression on the boy's face, before he was gone, running off in the opposite direction to the approaching danger.
Without a second thought, Erryl followed his lead, trying to keep the little brat in sight, but the boy was quick and the crowd seemed to be growing. Eventually he could feel the distance between himself and the men hunting him down gradually lengthen, the cover of bodies aiding his escape, but his legs, unfit for sprinting such a distance, were already beginning to ache from the stress. If I ever get out of this alive, he thought to himself as he weaved his way through the crowd, I am definitely going to start running more often.
Re: In for a Bishan
Dirk's attention was drawn away from the performer when he noticed a man come past. He was very much out of breath and apparently not very good at running. Amateur. Your run away from enough guards, marks and women and you learn to breathe properly doing it.
There appeared to be men chasing him, although they were far enough back to lose him at any moment. That meant he was probably either a thief or fleeing muggers, both of which had the potential for reward money one way or another, or he'd insulted somebody's sister or something, which didn't but would be interesting to hear about anyway. Dirk put on his bumbling tourist face and thought about which spot would be the best to stand in to create the greatest obstacle to the man's pursuers.
There appeared to be men chasing him, although they were far enough back to lose him at any moment. That meant he was probably either a thief or fleeing muggers, both of which had the potential for reward money one way or another, or he'd insulted somebody's sister or something, which didn't but would be interesting to hear about anyway. Dirk put on his bumbling tourist face and thought about which spot would be the best to stand in to create the greatest obstacle to the man's pursuers.
Re: In for a Bishan
Only four people gathered around Jester's box after her announcement. An amateur might have thought that a failure and given up, disappointing her crowd and ruining her reputation. An idiot performer would have waited for more before starting her act.
It was a good thing then, that Jester was neither an amateur or an idiot. She could see the streets starting to fill with more people, knew that once she started performing they would see her and come over. Four was only the beginning.
Still, it was better to start off with something flashy. Just to be safe. She reached into her backpack to find her batons, smiling widely at her audience. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for joining me today. Now, without further ado, I will -"
Clink.
Jester looked down at the lone Bishan still rolling on the cobblestones, then up into the pompous, leering face of the man who had tossed it at her feet. And she almost lost it right then. She could feel the rage swelling behind her eyes at that man's stupidity, his audacity, his, his - she didn't know what but how dare he. How dare he look down on her. Didn't anyone in this backwater excuse for a city realize that performers worked just like anyone else, got paid after they had finished just like anyone else? Getting money like this was pity.
Jester hated, absolutely hated pity more than anything, but she smiled. At him. And thanked him, in a sweet voice, for his generosity. Even if her lips were pulled tight enough to hurt her cheeks and the cautious stare of her audience warned her she might be letting a little too much murderous rage slip past her mask, she still smiled. Because Jester was not an amateur.
A bend of the knees and she sprang backwards off the box. She landed without wobbling, head down so she could take a quick, deep breath (don't think about him, just focus on the act) and then four batons were twirling their bright paths through the air. There was no applause - yet - but now the crowd's eyes were fixed firmly on her act.
She grinned and flipped one under her knee, and then under the other one. Simple tricks, really, but these entertainment starved folks wouldn't care. Give them a few brightly colored objects flying in the air and they'd gape the whole afternoon.
The group murmured among themselves, obviously impressed. She would end it with another flip, catch the batons, and move onto knives and maybe some fire as well. The people rushing about would have to stop and pay attention then.
But then the people rushing about barreled past, and her audience was distracted as they were shoved around. Jester frowned despite herself. Yet another thing going wrong. But a pro could handle this, a pro could crane her neck to find out who dared to interrupt a working performer and keep juggling and smiling all at the same time.
She wasn't looking at her hands, wasn't counting flips. A baton came wrong-side down on her palm, glanced off, and she was already - fatal mistake - looking down to follow its path instead of watching the others. She watched it land on the cobblestones, about to bounce off to who knows where. All she could think off between the commotion and the sudden horror was to step on it. Which was a really stupid instinct.
She went down like a wildly flailing sack of rocks.
It was a good thing then, that Jester was neither an amateur or an idiot. She could see the streets starting to fill with more people, knew that once she started performing they would see her and come over. Four was only the beginning.
Still, it was better to start off with something flashy. Just to be safe. She reached into her backpack to find her batons, smiling widely at her audience. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for joining me today. Now, without further ado, I will -"
Clink.
Jester looked down at the lone Bishan still rolling on the cobblestones, then up into the pompous, leering face of the man who had tossed it at her feet. And she almost lost it right then. She could feel the rage swelling behind her eyes at that man's stupidity, his audacity, his, his - she didn't know what but how dare he. How dare he look down on her. Didn't anyone in this backwater excuse for a city realize that performers worked just like anyone else, got paid after they had finished just like anyone else? Getting money like this was pity.
Jester hated, absolutely hated pity more than anything, but she smiled. At him. And thanked him, in a sweet voice, for his generosity. Even if her lips were pulled tight enough to hurt her cheeks and the cautious stare of her audience warned her she might be letting a little too much murderous rage slip past her mask, she still smiled. Because Jester was not an amateur.
A bend of the knees and she sprang backwards off the box. She landed without wobbling, head down so she could take a quick, deep breath (don't think about him, just focus on the act) and then four batons were twirling their bright paths through the air. There was no applause - yet - but now the crowd's eyes were fixed firmly on her act.
She grinned and flipped one under her knee, and then under the other one. Simple tricks, really, but these entertainment starved folks wouldn't care. Give them a few brightly colored objects flying in the air and they'd gape the whole afternoon.
The group murmured among themselves, obviously impressed. She would end it with another flip, catch the batons, and move onto knives and maybe some fire as well. The people rushing about would have to stop and pay attention then.
But then the people rushing about barreled past, and her audience was distracted as they were shoved around. Jester frowned despite herself. Yet another thing going wrong. But a pro could handle this, a pro could crane her neck to find out who dared to interrupt a working performer and keep juggling and smiling all at the same time.
She wasn't looking at her hands, wasn't counting flips. A baton came wrong-side down on her palm, glanced off, and she was already - fatal mistake - looking down to follow its path instead of watching the others. She watched it land on the cobblestones, about to bounce off to who knows where. All she could think off between the commotion and the sudden horror was to step on it. Which was a really stupid instinct.
She went down like a wildly flailing sack of rocks.
Re: In for a Bishan
Iarei knew when she heard the shouting. She had told the damn brat to go have fun, safe fun, when he'd done a good job, and then to go back to the Inn. So what does he do? He stays out all night, and from the sound of things, gets himself into trouble and half the city into an uproar. She quickened her pace, but she didn't run. Running would do no good, and it would only call attention to herself, which she didn't in the least need. Oooh, she was going to wring his little neck!
She angled off down the streets, ducking between alleys and thoroughfares as she listened to where the shouting seemed to be coming from, trying to time herself to be ahead of the direction of the whole mess, so she could catch the boy before he stumbled into the guards' welcoming arms. She wondered then just how dire the punishment for thieving children, and promptly mulled over if she should leave him to face the punishment meted out and maybe learn his lesson when a finger or two was taken.
He'd probably be useless to her, then. She sighed, found the right street, and after a moment or three caught the child as he was hurtling past, swung him around, clamped one hand over his mouth and the other at the back of his neck, and quietly but quickly moved to the other side of the street. After a few desperate struggles, boy realized who and what was going on, and calmed down and gaped up at her as she steered him casually down the street the way he'd come, looking for a distraction. . .distraction . . .there!
A street performer had fallen in a spectacular display, and Iarei's lips curved into a cat's smile as she directed them over there. Just how far ahead of his pursuers had the boy --
She didn't see the solitary, panting figure until he was nearly on top of them, and the only thing Iarei could think to do was crouch with boy held close, and hope the running man didn't step on her. Or kick her.
She angled off down the streets, ducking between alleys and thoroughfares as she listened to where the shouting seemed to be coming from, trying to time herself to be ahead of the direction of the whole mess, so she could catch the boy before he stumbled into the guards' welcoming arms. She wondered then just how dire the punishment for thieving children, and promptly mulled over if she should leave him to face the punishment meted out and maybe learn his lesson when a finger or two was taken.
He'd probably be useless to her, then. She sighed, found the right street, and after a moment or three caught the child as he was hurtling past, swung him around, clamped one hand over his mouth and the other at the back of his neck, and quietly but quickly moved to the other side of the street. After a few desperate struggles, boy realized who and what was going on, and calmed down and gaped up at her as she steered him casually down the street the way he'd come, looking for a distraction. . .distraction . . .there!
A street performer had fallen in a spectacular display, and Iarei's lips curved into a cat's smile as she directed them over there. Just how far ahead of his pursuers had the boy --
She didn't see the solitary, panting figure until he was nearly on top of them, and the only thing Iarei could think to do was crouch with boy held close, and hope the running man didn't step on her. Or kick her.
Re: In for a Bishan
The boy was out of sight now, had been for what seemed a long time - what was, in reality, only a few moments - and Erryl's only goal now was to keep running, as fast and as far as he could, despite how his aching legs and burning lungs protested. He couldn't even think straight, with this throbbing in his ears and his own loud breathing over the seemingly distant sounds of conversation, footsteps, even a vague feeling of amusement washing over him from the crowd.
Bright colours caused him to turn his head towards a fallen performer who seemed both bemused and rather annoyed, batons about her on the ground. By the time Erryl remembered to look where he was going, he had only a second to notice the hunched figure in front of him, and even less time to decide what to do about it.
Without thinking, he turned to the side in some futile attempt to avoid – or, at the very least, lessen - the inevitable impact, but his leg still caught on the crouched body, throwing him sideways towards the hard and unforgiving city floor. As he instinctively put his arm out to soften the fall, his hand made contact with something decidedly unstable, and he cursed aloud as his arm slipped out from underneath him. This act only caused his tongue to become caught between his teeth as he finally, and painfully, landed on his face, followed by the rest of his body. Gravity has no mercy.
Head aching, Erryl turned and opened his eyes to find, once his vision had stopped spinning, a bright baton, the one he had landed on. Assuming it belonged to the performer who had distracted him, setting off his fall in the first place, he wondered at his misfortune.
He glanced around and noticed a few people were standing about, staring at him, but most simply kept walking. No time to deal with mischievous youths while there was work to be done. From the direction he had fallen from, there was the crouched figure - a rather plain-looking woman with long, dark hair - and with her, a young boy. Suddenly realising who the boy was, Erryl pushed himself up and reached out to grab at him, ignoring the pain throughout his body at doing so.
Bright colours caused him to turn his head towards a fallen performer who seemed both bemused and rather annoyed, batons about her on the ground. By the time Erryl remembered to look where he was going, he had only a second to notice the hunched figure in front of him, and even less time to decide what to do about it.
Without thinking, he turned to the side in some futile attempt to avoid – or, at the very least, lessen - the inevitable impact, but his leg still caught on the crouched body, throwing him sideways towards the hard and unforgiving city floor. As he instinctively put his arm out to soften the fall, his hand made contact with something decidedly unstable, and he cursed aloud as his arm slipped out from underneath him. This act only caused his tongue to become caught between his teeth as he finally, and painfully, landed on his face, followed by the rest of his body. Gravity has no mercy.
Head aching, Erryl turned and opened his eyes to find, once his vision had stopped spinning, a bright baton, the one he had landed on. Assuming it belonged to the performer who had distracted him, setting off his fall in the first place, he wondered at his misfortune.
He glanced around and noticed a few people were standing about, staring at him, but most simply kept walking. No time to deal with mischievous youths while there was work to be done. From the direction he had fallen from, there was the crouched figure - a rather plain-looking woman with long, dark hair - and with her, a young boy. Suddenly realising who the boy was, Erryl pushed himself up and reached out to grab at him, ignoring the pain throughout his body at doing so.
Re: In for a Bishan
Chaos; the best friend and worst enemy of the opportunist. In this case it stumbled and crashed through Dirk's neat plans like the results of the acrobat's misplaced foot.
The commotion caused by the performer falling seemed to have allowed his mark to disappear, so Dirken took a moment to memorise the faces of the man's pursuers before turning instead to the fallen performer and offering his hand. "Are you alright, ma'am?"
She certainly didn't look happy. He'd noticed that she seemed to take offense to him, but she wasn't likely to attack him for common courtesy whatever her problem was. Not in front of an audience, at least, no matter how angry she might be after falling over in full view.
"If you're hurt, I could take you to a medical centre..." not that he knew where anything was in this town, but that was secondary. Being a helpful stranger was the important thing. He neatly scooped up the coin he'd thrown (quite probably the only money she'd be making that night, especially if she were injured... hah, that must really piss her off) and a couple of batons within arm's reach with one hand while offering the other.
The commotion caused by the performer falling seemed to have allowed his mark to disappear, so Dirken took a moment to memorise the faces of the man's pursuers before turning instead to the fallen performer and offering his hand. "Are you alright, ma'am?"
She certainly didn't look happy. He'd noticed that she seemed to take offense to him, but she wasn't likely to attack him for common courtesy whatever her problem was. Not in front of an audience, at least, no matter how angry she might be after falling over in full view.
"If you're hurt, I could take you to a medical centre..." not that he knew where anything was in this town, but that was secondary. Being a helpful stranger was the important thing. He neatly scooped up the coin he'd thrown (quite probably the only money she'd be making that night, especially if she were injured... hah, that must really piss her off) and a couple of batons within arm's reach with one hand while offering the other.
Re: In for a Bishan
Jester hurt. Her legs hurt, her back hurt, her palms ached from when they had scrapped against stone in an effort to keep her head from hitting the ground. Her head hurt from hitting the ground. The worst of it was her left foot, which had gone right through the rotten wood of her makeshift stand and throbbed menacingly from inside it. Not too bad, though, all in all. Scrapes like those were common when falling over comically had been her whole act, not just a stupid mistake.
Nobody was laughing at her. She didn't know whether or not to be glad about that. It would have stung if they had, but she could have pretended it was part of the show and moved on. Now, surrounded by their silence, she didn't know what to do.
"Are you alright, ma'am?" There was a hand in front of her face, so she was probably the ma'am the person was talking about. Ignoring the slight about her age - she was young enough to still be a miss, wasn't she? - she grabbed it and hauled herself up, gingerly freeing her foot from the crate. It wasn't terribly damaged, just a couple bleeding scrapes and a dull soreness, but she'd still have to wait a while to perform.
Looked like she'd be going hungry again. Damn.
The man said something about going to a medical center, but Jester shook her head at that. If she couldn't afford to eat, there was no way she'd be able to afford medicine for bruises that would heal in a few days anyways. More importantly, he was holding two of her batons, thankfully undamaged. She grabbed them, smiling automatically in thanks, and noticed the Bishan glinting up at her from his palm. A quick glance upward confirmed he was That Man from Before, and her smiled froze in place as the warmth from his kindness curdled in her stomach.
This was just more pity, wasn't it. Theogios damn it all, but she wasn't a naive child anymore, she was an adult, a professional, and she wanted the respect that came with it. Pity just sent her back into her rookies days, when being laughed at was all she was good for.
To distract herself from the unpleasant memories, she looked about for the rest of her batons. One was right at her feet, and she almost fell again when her foot nudged against it. The last one was farther away; she caught sight of it just in time to see it roll out from under a man's hand, sending him slamming into the ground.
Jester's ankle throbbed in shared sympathy, but she couldn't afford to help him. She had to get her baton before someone else stepped on it and cracked it. She hurried over, fully intending to ignore the unfortunate youth, but then he turned about and made to grab someone behind him and all her intentions scattered off into the streets without her as she froze mid-step.
A woman shielding a small boy. A man reaching out toward them with a decidedly unfriendly look on his face. There were many explanations for what Jester was seeing, but they all equaled one thing: this was a Bad Man who was about to do bad things to a helpless innocent victim.
"What do you think you're doing, you villain!" she shouted, brandishing a baton in his direction. Her injuries were forgotten as a rush of adrenaline and excitement put sparkles into her eyes. She was about to be a hero, maybe even get in a fight; who cared about going hungry when so many larger things where at stake?
Nobody was laughing at her. She didn't know whether or not to be glad about that. It would have stung if they had, but she could have pretended it was part of the show and moved on. Now, surrounded by their silence, she didn't know what to do.
"Are you alright, ma'am?" There was a hand in front of her face, so she was probably the ma'am the person was talking about. Ignoring the slight about her age - she was young enough to still be a miss, wasn't she? - she grabbed it and hauled herself up, gingerly freeing her foot from the crate. It wasn't terribly damaged, just a couple bleeding scrapes and a dull soreness, but she'd still have to wait a while to perform.
Looked like she'd be going hungry again. Damn.
The man said something about going to a medical center, but Jester shook her head at that. If she couldn't afford to eat, there was no way she'd be able to afford medicine for bruises that would heal in a few days anyways. More importantly, he was holding two of her batons, thankfully undamaged. She grabbed them, smiling automatically in thanks, and noticed the Bishan glinting up at her from his palm. A quick glance upward confirmed he was That Man from Before, and her smiled froze in place as the warmth from his kindness curdled in her stomach.
This was just more pity, wasn't it. Theogios damn it all, but she wasn't a naive child anymore, she was an adult, a professional, and she wanted the respect that came with it. Pity just sent her back into her rookies days, when being laughed at was all she was good for.
To distract herself from the unpleasant memories, she looked about for the rest of her batons. One was right at her feet, and she almost fell again when her foot nudged against it. The last one was farther away; she caught sight of it just in time to see it roll out from under a man's hand, sending him slamming into the ground.
Jester's ankle throbbed in shared sympathy, but she couldn't afford to help him. She had to get her baton before someone else stepped on it and cracked it. She hurried over, fully intending to ignore the unfortunate youth, but then he turned about and made to grab someone behind him and all her intentions scattered off into the streets without her as she froze mid-step.
A woman shielding a small boy. A man reaching out toward them with a decidedly unfriendly look on his face. There were many explanations for what Jester was seeing, but they all equaled one thing: this was a Bad Man who was about to do bad things to a helpless innocent victim.
"What do you think you're doing, you villain!" she shouted, brandishing a baton in his direction. Her injuries were forgotten as a rush of adrenaline and excitement put sparkles into her eyes. She was about to be a hero, maybe even get in a fight; who cared about going hungry when so many larger things where at stake?
Last edited by Aniseed on Tue Apr 06, 2010 3:32 am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: In for a Bishan
"Excuse me." Iarei's voice had dropped to subzero temperatures, past anything the world had likely ever seen before. She'd roughly manhandled the boy away from Erryl's outstretched hand, and glared at him frostily right as Jester shouted. As far as she knew, he was the one chasing the boy, and as far as she knew, the uh. . . .
Iarei felt her mood slipping as she craned her head to look up at Jester, and then at the man trailing behind the woman as though some sort of companion. Confusion, yes, that was the right response, but at the moment she was far more inclined to be angry that someone else was stealing her thunder. As if she couldn't handle herself and some infathomable young man who didn't even look to be the thug Iarei had expected to find chasing the boy. And the boy, for his part, was looking far too smug now that Iarei thought about it, too smug indeed for being confronted with someone he'd stolen from.
She grew puzzled, and quite ready to get angry at someone because she couldn't simply let the mood drop now that she'd been roused to some other problem other than nearly having her face exploded from some great blue thing and --
And then she saw them. If she'd not been looking about for someone to blame, from the woman to the two men and the curious group of onlookers behind, she wouldn't have seen the few men circling like wolves ready to go after a bloodied kill. They did not look to belong in the market area, and they were much rather what she'd expect from thugs and lowlifers. And, they were not immediately coming forward to grab the boy as the man in front of her had, which meant something illegal was likely at stake.
She gave a very sharp glance at boy. Good enough for the strangers, else Iarei might have had fuller hands then she'd been reckoning for. "Yes, indeed." She said sharp enough, to forestall any sort of confrontation that might have them out under the watchful eyes of the wolves longer than necessary. But she didn't want to walk off alone with the boy, no, a crowd must do. "It is time for breakfast. I have not had breakfast, have you? It would seem my boy has caused some trouble. Let me make amends. Come, ah, let us go eat. I will pay."
Iarei knew that her words must be intolerably strange, but the longer they were out on the street, the longer those goons would have to collect other goons. Or guards might be along. She did not want guards. She didn't want anything. She wanted to sleep and to have all the strange people go away while she collected herself. It was hard to force a smile, but she managed it well enough. It was harder still to make it look easy and unforced.
Iarei felt her mood slipping as she craned her head to look up at Jester, and then at the man trailing behind the woman as though some sort of companion. Confusion, yes, that was the right response, but at the moment she was far more inclined to be angry that someone else was stealing her thunder. As if she couldn't handle herself and some infathomable young man who didn't even look to be the thug Iarei had expected to find chasing the boy. And the boy, for his part, was looking far too smug now that Iarei thought about it, too smug indeed for being confronted with someone he'd stolen from.
She grew puzzled, and quite ready to get angry at someone because she couldn't simply let the mood drop now that she'd been roused to some other problem other than nearly having her face exploded from some great blue thing and --
And then she saw them. If she'd not been looking about for someone to blame, from the woman to the two men and the curious group of onlookers behind, she wouldn't have seen the few men circling like wolves ready to go after a bloodied kill. They did not look to belong in the market area, and they were much rather what she'd expect from thugs and lowlifers. And, they were not immediately coming forward to grab the boy as the man in front of her had, which meant something illegal was likely at stake.
She gave a very sharp glance at boy. Good enough for the strangers, else Iarei might have had fuller hands then she'd been reckoning for. "Yes, indeed." She said sharp enough, to forestall any sort of confrontation that might have them out under the watchful eyes of the wolves longer than necessary. But she didn't want to walk off alone with the boy, no, a crowd must do. "It is time for breakfast. I have not had breakfast, have you? It would seem my boy has caused some trouble. Let me make amends. Come, ah, let us go eat. I will pay."
Iarei knew that her words must be intolerably strange, but the longer they were out on the street, the longer those goons would have to collect other goons. Or guards might be along. She did not want guards. She didn't want anything. She wanted to sleep and to have all the strange people go away while she collected herself. It was hard to force a smile, but she managed it well enough. It was harder still to make it look easy and unforced.
Re: In for a Bishan
Erryl, irritated and aching, had almost taken hold of that irksome child – that was his best chance at ridding himself of trouble, and probably his only chance after that painful incident – when that plain-looking lady, whose anger was very clear, forcefully pulled the boy out of reach again. Before he had a chance to object, a woman shouted from nearby. Did she say villian?
The boy momentarily forgotten, Erryl turned to see the street performer who had distracted him earlier, baton pointed threateningly in his direction. Glancing around, he noticed more people had turned to stare; a small crowd was gathered around the four of them, curious and slightly amused, probably wondering what was about to happen.
When he turned back to the woman holding the troublesome young boy, Erryl noticed the direction of her gaze, as well as a familiar feeling of rage, one he had been too distracted to perceive until now. Fear washed over him as he looked around, finally spying what appeared to be the men he had been trying to escape. Each one seemed equally murderous, barely able to keep their patience, and each one stared at him, just waiting for the chance to decorate the street with his intestines, or so his imagination was convincing him to believe.
A loud voice, close behind, made Erryl jump in fright, and he spun around to once again face that woman - probably the boy’s mother, he suddenly decided. This idea was reinforced as she referred to him as her boy, and- did she just offer me breakfast?
Glad for any reason to get away from here, away from this danger and the possibility of a gruesome death, Erryl simply nodded and mumbled some kind of agreement, turning his bewildered look onto the – now that he took the time to pay attention – somewhat injured entertainer, and trying to understand how on Pal Tahrenor he had found himself in this situation at all.
The boy momentarily forgotten, Erryl turned to see the street performer who had distracted him earlier, baton pointed threateningly in his direction. Glancing around, he noticed more people had turned to stare; a small crowd was gathered around the four of them, curious and slightly amused, probably wondering what was about to happen.
When he turned back to the woman holding the troublesome young boy, Erryl noticed the direction of her gaze, as well as a familiar feeling of rage, one he had been too distracted to perceive until now. Fear washed over him as he looked around, finally spying what appeared to be the men he had been trying to escape. Each one seemed equally murderous, barely able to keep their patience, and each one stared at him, just waiting for the chance to decorate the street with his intestines, or so his imagination was convincing him to believe.
A loud voice, close behind, made Erryl jump in fright, and he spun around to once again face that woman - probably the boy’s mother, he suddenly decided. This idea was reinforced as she referred to him as her boy, and- did she just offer me breakfast?
Glad for any reason to get away from here, away from this danger and the possibility of a gruesome death, Erryl simply nodded and mumbled some kind of agreement, turning his bewildered look onto the – now that he took the time to pay attention – somewhat injured entertainer, and trying to understand how on Pal Tahrenor he had found himself in this situation at all.
Re: In for a Bishan
"It is time for breakfast. I have not had breakfast, have you? It would seem my boy has caused some trouble. Let me make amends. Come, ah, let us go eat. I will pay."
Smart woman, Dirk thought. He glanced at the crowd and picked out a few of the thugs; they didn't even seem to be trying to conceal themselves. He didn't need to seek them all out to know that there were too many for a woman, a kid and some guy who didn't seem to know how to run properly to take, so he figured that it was safe to interpret the woman's statement as an open invitation. It was unlikely that they'd just send him away, after all. " Breakfast! An excellent idea!" Dirk boomed. "And thus the villain is brought down and peace made by the power of the stomach!" He gave a theatrical bow to the crowd, as if the whole thing was part of an act (confusing the heck out of people was always a good strategy) and took the street performer's elbow, as if to steady her, hoping fervently that she wouldn't just turn and strike him upside the head with her baton. "Come on," he muttered, "she's offering free food."
Louder, he added, "If the lady would be so kind as to lead us to her preferred eating establishment?" He gave the woman a respectful nod and spared a broad smile for the crowd. Look confident, look like you know exactly what's going on, and make certain nobody else does... the most reliable strategy ever invented.
Smart woman, Dirk thought. He glanced at the crowd and picked out a few of the thugs; they didn't even seem to be trying to conceal themselves. He didn't need to seek them all out to know that there were too many for a woman, a kid and some guy who didn't seem to know how to run properly to take, so he figured that it was safe to interpret the woman's statement as an open invitation. It was unlikely that they'd just send him away, after all. " Breakfast! An excellent idea!" Dirk boomed. "And thus the villain is brought down and peace made by the power of the stomach!" He gave a theatrical bow to the crowd, as if the whole thing was part of an act (confusing the heck out of people was always a good strategy) and took the street performer's elbow, as if to steady her, hoping fervently that she wouldn't just turn and strike him upside the head with her baton. "Come on," he muttered, "she's offering free food."
Louder, he added, "If the lady would be so kind as to lead us to her preferred eating establishment?" He gave the woman a respectful nod and spared a broad smile for the crowd. Look confident, look like you know exactly what's going on, and make certain nobody else does... the most reliable strategy ever invented.