April 15, 122PW
Cal smelled. That wasn’t so unusual—lots of people smelled. But most people didn’t have his additional drawbacks of being ugly and a racist misanthrope. The tavern’s patrons usually gave him a wide berth. Except his fellow card players. They’d tolerate anyone with the money to play. But everyone else steered clear of the table in the back corner where they played.
They were a rough bunch at that table. The others knew he cheated, but since they did too they couldn’t exactly complain. It was a standard of low-life card games the world over, and they all knew the score. The one who cheated the best got paid, and everybody else tried a little harder next time. But if you got caught, well….you didn’t want to get caught.
This was how Cal paid for most of his meals. Sure, he was still an excellent criminal, but the guard in this hole of a town was too damn efficient to be out stalking rooftops every night. He pulled a job only a couple times a month these days. Keep his head down, y’know. And in between, he played cards and fiddle. Just enough to pass the time and keep his belly full. He figured it’d be another couple of years before he could risk returning to Eyropa, and until then he was content with merely surviving.
Another round of betting. He looked down at his cards, snorted in disgust, tossed them into the center. Considered his drink. He knew he had tested it already, but with booze this bad he wasn’t sure he’d taste the poison anyway. Lost in thought about the various deadly substances that could be hiding in the rough alcohol, he almost didn’t notice the tavern keeper trying to catch his eye. But he saw, got the hint.
He stood up and stepped away from the table, grabbing his case as he went. He knew none of his fellow players would try stealing the bishani he left behind, because theft that obvious would require an object lesson none of them particularly wanted. He stood by the fireplace and opened the case. After a couple minutes of tuning, he began fiddling, a lively reel. While none of the customers would sit at a table with him, they had no compunctions about listening to his music. Some were even drunk enough to sing once they recognized the tune; most were content to stamp and clap the beat.
This was the arrangement Cal had with most of the seedier tavern owners in town. They’d tolerate his troubling presence and the card games in back corners, and even give him free drinks, but he had to play a couple hours a night. This suited him just fine; he liked playing and he liked free drinks even more. It was just another way of surviving until the opportunity for something better came along. It had worked to everyone’s benefit for a year now: free drinks for him, cheap entertainment for their customers.
He grinned his ugly grin when the song came to an end, and took a joking bow to the now-more-relaxed crowd, who responded with laughter and applause. Then he straightened up, and set his bow to the strings once more. The night was young.
Tanstaafl
Re: Tanstaafl
It was terrible and amazing how much things could change in the short span of a few months. A life Saruna'd had for years had been turned upside down, and when that too was tumbled about she found herself missing the changes and not the mundane routine she'd kept all the lonely years of her adulthood. Her home was once again bare and empty but for her, and rather than fall back into a sad melancholy she found herself angry at the government, at the place and town, for taking her life away from her. If only. . . If only. It was too much for her to take, heartbreak and anger both, and it broke her from the mild agoraphobia that had crept into her ever since her husband had died.
That was how she found herself in Marn. That was why she was trespassing into areas she had no right to be in, without the benefit of any ally to guide her. She'd come as a merchant, and right away she could see that was wrong, because she stuck out like a sore thumb. No matter how slack she'd allowed herself to become -- no matter how naive -- she still had some of the old cutthroat instincts. She couldn't go back to correct her mistakes and appear less conspicuous; to go back when her foot was already past the line was to admit defeat. She'd lose her nerve.
That was how she wound up pacing the alleys and dirty-hole streets of the . . . less prominent business area, the sort she'd counseled her children to stay out of when they were growing, wearing her third best shawl that was supposed to go to her youngest daughter. But that daughter had left before Saruna could pass it on. The familiar coal of anger burned deep, and she lifted her chin and hunched her shoulders in something resembling avoidance of cowering fear.
She passed shadowed alcoves and doorways, most of them filled with drunks or hussies out to sell themselves for a pittance of what they ought be worth. She stepped over puddles of liquid that weren't necessarily water, even dirty water, and hesitated before several doors that had signs promising entertainment, with a sort of grimy facade that she couldn't seem to get around, hot anger non-withstanding. No, it was music that finally drew her in to the ragged yet solid door of a tavern whose windows had mostly become boards long ago, if the stench of wood rot was any indicator.
Saruna opened the door, and looked in on a scene she hadn't really expected. The music was lively and happy in its own way, but that was the only thing. It was misleading to her, who imagined this many scruffy men and dingy, sticky floors as a sort of hell in its own right. She certainly hadn't expected to see it in Marn, no matter how bad the streets were. Her response was to shut the door quickly, feeling her face heat and her chin tremble, and she made a beeline for the only thing she really understood in that place: the barkeep. Barkeeps answered questions, and offered a sort of dubious protection from thugs and muggers. She'd made a mistake wearing such nice, clean clothes.
She could hear the worn out serving wenches tittering loudly from one side, and felt a hot wash of shame that she should be embarrassed from their regard, them whose sole purpose was to pass out booze and drape themselves over men with their legs spread.
The keep did not look welcoming, but she planted herself before him anyways, and cleared her throat to speak over the music.
"I need, um, I need someone to, ummm, help me? With a job, that is, um, to talk to. . .contacts?" It was a disaster. The keep's face could not possibly look any more closed to her. Silence stretched out, over which the cheerful fiddling drowned the sound of her tortured heartbeat.
The keep looked away from her, over her shoulder towards the scruffy man who performed in a sort of cleared area off to the side. She turned, partly, to follow the direction of the keep's stare, and felt herself pale.
That was how she found herself in Marn. That was why she was trespassing into areas she had no right to be in, without the benefit of any ally to guide her. She'd come as a merchant, and right away she could see that was wrong, because she stuck out like a sore thumb. No matter how slack she'd allowed herself to become -- no matter how naive -- she still had some of the old cutthroat instincts. She couldn't go back to correct her mistakes and appear less conspicuous; to go back when her foot was already past the line was to admit defeat. She'd lose her nerve.
That was how she wound up pacing the alleys and dirty-hole streets of the . . . less prominent business area, the sort she'd counseled her children to stay out of when they were growing, wearing her third best shawl that was supposed to go to her youngest daughter. But that daughter had left before Saruna could pass it on. The familiar coal of anger burned deep, and she lifted her chin and hunched her shoulders in something resembling avoidance of cowering fear.
She passed shadowed alcoves and doorways, most of them filled with drunks or hussies out to sell themselves for a pittance of what they ought be worth. She stepped over puddles of liquid that weren't necessarily water, even dirty water, and hesitated before several doors that had signs promising entertainment, with a sort of grimy facade that she couldn't seem to get around, hot anger non-withstanding. No, it was music that finally drew her in to the ragged yet solid door of a tavern whose windows had mostly become boards long ago, if the stench of wood rot was any indicator.
Saruna opened the door, and looked in on a scene she hadn't really expected. The music was lively and happy in its own way, but that was the only thing. It was misleading to her, who imagined this many scruffy men and dingy, sticky floors as a sort of hell in its own right. She certainly hadn't expected to see it in Marn, no matter how bad the streets were. Her response was to shut the door quickly, feeling her face heat and her chin tremble, and she made a beeline for the only thing she really understood in that place: the barkeep. Barkeeps answered questions, and offered a sort of dubious protection from thugs and muggers. She'd made a mistake wearing such nice, clean clothes.
She could hear the worn out serving wenches tittering loudly from one side, and felt a hot wash of shame that she should be embarrassed from their regard, them whose sole purpose was to pass out booze and drape themselves over men with their legs spread.
The keep did not look welcoming, but she planted herself before him anyways, and cleared her throat to speak over the music.
"I need, um, I need someone to, ummm, help me? With a job, that is, um, to talk to. . .contacts?" It was a disaster. The keep's face could not possibly look any more closed to her. Silence stretched out, over which the cheerful fiddling drowned the sound of her tortured heartbeat.
The keep looked away from her, over her shoulder towards the scruffy man who performed in a sort of cleared area off to the side. She turned, partly, to follow the direction of the keep's stare, and felt herself pale.
#biologicallyconscientious||Characters and threads.
Re: Tanstaafl
Cal had been playing for a while. He’d lost track of the time, but he knew it was nearing the time he could return to his cards and drink. He’d have to test it again, but that was life. The only time he was really happy was when he was playing, and he lost himself in it. All the memories that weighed on him—his mother’s death, the humiliations and starvation of the streets and the gangs, prison, Mattox—they all faded away when he put the bow to the strings. There was only the music. Hell, he even forgot about how much he hated elves when he had a violin in his hands.
But much as he lost himself, he was still a career criminal, with all the paranoia inherent in the profession. He may forget his hatred of the world, but he kept his eyes and ears open. So when the old lady in the clean clothes entered, he definitely noticed. He didn’t much care about who she was, but the only reason someone like that could have for coming in a place like the Hanged Dog was an illicit business need. He continued playing, but watched her make her nervous way to talk to Jon at the bar. As he neared the end of what he decided would be his last song, he saw her looking at him out of the corner of his eye. She looked terrified. Good. She should be, in a place like this.
He ended the song, took a last stiff bow—no grin this time—and put the instrument back in its case. With the act of closing the latches he could feel the sense of peace disappearing, the burning anger and bitterness returning to its rightful place in his heart. Now that he was back to himself, he rejoined the card game and was dealt in without comment. These weren’t the sort of men who complimented you on your fiddling. After briefly satisfying himself that none of them had touched his money or poisoned his drink, he downed what remained in the glass and looked at his cards.
Positioned as he was, almost in the corner (but with enough room for an escape to either direction, naturally), he could see the whole room. The clean woman was still staring.
But much as he lost himself, he was still a career criminal, with all the paranoia inherent in the profession. He may forget his hatred of the world, but he kept his eyes and ears open. So when the old lady in the clean clothes entered, he definitely noticed. He didn’t much care about who she was, but the only reason someone like that could have for coming in a place like the Hanged Dog was an illicit business need. He continued playing, but watched her make her nervous way to talk to Jon at the bar. As he neared the end of what he decided would be his last song, he saw her looking at him out of the corner of his eye. She looked terrified. Good. She should be, in a place like this.
He ended the song, took a last stiff bow—no grin this time—and put the instrument back in its case. With the act of closing the latches he could feel the sense of peace disappearing, the burning anger and bitterness returning to its rightful place in his heart. Now that he was back to himself, he rejoined the card game and was dealt in without comment. These weren’t the sort of men who complimented you on your fiddling. After briefly satisfying himself that none of them had touched his money or poisoned his drink, he downed what remained in the glass and looked at his cards.
Positioned as he was, almost in the corner (but with enough room for an escape to either direction, naturally), he could see the whole room. The clean woman was still staring.
Re: Tanstaafl
She should leave. No, she should go talk to him. She wasn't ready, and she should go. She wouldn't start, if she couldn't make it past this one hurdle. She might die.
Saruna had turned fully away from the keep, and had managed a single not-really-a-step movement toward the violin player. Almost as if he'd felt her stare, he'd packed it up and moved farther away, to a corner. Come get me. She might have interpreted the move if she'd been about thirty years younger and less knowledgeable of the world. I'll kill you if you get too close was probably a more realistic expectation of the man.
Saruna liked to look at the world from an upbeat position. People were nice if you gave them the chance, and mostly not everyone was out to get you. But, really, she'd avoided the nastier edges of town on the principle that the rest of mostly not everyone tended to congregate there, and they were out to get you. Not in a stalking waiting for you to die sort of way. No, that would imply a knowledge of you beforehand, which was too paranoid to treat with any reason. Instead, it was more of a hurt them before they hurt you attitude, that she'd been taught about when she was young and wide eyed and far more trusting. Though, considering her open minded view of the majority of people she crossed, that wasn't saying much.
Then again, her instincts screaming at her to go home and hide under the covers said far more.
She took another step, and tried not to cower when one of the tarts brushed passed her with a platter of slopping and foul smelling liquids, giving her a look that said, quite clearly, "Scram," and in a tone that brooked no argument. Well, Saruna was well over half again the girl's age. She'd not taken kindly to any child's sass to her, and she wasn't intimidated by that kind of petty jockeying for a higher slot in the hierarchy. The indignity of being played with in that sort of manner floated her over the distance separating her from the man the keep may or may not have indicated in response to her poorly worded request.
Her sensible boots made noise on the tavern floor, but she felt as if she was disconnected, and she almost cringed from the inevitable collision with the men at the table.
Who did not look friendly.
She stopped a pace to the left of the man sitting closest to her trajectory, and found she didn't quite know what to say. Silence. Danger. Go home, old fool.
"Him." She said, instead of turning and fleeing. "I want to. Um. Speak with him."
She pointed belatedly at the 'him' in question, the violin player, and when she realized that might be a foolish thing to do in such a foul place, she quickly removed the finger in question from the air, and tucked it under her shawl.
Saruna had turned fully away from the keep, and had managed a single not-really-a-step movement toward the violin player. Almost as if he'd felt her stare, he'd packed it up and moved farther away, to a corner. Come get me. She might have interpreted the move if she'd been about thirty years younger and less knowledgeable of the world. I'll kill you if you get too close was probably a more realistic expectation of the man.
Saruna liked to look at the world from an upbeat position. People were nice if you gave them the chance, and mostly not everyone was out to get you. But, really, she'd avoided the nastier edges of town on the principle that the rest of mostly not everyone tended to congregate there, and they were out to get you. Not in a stalking waiting for you to die sort of way. No, that would imply a knowledge of you beforehand, which was too paranoid to treat with any reason. Instead, it was more of a hurt them before they hurt you attitude, that she'd been taught about when she was young and wide eyed and far more trusting. Though, considering her open minded view of the majority of people she crossed, that wasn't saying much.
Then again, her instincts screaming at her to go home and hide under the covers said far more.
She took another step, and tried not to cower when one of the tarts brushed passed her with a platter of slopping and foul smelling liquids, giving her a look that said, quite clearly, "Scram," and in a tone that brooked no argument. Well, Saruna was well over half again the girl's age. She'd not taken kindly to any child's sass to her, and she wasn't intimidated by that kind of petty jockeying for a higher slot in the hierarchy. The indignity of being played with in that sort of manner floated her over the distance separating her from the man the keep may or may not have indicated in response to her poorly worded request.
Her sensible boots made noise on the tavern floor, but she felt as if she was disconnected, and she almost cringed from the inevitable collision with the men at the table.
Who did not look friendly.
She stopped a pace to the left of the man sitting closest to her trajectory, and found she didn't quite know what to say. Silence. Danger. Go home, old fool.
"Him." She said, instead of turning and fleeing. "I want to. Um. Speak with him."
She pointed belatedly at the 'him' in question, the violin player, and when she realized that might be a foolish thing to do in such a foul place, she quickly removed the finger in question from the air, and tucked it under her shawl.
#biologicallyconscientious||Characters and threads.
Re: Tanstaafl
Cal watched the woman hesitatingly make up her mind, then carefully paid no attention to her as she approached. She seemed harmless enough, but “seemed” wasn’t good enough. Not when you made your living taking other people’s stuff and killing for hire. “Seemed” got you killed young. Much as Cal hated the world and wasn’t particularly afraid of death, he still wanted to die a bitter old man. He was wary. Not scared—certainly not scared, not of anyone so out of place—but something struck him as off. Respectable folk sometimes came around this side of town looking for hired help, but usually they were men of means. They didn’t look like someone’s grandmother. And they generally tried to blend in a bit better. No, something was definitely off about this.
“Him. I want to. Um. Speak with him.” She pointed at him, like this was an open market in the nice part of town. Who was this woman? Now he was paying attention. But passively. He was double checking his escape routes, reassuring himself of the knife in his boot and the other up his sleeve. You never knew. When something was this out of place, it could easily be a disguise. Or maybe a distraction. But he didn’t look up. It was his turn, and he threw out his bet. It wouldn’t do to acknowledge her. Not until he knew what was going on, at least.
The other five players, however, were under no such constraints. She hadn’t pointed at them, after all. So while Cal obviously and purposefully ignored her, the man to his right looked up and displayed what might have been the most hideous smile ever seen by mankind. “Now jess ‘oo might you be, luv? An’ what d’you want, exac’ly?” A couple others chuckled under their breaths, turning to see who this stranger interrupting their game was.
“Him. I want to. Um. Speak with him.” She pointed at him, like this was an open market in the nice part of town. Who was this woman? Now he was paying attention. But passively. He was double checking his escape routes, reassuring himself of the knife in his boot and the other up his sleeve. You never knew. When something was this out of place, it could easily be a disguise. Or maybe a distraction. But he didn’t look up. It was his turn, and he threw out his bet. It wouldn’t do to acknowledge her. Not until he knew what was going on, at least.
The other five players, however, were under no such constraints. She hadn’t pointed at them, after all. So while Cal obviously and purposefully ignored her, the man to his right looked up and displayed what might have been the most hideous smile ever seen by mankind. “Now jess ‘oo might you be, luv? An’ what d’you want, exac’ly?” A couple others chuckled under their breaths, turning to see who this stranger interrupting their game was.
Re: Tanstaafl
That Saruna was frightened was a given. The cowardice she'd so carefully tucked away from full blatant view was leaking up and out. She could handle the mess when no one was speaking to her. She could even handle it when the keep was giving her a look like she was a ragamuffin in the upscale inns that Marn reserved for its rich clientele. Maybe it wasn't even the regard. It could have been the accent, with any decency stripped clean away so the ugliness gleamed from within; the bone of the matter.
And the rest of them, lips loose like dogs waiting to chew on it, gave her a shiver so hard to contain that she shook with it. She'd never been stared at in such a manner. It was vulgar. She almost felt like taking a brisk walk to the Ofriyu Mar to clean herself of it, though Changers knew if she'd make it that far without her throat slit. But that thought was dangerous, because it might come true. She could feel her skin prickling with sweat, even though she felt cold and numb.
"Help." She blurted out the word, and with it hanging there like a screaming rabbit waiting to be et by a savage dog, she wasn't even sure if it was an answer or a request. "Um. I would like to make a trade. With him. Information?" Blood rose to her face, the result of misdirected embarrassment. She'd never spoken in such a poor fashion, not even when she was a young girl still expecting her first blood. The tutors had always known her to be studious and serious. "I wish to make a stir."
She lifted her chin, as if she had a point to prove to those ruffians, and could almost feel the skin of her neck trembling to her racing heart. What would Lukol have thought of her, if he could see her now? What would her father think? It was for him, after all. All for him. Even if she died. She probably would die.
And the rest of them, lips loose like dogs waiting to chew on it, gave her a shiver so hard to contain that she shook with it. She'd never been stared at in such a manner. It was vulgar. She almost felt like taking a brisk walk to the Ofriyu Mar to clean herself of it, though Changers knew if she'd make it that far without her throat slit. But that thought was dangerous, because it might come true. She could feel her skin prickling with sweat, even though she felt cold and numb.
"Help." She blurted out the word, and with it hanging there like a screaming rabbit waiting to be et by a savage dog, she wasn't even sure if it was an answer or a request. "Um. I would like to make a trade. With him. Information?" Blood rose to her face, the result of misdirected embarrassment. She'd never spoken in such a poor fashion, not even when she was a young girl still expecting her first blood. The tutors had always known her to be studious and serious. "I wish to make a stir."
She lifted her chin, as if she had a point to prove to those ruffians, and could almost feel the skin of her neck trembling to her racing heart. What would Lukol have thought of her, if he could see her now? What would her father think? It was for him, after all. All for him. Even if she died. She probably would die.
#biologicallyconscientious||Characters and threads.
Re: Tanstaafl
Cal was confused. She was so obviously out of her element that it was patently a trap of some kind. No way someone would honestly come into a situation this far out of their control. And yet….he didn’t sense any kind of trickery. There was no need. The watch could detain him for far more specious causes, and anyone else didn’t need this elaborate distraction to kill him—no amount of care could protect him at all times from all angles. So his mind warred with his instincts: it had to be a trap, but it didn’t feel like one at all.
“Information, eh? What kind’a information, luv? ‘Cuz we dun’ do gossip ‘round these parts.” He continued grinning his horrible grin, mucking his cards in the meantime. As the only one remaining in the hand, Cal, scooped in the pot at the center of the table. Finally, before the woman had a chance to respond to his mate, he acknowledged her presence. He saw the intent in her face, in the set of her jaw. He looked her dead in the eye.
This is not to say he softened. If anything, his eye hardened. He was taking her measure, trying to figure if she was genuine or a ploy to bring about his premature demise. From the set of her jaw and the look in her eye, she really wanted and could use his services. But he still wasn’t certain. His harsh voice broke the tension. “What’s it pay, lady?”
“Information, eh? What kind’a information, luv? ‘Cuz we dun’ do gossip ‘round these parts.” He continued grinning his horrible grin, mucking his cards in the meantime. As the only one remaining in the hand, Cal, scooped in the pot at the center of the table. Finally, before the woman had a chance to respond to his mate, he acknowledged her presence. He saw the intent in her face, in the set of her jaw. He looked her dead in the eye.
This is not to say he softened. If anything, his eye hardened. He was taking her measure, trying to figure if she was genuine or a ploy to bring about his premature demise. From the set of her jaw and the look in her eye, she really wanted and could use his services. But he still wasn’t certain. His harsh voice broke the tension. “What’s it pay, lady?”
Re: Tanstaafl
Saruna played a good fish, which was what she was showing the man who looked as though he'd been run over by a wagon train when the violin player looked at her. She didn't like what she saw there, but she did close her mouth long enough to swallow. There was no reason to pick Cal over any of the others, but that the barkeep had looked at him, and he'd played the violin prettily. Maybe it was more that she couldn't believe someone who played a musical instrument with such obvious enjoyment could really be such a bad person.
But he did expect to be paid, and Saruna did not know what was reasonable. She, herself, could make three or four hundred bishani per month if she tried to, and more if she was dedicated to it (though certainly it would exhaust her), but how long would she expect to employ the man? Would she need to employ more? How much money could she make if she found herself needing to pay several wages? She did not wish to dip into her savings to pay such disreputable people. Changers knew if they realized she had a small wealth to her name they might try to take it from her, and then leave her.
Could she count on loyalty? She didn't dare think of it. She was woefully unprepared, but she didn't want to work out a plan. It was very difficult to think about any of it. That was why she'd wanted someone in the underbelly in the first place -- to do the thinking for her when she just couldn't stand it any longer. She squared her shoulders, or tried to, and prepared herself to be ridiculed. She was drooping, a little, and could feel her lips tremble.
"Two-hundred bishani per month until I no longer need you." She said, and was proud that she hadn't stuttered. Next she would have to work on her nervous shaking.
But he did expect to be paid, and Saruna did not know what was reasonable. She, herself, could make three or four hundred bishani per month if she tried to, and more if she was dedicated to it (though certainly it would exhaust her), but how long would she expect to employ the man? Would she need to employ more? How much money could she make if she found herself needing to pay several wages? She did not wish to dip into her savings to pay such disreputable people. Changers knew if they realized she had a small wealth to her name they might try to take it from her, and then leave her.
Could she count on loyalty? She didn't dare think of it. She was woefully unprepared, but she didn't want to work out a plan. It was very difficult to think about any of it. That was why she'd wanted someone in the underbelly in the first place -- to do the thinking for her when she just couldn't stand it any longer. She squared her shoulders, or tried to, and prepared herself to be ridiculed. She was drooping, a little, and could feel her lips tremble.
"Two-hundred bishani per month until I no longer need you." She said, and was proud that she hadn't stuttered. Next she would have to work on her nervous shaking.
#biologicallyconscientious||Characters and threads.
Re: Tanstaafl
The ugly man's eyes widened, his jaw went a little slack. There were a couple sharp intakes of breath, and everyone at the table was looking at her if they hadn't been already. Cal gave no outward sign of surprise, but inside he was shocked. He lived comfortably enough in his shack on a few dozen bishani per month in stolen goods, gambling winnings, and occasional tips for playing. 200 hundred, though......
Money like that only came with killing. Women like this didn't hire assassins and murderers. And she'd said "per month," with an indefinite time scale. That meant it wasn't just a hit. The only explanation was she needed someone of his unique skillset to assist in a long job, and didn't know the going rate for such services. And a long job upped the odds of getting caught. Damn this city and its infernally efficient guard. But 200 bishani. There was always that to consider.
All this calculation took a few seconds, during which he continued to regard her steadily and the others glanced back and forth between the two. He knew what they were thinking. If she was prepared to offer that much, she probably had a decent amount on her right now, and they were deciding if the money in her purse was worth risking his anger over the ruined job opportunity. Best not to take too long making up his mind, as sooner or later one would take the chance.
He nodded once, gathered up his money and violin, and stood up. "Let's go, then." The others, now knowing for sure he would be angry if they attacked, sighed a little and went back to the game.
Money like that only came with killing. Women like this didn't hire assassins and murderers. And she'd said "per month," with an indefinite time scale. That meant it wasn't just a hit. The only explanation was she needed someone of his unique skillset to assist in a long job, and didn't know the going rate for such services. And a long job upped the odds of getting caught. Damn this city and its infernally efficient guard. But 200 bishani. There was always that to consider.
All this calculation took a few seconds, during which he continued to regard her steadily and the others glanced back and forth between the two. He knew what they were thinking. If she was prepared to offer that much, she probably had a decent amount on her right now, and they were deciding if the money in her purse was worth risking his anger over the ruined job opportunity. Best not to take too long making up his mind, as sooner or later one would take the chance.
He nodded once, gathered up his money and violin, and stood up. "Let's go, then." The others, now knowing for sure he would be angry if they attacked, sighed a little and went back to the game.
Re: Tanstaafl
Saruna was startled by his sudden change in behavior, and she thought perhaps she'd insulted him with the amount. But . . . well, maybe she should have started lower, as she couldn't raise the price now without putting herself into exhaustion, and then she'd be stuck. She chewed her lip, and though hesitant at first she quickly upped her pace as she moved for the door. She couldn't bear the thought of being in the place for a moment longer than necessary, and once outside she stopped to take a few gulps of air. What next? Where would she talk matters over with him? Strangers in her home. It wouldn't be the first time, but. . .but Changers she was nervous. Her heart was trying desperately to pound its way from her chest. The whole thing gave her skeevy shivers up and down her back.
Derin wouldn't approve of her bringing the man to her home. She forced herself to release her lip from its prison, making room for the violin player to exit, and realized that she didn't have a place from which to stage operations. She was so lost, it was too embarassing for her to need to rely on strangers to do such seemingly basic things for her. But they must be done. And done with a certain discreet and careful hand. If the business with Gustel had taught her anything, it was that the government had eyes and ears everywhere, and oh Changers, what if they'd seen her go into the disreputable district?
She forgot to breathe for a moment, and would whirl upon Cal as soon as he left the tavern.
"--must, we must find a safe place to talk." She'd tell him, pale faced, on the tail end of a gasp.
Derin wouldn't approve of her bringing the man to her home. She forced herself to release her lip from its prison, making room for the violin player to exit, and realized that she didn't have a place from which to stage operations. She was so lost, it was too embarassing for her to need to rely on strangers to do such seemingly basic things for her. But they must be done. And done with a certain discreet and careful hand. If the business with Gustel had taught her anything, it was that the government had eyes and ears everywhere, and oh Changers, what if they'd seen her go into the disreputable district?
She forgot to breathe for a moment, and would whirl upon Cal as soon as he left the tavern.
"--must, we must find a safe place to talk." She'd tell him, pale faced, on the tail end of a gasp.
#biologicallyconscientious||Characters and threads.
Re: Tanstaafl
He followed her out of the tavern, seeing eyes upon them but not caring; he knew they were scared of him. With good reason--all the regulars knew what he was capable of. He wasn't a large man. Short and wiry, in fact. But size wasn't always what mattered. They knew of his poisons, and his garrote, and one or two had had the opportunity to see him in action. They knew of his knives. But what really scared all of them was his complete lack of emotion. Many people in this room had killed, men and women alike. But they always felt something. He, however, could kill at the drop of a hat, apparently without any hesitation or forethought, without the slightest hint of caring about his fellow man. And that terrified them, deep down where they wouldn't admit it. So, tempted as they might be, no one accosted the old lady when they saw whose company she kept.
She turned upon him as soon as they got outside, babbling about "a safe place to talk." He coldly regarded her. "Do you have any suggestions? Or would you prefer I decide?" She was obviously extremely nervous, so he doubted she would trust him not to kill her at the first opportunity. He therefore gave her the option of picking somewhere to talk, though if it were too unsuitable he'd simply refuse. "I haven't agreed to nothin' yet, miss. No shake o' hands. But you've got my full attention, so let's be goin' somewhere you can tell me what's this all about, eh?"
She turned upon him as soon as they got outside, babbling about "a safe place to talk." He coldly regarded her. "Do you have any suggestions? Or would you prefer I decide?" She was obviously extremely nervous, so he doubted she would trust him not to kill her at the first opportunity. He therefore gave her the option of picking somewhere to talk, though if it were too unsuitable he'd simply refuse. "I haven't agreed to nothin' yet, miss. No shake o' hands. But you've got my full attention, so let's be goin' somewhere you can tell me what's this all about, eh?"
Re: Tanstaafl
It was strange. Saruna hadn't been called a miss in years, but somehow from the tongue of the ruffian it was quite charming. It would remain that way only if she didn't look at him for too long; in her nervousness she was having bubbling visions of dumping him in a washbasin and giving him a good scrub over, much like she would with any stray animal that happened in her way. But he was worse than any animal. At least the beasts had no knowing of what they did, but this man knew full well that he was bad, and did bad things. She had a feeling she wouldn't ever know even half of the things he'd done in his life. She didn't want to. She didn't need to.
"Your decision." She told him, and felt her cheeks grow hot. "I will follow you."
The manner with which he treated her was galling, and it didn't do much in the way of reassuring her she was making a good decision. Yet, she couldn't trust anyone she knew, and while there was a chance of government operatives deep in this slumhole she felt it was much less likely she'd pick one at random. She didn't have much choice in any of it. But maybe, maybe once she got to know him he wouldn't be so bad. She could bring him freshly baked scones, and get him to wash. Almighty Changers, since he'd walked out she was finding that the malefic odor within the tavern had not belonged to the tavern in its entirety. Saruna was a polite woman. She would not tell the man that his was the cologne of midden heaps. No, she would merely turn her head just so, quietly coughing every so often into a ladylike handkerchief.
"Your decision." She told him, and felt her cheeks grow hot. "I will follow you."
The manner with which he treated her was galling, and it didn't do much in the way of reassuring her she was making a good decision. Yet, she couldn't trust anyone she knew, and while there was a chance of government operatives deep in this slumhole she felt it was much less likely she'd pick one at random. She didn't have much choice in any of it. But maybe, maybe once she got to know him he wouldn't be so bad. She could bring him freshly baked scones, and get him to wash. Almighty Changers, since he'd walked out she was finding that the malefic odor within the tavern had not belonged to the tavern in its entirety. Saruna was a polite woman. She would not tell the man that his was the cologne of midden heaps. No, she would merely turn her head just so, quietly coughing every so often into a ladylike handkerchief.
#biologicallyconscientious||Characters and threads.
Re: Tanstaafl
Cal looked at her closely. She left the decision up to him. She’d follow him. “Trusting. I like that. But you don’t come to the dirty parts of town very often, do you?” He started to walk off, presuming she was following but not bothering to check. If she was too ignorant to know that sticking with him after he’d agreed to hear her offer was safer than wandering this neighborhood by herself, then she was too ignorant to bother worrying about.
He walked for a few blocks. Then he ducked into an alley behind yet another inn, in a possibly dirtier and more evil-smelling neighborhood than the first. He knocked on the kitchen door, which cracked open after a few second, revealing a tired looking woman. “What do you want, Cal?”
“I need the room for a bit. Business.”
She just stared for a moment with a dull expression, before nodding. “Standard rate. I’ll let Marty know.”
This was a room lent out to certain types of folk who knew the innkeeper well and who needed a quiet place to talk. It was in the cellar away from listening ears, and Marty himself stood guard to ensure no one eavesdropped. For the first time since leaving the tavern, Cal looked back to see if the woman had actually followed.
He walked for a few blocks. Then he ducked into an alley behind yet another inn, in a possibly dirtier and more evil-smelling neighborhood than the first. He knocked on the kitchen door, which cracked open after a few second, revealing a tired looking woman. “What do you want, Cal?”
“I need the room for a bit. Business.”
She just stared for a moment with a dull expression, before nodding. “Standard rate. I’ll let Marty know.”
This was a room lent out to certain types of folk who knew the innkeeper well and who needed a quiet place to talk. It was in the cellar away from listening ears, and Marty himself stood guard to ensure no one eavesdropped. For the first time since leaving the tavern, Cal looked back to see if the woman had actually followed.
Re: Tanstaafl
Was she that obvious?
Saruna followed the man mutely, mentally checking herself. Her clothing was well taken care of, yes. That was not a normality within the poverty stricken area they walked through, but surely that was the most notable thing about her. She hadn't done anything too out of the ordinary, having kept mostly to herself. Where had she gone wrong? Maybe it was because she didn't smell. She tried to sniff herself covertly, and found that the pleasant odor of wind-dried laundry salted with a bit of sweat came off her. Was it possible they'd smelled that? She frowned.
Cal lead her to an even more disreputable place than the former, and even beyond the little thrill of excitement that bled through her she found her apprehension budding and falling fallow at various turns. The floor, she thought, had not been cleaned since it had first been built. Walls looked thin and ragged, parts buckling and warping as though they could not stand their own weight. Something black and sneaky looking grew here and there on the walls, where moisture stains were in evidence. But this was only a harried glance, quickly taken as her heart started fluttering quite quickly in her chest, as she found herself alone in a room with cal.
She stared at him, taken aback anew with his rough features and appearance. She itched to fuss over him, with his stubble and unruly hair. She firmly tucked her hands into her shawl and offered him a wan smile, hoping that maybe he would not treat her too icily.
"I am Saruna." She offered, appalled at how small and meek her voice sounded. She tried to straighten a little, and found her shoulders and back tight to hurting with tension. Well, she would sleep well that night.
Saruna followed the man mutely, mentally checking herself. Her clothing was well taken care of, yes. That was not a normality within the poverty stricken area they walked through, but surely that was the most notable thing about her. She hadn't done anything too out of the ordinary, having kept mostly to herself. Where had she gone wrong? Maybe it was because she didn't smell. She tried to sniff herself covertly, and found that the pleasant odor of wind-dried laundry salted with a bit of sweat came off her. Was it possible they'd smelled that? She frowned.
Cal lead her to an even more disreputable place than the former, and even beyond the little thrill of excitement that bled through her she found her apprehension budding and falling fallow at various turns. The floor, she thought, had not been cleaned since it had first been built. Walls looked thin and ragged, parts buckling and warping as though they could not stand their own weight. Something black and sneaky looking grew here and there on the walls, where moisture stains were in evidence. But this was only a harried glance, quickly taken as her heart started fluttering quite quickly in her chest, as she found herself alone in a room with cal.
She stared at him, taken aback anew with his rough features and appearance. She itched to fuss over him, with his stubble and unruly hair. She firmly tucked her hands into her shawl and offered him a wan smile, hoping that maybe he would not treat her too icily.
"I am Saruna." She offered, appalled at how small and meek her voice sounded. She tried to straighten a little, and found her shoulders and back tight to hurting with tension. Well, she would sleep well that night.
#biologicallyconscientious||Characters and threads.
Re: Tanstaafl
Cal was only mildly unsurprised that she’s followed him. She obviously wanted to hire him for less than reputable activities, so presumably she knew he was a criminal and a miscreant, yet she was still willing to follow him to places unknown and unsavory, without asking questions. That bespoke a naïveté she should have shed by her age. She was both determined and exceptionally ignorant. Interesting.
He couldn’t help but smile sardonically at her introduction, crossing his arms. “Lovely to meet you, Miss Saruna. What can I do you for? 200 bishani a month’s serious money for serious work. What’ll it be?”
He couldn’t help but smile sardonically at her introduction, crossing his arms. “Lovely to meet you, Miss Saruna. What can I do you for? 200 bishani a month’s serious money for serious work. What’ll it be?”