Sorana
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"No, of course not." You walk over to the stairs and give Taron a small sign, to remain with Sloane. As every gesture of yours it's perfect, an elegant flick of your hand. "If you are interested, I have quite the assortment of cigars. Taron could show them to you, if you want to smoke something else but a cigarette." Your eyes rest on the wet rim of his pants for a moment and then you grimace a little when you image him leaving little wet, muddy spots all over your carpet. And his coat. Instead of disagreeing, you gesture towards some hooks on the wall. "You can hang up your coat by your own, if you prefer to handle it yourself." Looking up to his face you judge his face without his hat for the first time. It's a nice face, the ruffled dark hair falling a little into his forehead and you wonder how it would feel beneath your fingers. It's exactly the kind of hair that calls to be ruffled through a little more. You lift your hand and straighten your vest, invitingly gesture towards the stairs. "If you want to, please follow Taron upstairs, he will show you to the study. I hope you apologize me for a moment, so that I can change my set of cloths." You smile at him, when you watch him stand there, the fact that he's even keeping his head with him thrilling. "I can assure you, that I intend to be a good host." You take up your earlier word-play, before you turn around give in to the urge to finally get into a clean pair of pants. You can nearly feel the dirt, how it falls in your shoes and on your carpet. Disgusting.
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"An honor to meet you, sir." Sagitta snapped a salut, her eyes drawn to the walls of the room, her face lit up by a smile. It was wonderful. They were drawn by a long sword just like the one she used normally. It was long, as tall as her body with a heft suit for two hands. Devastating versus enemies with less armor than plate. Devasting when she added her instinct to his momentum. "You 've got an impressive collection, sir." She remarked, unable to hide her awe. Her fingers itched to finally hold a real sword again, to be able to really train again and to move through the familiar stances. She left all the business to Price, not willing to mess protocol up completely.
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"Pryclin Evada and Sagitta T'Sora for the General." Sagitta replied calmly and handed the note to the guard. He looked down, but she noted that the others moved a little closer to be able to reach them, should they try to make use of his momentarily distraction. She made sure to project a calm exterior, kept her hands away from her weapons and waited until he had finished readin. The guard looked up, gestured for another one to take over his post, before he turned around and knocked at the general's door before entering. She could hear muffled voices, then shortly afterwards the man returned without the note and gestured at her belt. "Leave your weapons with us." He ordered and she grit her teeth, but followed. No use to pick a fight here and so far Price had been able to make good on his word. He protected her. She handed them over with obvious reluctance hated to be weaponless, helpless again and then turned to Price. It would be proper if he stepped into the room first.
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"My assistent Taron." You reply calmly and switch on the light. It shows a dark carpet on the ground, as well as tapestries on the walls. The stairs leading to the upper floor are of a dark brown, polished wood, although the show signs of use of several years before you moved in. Now and then a non-descript picture in on the walls, mostly paintings or drawings of some kind of countryside. You take off your coat, your eyes resting on his hand above his hip for a moment, but you only raise an eyebrow and don't comment on it further. He doesn't know if you are good company either. And it shows, in the slight hesitation before he steps inside, in the way he looks around. He is careful and brave and you can respect that. Taron is a man in the middle of his life. He has served you for years and he is just bland enough to be one with the background. Quiet, unobstrusive, his brown hair and even features make him easy to forget. He doesn't question your research, has the stomach to help now and then and he takes care of everything you don't want to care about. In short, the perfect servant in this place. You hand him your coat and then take off your shoes, change into houseshoes. They are clean and only remind you more, that your pants are wet and dirty. They cling to your shins and you have to force yourself to turn to Sloane first before rushing off to change. "Would you care for a dry set of cloths?" You ask instead and pointedly look at the rim of his pants, that is as wet as your own.
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No, I don't. Such an easy reply. And it would basically force Ana to take her in. Ophelia swallowed, listened to Aoryen talk about those selling food while she tried to come with something to say. She had no place, not without money. Her parents lived several days worth of journey away and she knew nobody with a place to stay except Ana. "I can find something, don't worry." She finally replied, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. A lie and true at the same time. She could always sleep in the streets somewhere. "I would take the rich one seeling bread." She told Aoryen. She would feel sorry for the old man, and the couple obviously didn't have much. But the rich one. If he lost a couple of breads it wouldn't hurt him at all.
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"Maybe I can show it to you one day in person." She smiled at him. "It's a rough country, but it really is beautiful." Somehow she had thought that all this research was Price' thing, something he followed through because he liked it, because it was neccessary, but this, it was a machine, just like a regiment. With aides and soldiers and they all researched, they all worked together to generate and collect knowledge. It was fascinating. She looked at his words again, strangely honored that he had taken the time to write her words down, her description. It probably had some value for him, but he'd called it personal. He had written it down because he wanted to. "Thank you." She said, her smile vanishing. "For telling me about the gods. And for being considerate. I appeciate it a lot." Uneasily she shifted weight from one foot to the other when she remembered the gods and their lies. The truth. Without even realizing it, she had ended up in a real mess.
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"I can find somewhere else to sleep." Ophelia clutched her hands together, held on to them. "If you don't have the space, that's fine, I am sure I can find another place." Her voice trailed off, when she tried to come up with something, anything that would work for her, but - nothing. She had no idea where to sleep and the thought made her anxious, had her clutch her hands together and wish for some little piece of security. Only a little bit would be better than this. She nodded at Aoryen's words and slung her bag over her shoulder, ready to follow to whereever he wanted to go.
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You observe him for a while longer, his indifferent face a puzzle, and somehow an exciting challenge. You are drawn to this mystery of a man, with his hard face, fascinated by how easily he resists you and allured by his demeanor. Again you wonder how he will react, if he can grasp what you are doing. It would be a pity if this was the only time you talked. "It is." Slowly you turn around and walk to a door close by. The building is narrow, but it was cheap and the real gem was the huge cellar. It's at least as large as the building above the ground. You unlock the door and slowly push it open, welcome the familiar smell of it. Old, dusty, with a pinch a smoke from your oven. You turn around to Sloane, make an inviting gesture with you hand, while you hear the quick steps of your assistant, doubling as your servant heading towards the door. "Welcome, to my place." You add formally and wait for him, to step inside.
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Ophelia nodded and shifted back on her feet and got up. "I'm hungry as well." She said quietly. Several hours had passed and as the evening was nearing with huge steps, the food she had eaten earlier was long gone. She kept silent otherwise, waited for Ana to say something. Maybe she could find a place to sleep somewhere along the way as well.
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"What are you writing down?" Sagitta asked curiously, but didn't look over his shoulder. "And how do you decide which of the things you've written down are important? I mean if every single one of you fills these books, who goes through them and extracts all the knowledge? You would need to remove duplicates, maybe add explanations, and most importantly teach it to others." "Do you also have to teach?" She took the note and kept it in her hand for now. They would need it soon anyway. Looking around the hallway she wasited for Price to finish his notes, so that that he could lead the way to his general.
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Curiously Wita looked at the pipe, at Marcel rushing to stop her from smoking it. She leaned forward, inhaled the sweet smoke her head immediatly feeling a little lighter. Hesitating she looked back at Marcel again, and then shook her head. She trusted him, and so she went along with his assessment of the situation, without questioning his decision. Mick shrugged and resumed his previous position on the couch, while Wita looked around, wide-eyed. There were blinking lights, in all colours of the rainbow and she found herself flinching back when they turned red, yellow, orange before a pink finally released her of their grip. She reached out for her bracelet, surprised that he had been storing the whole time and only gently upped it a little, before the red light returned. "We want to take a look at Big Ben." she explained. "I heard it's wonderful at night." It was a weak explanation, but Faith waved it away with her hand. "Do what you want. Who am I to tell you?" Wita smiled at her and tugged at Marcel's sleeve, asked him to sit down next to. "Still thank you for taking us." She thanked them, just as she had been taught, only to be met with good hearted laughter.
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Ophelia started to grin. This sounded like a plan. A crazy, hillarious plan, but it was crazy enough, that it might even word. Gamble for a shop. But why not? There was no reason, why she shouldn't do it. There had to be a deeper meaning behind them meeting here, in the street without anything else. "Yes, cards. Whatever you use. I need to win, if I want to open my shop without anything to pay for it. So I need to know everything. Every rule, every strategy, I have to understand it. I have to know when to use which oil to make hair soft, which substances clean with scalp gentle and effective." She crossed her legs and looked up at him expectantly. "Everything." @The Awakened Salad
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Raphael. Your name rolls of his tongue and you admire the way he pronouces it, how he let's it flow out of his mouth so easily. Slowly you take a deliberate step towards him, so that you stand close, close enough that you intrude a little in the personal space around him. Despite the rain you can smell the cigarette his is lighting and silently applaud his choice. It smells deep and rich, the smoke itching a little in your throat when you inhale. "You know, the weird thing about trust, " you start, your voice low enough that he should be able to her you clearly, but that someone else probably has a harder time to understand you over the rain, "is that you never know upfront if the other person is good or bad company. You have to be careful, extend a hand first, before you turn your back." The rain is making millions of little sounds when it hits your coat and you wait for a moment, allow your words to sink in, before you continue. "So the only question we should be concerned with is the following." "Are you good or bad company, when following an invitation, Sloane?" You enjoy his name, almost as much as you enjoyed him saying yours, and you stay close to him for another heartbeat, then you step back. You aren't expecting an answer of him right here and now. And even if he replied - if would be worthless until he saw the truth.
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Surprised Sagitta took the note out again. She had thought, that maybe his superior was like this. That he liked to travel and that someone like her had to be expected to leave exactly the kind of impression Price needed her to make in order to get his audience. That he hadn't expected it, cast a different light on the situation, one she wasn't sure if she liked it. Somehow it smelled like politics. And she the wrong one to talk politics, or to do anything more than to fight, or to teach Price how to fight. But no matter what the note said, they had based their swords on Ta'e'iloan ones. She would be able to get a weapon she more or less knew, a brother or sister sword to her own. Her fingers itched to finally hold a sword again, to complete that part of herself that she had been missing for so long. Without her sword, she felt incomplete without it. She could understand if they had no armour to spare, but a sword, if she had a sword again things would look so much brighter. She unfolded the note and read it and then handed it over to Price to read for himself.
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"Nerin, hey." Attayl greeted her, avoided her glance. She had run off without another word to her friend. "Sorry, I, I overreacted." She apologized to both of them and forced a smile on her face when she saw Nerin, when she realized that they both had followed her, that she wasn't alone at all. It was a strange feeling, and at the same time she wouldn't want to miss it at all. She had friends. And they were here. Her eyes rested on Brillin's for a moment and she gave a curt, grateful nod, then turned around and climed up the ladder. The metal was cold to the touch and she was still shivvering, but the movement hopefully would help with the cold. Her foot touched one of the bars and she yelped in surprise, when it gave way, tumbled to the ground, her hands instinctively tightend around the other bars only to hold on, her heart jumped in her chest when she belatetly imagined herself falling down. For a while she hung there, did nothing but cling to the ladder, before straightening and slowly climbing up to the roof. The other bars held her weight, although she made sure to test all of them, before putting her weight on them for the rest on the way. She moved over the roof, her footsteps silent, over to the crane and the entrance she hoped to find there. It was quiet, nobody seemed to fight anymore, instead she could hear voices. Kneeling down next to the opening she held on to the roof, her fingers numb from the cold wind and listened. It was Lance, and someone else. Her face moved to a grimace when she tried to recognize the other voice. One of those she had joined that first evening. Those that had scared the brute away. Attayl peeked through the opening and sagged in relief, when she saw, that they were too late. Lance was up and around and Aben, that was his name, was there as well. She picked up a pebble and threw it down, then waved at them, wordlessly asked if the danger was over for now. @Ookla the Maybe-Existent @Invocation @Dr. Dapper @ZincAboutIt
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"Thank you, sir." She echoed Price words and took the note. An audience, for her? She shot Price a look that easily showed her full and complete lack of understanding while she turned around and left the room again. Why should she be granted an audience? Nervously she shifted her weight from one leg to the other, while she waited for Price to exit the room, the note feeling hot and cold at the same time in her hand. Either the old man simply liked Ta'e'ilo, and wanted to do her a favor, but he, he had to know that she was nobody here, that she was - She shook her head and took a deep breath. Price would know. He always knew about things, and he would be able to puzzle this out as well. Carefully tucking the note away she looked him, waited for any kind of explanation as to what had happened.
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Sagitta smiled at him unvoluntarily and realized that she and Price had never talked about their countries. So many things had happened, that they never had spoken about where they came from. It all been about war and more war. Nothing but war and pain, and instincts. She looked at Price as well, still smiling, and then with a relaxed posture started to talk. "It's beautiful." she told him and her msile changed a little, when eyes seemed to look past the room, into a country only she could see. "The hills are green, and while I know that they aren't high enough to be considered mountains by the standards of other mountains on this continent, they are still high enough, that there are steep passes to cross them and deep valleys with rivers in between. There are plateaus, high above the ground, and some of them are covered by swamps, by wonderful violet flowering plants with hard leaves and spikes along their stems." She made a gesture, as if painting a coast line in the air. "When you are close to the ocean, you can hear it drum against the stone beneath you, sometimes there are small beaches, where you can climb down and take a swim in the icy ocean, but most of the time you would have to climb down several feet of rocks, only to reach the sea. There are sheeps and cattle as they can live from the grass and the other plants, and often they spend the summer in the higher regions, only to be brought down in winter." "It's never really cold and it rains regularly, but it's the most beautiful, when the sun comes out and everything is still wet. With a rainbow in the sky and the the countryside sparkling in the light of the sun." Her face darkened when she focused on the old man again. "The nomads are attacking us." she stated matter-of-factly. "And we are loosing. We more or less keep them at bay, but we are loosing. The soil is steeped in blood and sometimes the rivers are red. I wouldn't advise to travel there at the moment."
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There is at least one vendor willing to bet for food. And he never lost. Ophelia turned his words around in her head, sitting up straight when an idea crossed her mind. She doubted that he never lost, but if he only rarely lost, it would be enough. She didn't need to win always. She only needed to win once. "Teach me." Ophelia looked at him, a smile crossed her face. "And tell me, how easy is it, to convince someone to bet their shop?"
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It bothered him. Sagitta observed him while she followed him through the maze and despite his assurance that it was okay, decided to do something the next time she heard anybody talking. She suspected, that if it was the other way round and this was her camp, her comrades, her - prisoner, or whatever she was. It might have bothered her as well. He knocked on a door, assured her that they wouldn't be long, that he only wanted to talk to his superior and she nodded, unworriedly followed him inside. The room impressed her as boring, with books and dust and an old man, she most likely could crush with one hand on her own. She had never really grasped how you could willingly spend your time inside, instead of outside using the day. "Who are you?" He asked her immediatly, stared at her with eyes that seemed a little too large thanks to his spectacles. Sagitta hesitated, unsure what to reply. Somehow she doubted, that 'I'm with Price' would be enough here and Price had never told her, what she was, what her role was. She had no way to make a useful introduction without that information. It didn't help, she would have to go with what she had. "Sagitta T'Sora, sir." She replied and inclined her head politely. "Second Ta'e'iloan Bears Regiment, Heavy Infantry."
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Wita grinned happily at the interior and the nice man's words. "I'm Wita." She told him brightly and turned to Marcel, completely ignoring or missing the frown on his face. It simply wasn't something her brain registered as important. Despite her intention to only store a little until she needed to evade a situation, she hadn't even noticed that she'd slowly increased her storing while they had walked along the street. Over the years it had become something she did instinctively, that belonged to her like breathing. And while she knew on some level what she was doing, that she had wanted to stop, she wasn't able to really follow that thought through anymore. Not when there were other things around she needed to keep track of. "And this is Marcel. He's the best." Turning to Lewis she introduced him as well. "He's nearly as cool as Marcel." Without hesitating she climbed into the back of the Van. "Hello!" She greeted them as well, still smiling. "Thank you so much, for giving us a ride." Looking outside she waved at the other two to follow her. "I love your bus." She told the strangers. "It's so beautiful and all these colours. If I ever have a car, it will look like this bus."
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To be honest I don't like it, when it comes to locations, because there is always a chance that a character wants to return - even if it's a ruin. I think maybe an OOC post at the end of an Era stating that the location was destroyed, or is now a pile of rubble should be enough. Especially with the taverns we could always link the new tavern thread as well. Additionally you could add, that if you want to do more than stare at a pile of rubble, you should consult the one who created the location in the first place. Just an idea, it's nothing I've really thought about for a longer while.
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Maybe move him to the bleeding spike? That's the tavern we use at the moment. We may need to think of a way to state such things more clearly...
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Wita shrugged and waited until the next car drove towards them. She lifted a hand, waved at them and the car drove by. "I don't know." She replied, although she suspected that he was right. "I am supposed to take the bus, as its free and they don't like me getting into the car with strangers." She tried again and again, until a small bus stopped in front of them. It was painted in bright colours, symbols and even some text and she found herself looking at it with a wide smile. She liked colorful things, and the bus looked beautiful. She could hear some music, when the window was lowered and a dark, sweet smell entered her nose. A young man with long hair leaned out of the wind and grinned a relaxed smile, while he gave a wave with his hand. "Hello." Wita smiled at him and waved as well. "We wondered if you maybe could give us a ride? We need to go to Big Ben."
