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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Ava Weaver
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Thu Jun 20, 2019 5:23 pm

Early Evening, 23 Loshis, 2719
Outside The Sparrow, The Painted Ladies
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Jack Smythe was a good man. Yes, he liked to drink, but what man didn’t? He’d never developed a taste for nothing harder, and his wife ought to be grateful for that, rather than berating him over wanting a few coins to spend with the lads.

And he had been a good provider, all these years. They’d raised three kids, and it weren’t his fault their younger girl had run off with that laoso wick. That sort of thing was a mother’s duty, and no mistake. The spitch hadn’t even had the decency to put a proper ring on her finger before there’d been a babe in her belly. Beth wouldn’t stop nagging him about it, going on about how ashamed she was in front of the neighbors, but what was he have supposed to done? The girl had always been an odd one, and anyway, Beth was the one who ought to have sorted her.

Hadn’t he gotten her a place in the Painted Ladies? Wasn’t he always working to bring home the ging? Doing a man’s work too, not that sissy shit catering to them galdori. No, he worked with his hands, and he was clocking proud of it. No need for Beth to tell him how well the neighbors were doing, them fancy ones who went to the galdori mansions every day, sucking up to those scum. If not for those galdori and their taxes, taking half of what a man’d come by honestly, they’d have had enough for them things the neighbors had. Lately it’d been new cloth. Beth wouldn’t shut up about how she needed cloth from some new shop, dragging him past it when all he wanted was to sit in peace and relax for one minute. His own wife, oohing and awwing at the galdori shopping just a few blocks from their home, as if they ought to be happy to have them around.

All Jack wanted to do tonight was sit with his boys and have a drink. The Sparrow was a proper place to relax a bit after a long day, cozy, not so fancy that a man felt he couldn’t be at ease, located in one of them old houses in the Painted Ladies. He was a man; he had a right to do as he wished, tick it. If Beth nagged him after the couple coins that a drink cost, then he’d tell her so, and this time he’d make it stick. She owed him a proper respect for all he did for her.

Then one drink had turned into two, and two into three, and the next thing he knew most of his pay check was gone, pissed away on beer. The cards came out, and Jack saw a chance to win back what he’d lost and threw the rest down to ante in. It should’ve been easy, the idiots with him were all drunk, but he kept drawing the wrong cards, clocking bad luck, much worse than he deserved.

“Fold,” Jack scowled, throwing down another hand and sitting back in his chair, hands folding over the stomach protruding out over his pants. The wooden chair creaked beneath him, then splintered noisily, dropping him to the ground amidst bursts of laughter from those around him.

Scowling, Jack rose up, brushing splinters from his arse in a manful fashion, and flipped off his so-called friends and stalked outside amidst calls to lay off the beer. It wasn’t raining, at least, although the street outside was clocking muddy from the rains. That meant a lecture from Beth, though how he was supposed to walk to and from work without getting mud on his boots Jack couldn’t fathom. Fool woman, she was.

He had been a fine figure of a man when he was younger. He remembered how his wife had looked at him back then, the way she’d stroked the big muscles of his arms. He still had the same big arms and strong hands, but she didn’t seem to appreciate them anymore. If his waist had thickened a bit - well, he was a man, wasn’t he? It was honest come by. He still looked better than any scrawny galdori. Any woman ought to look at him, admire him; any man ought to know he was how a proper man should look.

Like that woman at the corner, just down the street. She was fair olio, all dark curls and wearing some fancy looking dress. He watched her as she called goodbye to some other lady walking away. They were both laughing, and he squinted at the red slash of her mouth in the growing dusk. Then she turned, walking towards him, her face softening out of its smile. He felt a pang of disappointment; figures she'd stop smiling just as he was really getting to see her.

“Come on,” Jack called, almost without thinking about it. “Give me a smile, oes?”

The woman looked at him; he could see those dark eyes look at him. She didn’t smile. Instead she just looked away, as if he weren’t nothing, as if he were beneath her, and kept walking, just a few feet from him.

Jack straightened up a little, staring at her. He recognized her now, with a pulse of hot anger. It was the woman from the cloth shop, the one whose dresses Beth was always admiring. She was wearing one of them now, a soft thing with sleeves in some fabric he couldn’t identify, something like he could never afford to buy Beth. She was one of them bringing the galdori to the Dives, sucking up to them in her shop, and she’d as good as said she thought herself too good for him, above him.

“Galdori-loving tumble,” Jack hurled the words at her and saw her flinch. It felt good – it felt powerful. She wasn’t ignoring him now, was she? No, he’d showed her. She was still walking, nearly at him, and Jack lunged forward off the wall, half-stumbling. He reached out, one hand closing over the soft fabric on her arms, the rough, callused skin of his hands catching against her dress. He was taller than she was; she barely came up to his chin. Grabbing hold of her arm made him feel even better, stronger, like the world couldn’t touch him. He felt her struggle and he held her tighter, his fingers digging in to her upper arm.

“Let me go, please,” Even her voice was pretty, all soft and quivering. He liked it; she sounded afraid.

“Stuck up bitch,” Jack grunted, looking down at her. “Teach you t’ ignore me,” he spat, and saw her flinch again as flecks of spittle struck that pretty, made-up face.

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Gale
Posts: 254
Joined: Thu Jul 19, 2018 6:07 am
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: Artful Gunner
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Fri Jun 21, 2019 10:28 am

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The Painted Ladies | Evening
23 LOSHIS, 2719
The tobacco smelt of honey. A not saccharin, overly sweet sort used upon various treats and left to crystallise. No, this was smooth, almost delicate. It mingled in with the earthy smoke, gradually growing weighty as the fumes snaked through the air. It chased away the damp, the tiny red glow from the end of the cigarette fading in and out of evening light. Lips twitched around the end, the sound of clinking and clicking following the scent as it traversed. Eyes down, feet danced and moved around the puddles, sloshing in the shallows and the seams leaking. The thumb clicked and played with a clasp of the matches, stimulating and allowing the mind to look beyond. The louder clinking was caused by the tool belt, the small arrangement of tools that sat at their waist, muffled by the heavy coat. Winter may have gone, but the cold was still very much present.

Gale had chosen to take a collection of shortcuts this time; cutting through the painted ladies with the aim of getting to the Forge quicker. Whether that actually happened was another matter altogether. They knew the city well, but knowing it intimately was different. To be able to calculate routes, to maneuver through the crowds and escape – those points in which to stay out of sight and out of trouble.

Their shoulder brushed past another, a small mumbled apology. Shoulders slightly hunched in, the eyes looked to the smouldering end of their cigarette. The stub finally reached the end, the smoke exhaled through their nose. They let it drop to the ground. Foot grinding it out they continued on their way. Another turn, they recognised the scent of alcohol and urine that lingered on the air. Up they could see the glow of candles and lanterns creeping through the windows, the raucous sound of carousers as the evening truly began. They did not make eye contact as they passed, skipping past previously decided routes when more intimate sounds reached them. Lips pursed, eyes forward, body stiffening as they tried to ignore it.

The clicking paused, ears burning as they escaped; a moment of reminding of what they really were and what could have been. They were fortunate, Gale often reasoned, that their position and various truths had yet to be compromised. After all, who would even think about taking a female smith seriously?

Smacking their lips they reached the next corner and paused. Quiet, it was a narrow alleyway littered with puddles and slush. Beyond it opened up into another one of the streets, the low light of the Sparrow highlighting the lingering damp and puddles across the floor. Another cigarette was placed between their lips, the matches case clicking open. Twiddling it between their fingers they continued to look down.

They saw the swaying man-

My height. Beer stain left chest. Unshaven. Heavier than me. Uneven on feet. Drunk? Probably. Leading with right. Dominant side. Mill worker? Labourer? Big gut, probably still strong at the core.

-reach out, grabbing the smaller woman firmly –

Shorter. Thin. Pretty. Too pretty. Better dressed. Richer member, or prostitute. Pulling. Tugging away.

- before pulling her back in.

Gale struck the match from their watching spot. Flames dancing, they brought it to the end of their cigarette and lit it. Shaking it out, it was dropped and forgotten. The smith watched for a moment longer, looking upon their chipped nails, the dirt and grime that lingered beneath. Gale was like the man really, a trade worker who could not afford the niceties of life.

Should do something.
No! You should not get involved!


But that did not excuse him from such behaviour. Beckett always taught Gale to be respectful of the fairer kind – something to do with roses and thorns. They never quite got the idiom. Pushing off from the wall, the shoulders rose up, the collar flicking around their neck. The voice hesitated in their throat for the moment, the eyes darting down to the floor as the steps were counted –

One dozen strides.
You are an idiot.


-before they forced out a noise.
“Oi, Kov,” It came out more as a croak at first, a heavy cough escaping and a fist beating against their chest. They had inhaled the smoke wrong. A heavy hack and they cleared it, “’Scuse. Kov. You being a sunk, a moony?”

Eight strides.

They forced themselves to stand a little straighter, pulling the shoulders forcibly back. The face looked upon him lazily eyes searching him up and down. No weapon that could be seen. Though the light did not help. Older than them too – a good dozen or more years. Gale did not care about the technicalities. The eyes found his jaw, locking onto it while his grip tightened.

“You mind, kov lettin’ off the rosh. Certain a macha face like her got places t’ go. Ye chen?”

Four strides.

Fingers found the cigarette, inhaling deeply the smoke before exhaling. The eyes stole a quick glance to the woman. Familiar, but they could not quite put where from right now. Currently it was defusing the situation, other questions could come later.

Two strides.

“Now, can see ye a ‘ard bite,” they removed the cigarette and held it in the space between them, “ ‘Nd I don’t want no trouble with a big kov like you. We knows you’re a good man. Proper balach, see? Ent a need t’ give yerself a head ache, right?”

The eyes dared to lift themselves a little higher, resting now upon his nose, the peace offering held between them with the left. It was the right that moved behind the folds of the coat however, twisting backwards to find the cold familiar shape of a mallet.

“What’s ye say, Kov? Quick spur ‘nd we all on our ways?”
When the last of us will disappear
Like shadows into the night
The broken ones, the fighting sons
Of ignorance
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Ava Weaver
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Fri Jun 21, 2019 1:32 pm

Early Evening, 23 Loshis, 2719
Outside The Sparrow, The Painted Ladies
"Of course, madam,” Ava was smiling at the young galdor in front of her. The woman – perhaps she thought herself a woman; to Ava, for all that she was perhaps twenty, she seemed like a girl – was dithering on the street corner, fussing with the packages that Ava had just handed her.

“And I just have to say – really – I mean I never would have come down to the Dives,” the young woman was fussing with her cloak. The package slipped, and Ava managed to reach forward just in time, catching it.

“Oh, thank you,” The galdor smiled brightly at her. “Anyway, what was I – what was I saying?”

“Something about the dives, madam?” Ava smiled back, holding the package. It took nearly everything she had, and perhaps more, to keep the smooth, soft smile on her face.

“Oh yes!” The galdor giggled. “Yes, of course. Well, I really never would have come down to the Dives, but a friend of mine said you just had the most charming little shop, so unprepossessing, like a breath of fresh air. And so I thought – well – why not, Althea? You only live once. Isn’t that right?”

“I’m so glad you did come, madam,” Ava was still smiling.

“Oh, me too!” Althea giggled again. “Me too. Really, I’ll tell everyone about the shop, and how lovely you were. You know, I was really worried about – well – I mean – some humans are so…” she made a little face, wrinkling her nose. “But you’re just such an exception! One would hardly even know, really.”

“Thank you, madam,” it was an act of will to keep her hands loose on the package. Ava smiled. “You’re too kind,” the words were soft and pleasant, and Ava managed to feed a faint sound of pleasure into her voice.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Oh! My package,” Althea giggled.

Ava managed to laugh as well, handing Althea the package.

“Well, thank you again!” Althea beamed, and turned the corner, taking the last few steps to climb into her carriage. She waved a last good bye.

Ava stood there, smiling, and waited until the carriage had gone before she turned around. The smile slid off her face, slowly, and she took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. It was only a short walk back to her shop, and then – she’d already closed up to walk the galdor to her carriage, and Ava thought perhaps she wouldn’t open again. She would find something to eat, maybe, and take a long bath, as if she could scrub the encounter from her skin. Perhaps if the water was hot enough.

Ava adjusted the shoulders of her cloak, twitching the flowing fabric around her dress. The cloak was a dark, creamy brown, and the dress beneath a paler brown, with full silk sleeves that flowed from her shoulders and flared out at the wrists, with a simple cut beneath, curved to a rounded point at the front and back. A little detailing over the chest drew the eye, making a bit of texture, and the dress was cinched tightly at her waist.

“Come on,” a rough, drunk voice called from up ahead. Ava lifted her gaze, blinking. The voice continued. “Give me a smile, oes?”

Ava found him, a moment later, a large human wobbling drunkenly against the wall of a pub. She tried to smile – she really did. Any other day, she’d have given him a smile and walked away; but even her considerable patience was at an end, and Ava couldn’t summon the strength for it, couldn’t manage one more false smile. She looked away, a bit embarrassed, and kept walking.

“Galdori-loving tumble,” The words struck her like a blow. Ava flinched, the expression hitting oddly close to home after the last few hours, and kept her gaze fixed on the horizon, walking a little faster. It wasn’t more than a few blocks to her shop, and the small room above where she could be herself, alone.

There was a burst of movement from the side; to Ava it was as if one moment she was alone, and the next a vice had closed over her arm, squeezing it tightly.

Ava gasped, turning to see the drunk man leering inches from her. His breath reeked; his hands were filthy, all of him was filthy, and he was staring down at her with something like hatred in his eyes.

“Let me go, please,” Ava tried to pull her arm from his grasp, eyes wide soft, painted lips trembling.

“Stuck up bitch,” Moisture flew from his lips to her cheek, and Ava flinched. “Teach you t’ ignore me,” he was grumbling, and Ava felt a spike of cold fear make its way down her spine.

Out of nowhere, a lean, somehow familiar figure came walking towards them, no more than ten steps away. Ava looked up, and felt the man holding her shift his attention too, his grip loosening slightly. Her arm hurt, throbbing beneath his brutish gasp, and Ava held utterly still; she didn’t even try to pull away, not wanting to get his attention.

Ava watched, silent, as the slender man chatted with the drunk one holding her, calm and casual, asking him to let her go. He extended the cigarette.

The man grunted, and his hand loosened a little more on Ava’s arm. Slowly, he let go, stepping forward to take the cigarette. “Oes,” he grumbled, looking from Ava to the man. He took a drag of the tobacco, a deep inhale that sent smoke spiraling into the air.

Ava held still, utterly still, as if he might not see her again if she didn’t move. Her heart was pounding, her lips were still trembling slightly, and her arm was throbbing, miserably and painfully.

“S’bout respect, ye chen?” The drunk man was slurring his words even more now, looking at the slender man. He took another drag from the cigarette, and grinned. “Fair benny, that,” he nodded slightly, wobbling.

Ava slowly adjusted her skirts, and took a small, smooth half-step back, putting a little more distance between herself and the man staring down at the cigarette. She swallowed, hard, keeping her focus on him, and eased back again.

The drunk man grunted again and took the cigarette with him as he ambled off, back into the bar.

Ava squeezed her eyes shut, shaking. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and exhaled it out slow and smooth, calming herself. Her arm throbbed, and the silk of the dress was stained and pulled, but she was otherwise unharmed. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to the slender man with the cigarette.

“Mujo ma,” Ava tried and largely failed to smile. Foolish, she thought; very foolish. She knew better, or she ought to have. “Mujo mujo ma,” she amended. Despite the fancy clothing, the tek still sounded natural on her lips. She fished for a handkerchief from an invisible pocket, pressing it carefully to her face, avoiding the kohl that lined her eyes.

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Gale
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Joined: Thu Jul 19, 2018 6:07 am
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Race: Human
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: Artful Gunner
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Wed Jul 17, 2019 4:38 am

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The Painted Ladies | Evening
23 LOSHIS, 2719
Despite the outward appearance of seeming calm, Gale was far from it. The eyes did not move from the nose, lids sunken slightly as the world held its breath. The smith held the offering between them, the smoke lingering. The other hand still held the mallet, even as he took the cigarette and wobbled. Or swayed. Gale was not sure, but they could smell the drink that was sweating from his pores.

He released her, weight lurching and shifting as he lumbered away. Gale’s eyes followed after him, silent apart from a small nod. Once he had disappeared out of sight and into the bar, the smith exhaled the held breath. The hand uncoiled from around the mallet, withdrawing to the tobacco tin and contemplating getting out a replacement.

“Dze,” Gale averted their eyes downwards. They could feel the eyes upon them once more, the attention shifting to one of thanks, or similar. They knew Tek, yet were seeming well dressed – least better than the Smith. It was an odd sight for the soot district. Which in turn raised its own questions.

Gale took out a cigarette, eyes briefly flickering upwards to snatch the features of the face-

Female. Curly hair. Shorter than me.

-The eyes gave a small squint to the nails-

Clean.

Before once more averting down to the cigarette. Popping the end between their lips, they lit it before offering another to this stranger. Father always said it was polite to offer, “Want one?”

Makeup was an odd one. There was a small quirk of the eyebrow, noting the set distance between them. With no need to advance upon it, Gale turned their attention past her and to the rest of the street, “You alright nattle? Mean, guessin’ beyond just that.”

Keeping a small distance between them, Gale walked around them. Smoke was inhaled, “Laoso kov like that, probably got some chip on ‘em. So, a macha like you, whatever it is you do. Tumble, Netche, dunno. Don’t care.”

Was she experiencing fear right this instance? Scared? Quite rightly, it was human mortality and the pressures put upon the dubbed ‘fairer sex’ that ruled the human casts. With it came Gale’s own creeping awareness that they were raised to be something they were not, all in the name of safety and protection. And now, with this human before them, parts gave a lurch and a stumble.

“Lot of ‘em gonna think you’re askin’ for it, dressed like that y’know,” It was a blunt truth. Men were odd at the best of times. Another puff, the eyes turned to the smouldering end of their cigarette. Part of them felt responsible for this now, yet the niggling urge to move on and get on with their life. They had talked too much as it was, a creeping awareness whispering into their mind as they smoked, “You want someone t’ walk ye home? Or ye think yer gonna be alrigh’?”

“Walk don’t bother me, if that’s what ye wonderin’. Got to walk this way eventually anyway.”
When the last of us will disappear
Like shadows into the night
The broken ones, the fighting sons
Of ignorance
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Ava Weaver
Posts: 303
Joined: Fri Jun 07, 2019 11:17 am
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Wed Jul 17, 2019 9:31 am

Early Evening, 23 Loshis, 2719
Outside The Sparrow, The Painted Ladies
T
he tek had been a mistake. Ava thought tiredly that she ought to have gone with Estuan, ought not to have let the way the two men were talking seep into her. She felt tired; worse than tired, shaky.

Ava’s foot ached, the slowly-healing cut on her sole throbbing inside her shoe; thinking about it brought back a hot rush of memories from two nights ago. Tom, screaming her name in Anatole’s voice - Caina dragging him into the alley on the side of her shop - running, half-falling in her rush to get outside - slicing her foot open on the glass, hardly noticing, trying desperately to get Caina to stop, just stop, before the assassin ripped Anatole’s throat open with that knife of her and took Tom’s life away. His life, such as it was.

And Tom - drunk and fumbling as he tried to explain. Ava still felt a faint pulse of anger in her chest at the thought of him reeking of whisky. She knew by now it was disappointment, really, but anger was so much easier. All the rest of it - all the things she had needed to say in a desperate attempt to keep all of them alive, to keep Caina from denouncing her to Jon, Tom’s deep breaths and painful explanations - they had worked. They had all left mostly unharmed, except for the cut on Ava’s foot, and maybe still mostly whole, or at least as whole as any of them had been when they arrived.

She knew him, Ava realized. The man standing in front of her, with his messy yellow hair and dirty nails - she had placed the coded order for the gun with him, not even a week ago. Did he know? Did he remember? Was he involved at all, or just the messenger? There was no sign of it on his face if he did, but Ava knew too well how little that meant.

“No, thank you,” Ava offered him a soft smile in return for the extended cigarette. It wasn’t something she had ever developed a taste for; she was grateful for that now. She couldn’t afford any expensive habits. She hoped whatever flickers might have shown on her face were explainable enough by what had just passed; it had genuinely shaken her, and Ava didn’t know how well she was doing at keeping everything inside her off her face. He asked if she was all right, but thankfully she didn’t need to answer, not yet, because he kept talking.

Tumble or netche. Ava smiled a little more, not offended, eyes tracking the man as he circled around her, gaze soft. She felt in control of herself again, and she was grateful for it. She didn’t bother to answer the question he hadn’t really asked. Why was it one or the other?

“Yes,” Ava said, quietly, to the comment that men would think she was asking for it. “I know,” her tone was a little soft, a little sad, a little wry. It was an odd phrasing, she thought. Lot of them. Not him? He didn’t think she was asking for it - he wasn’t interested in whatever she might have been asking for? Both? Whatever it was he had meant, exactly, it was clear he had wanted to draw a line between him and them. But his actions had already spoken louder than his words ever could have.

He had offered to walk her home. Ava lowered her gaze, looking down beneath long lashes. She was gripping her skirt, she realized, fingers with black-lacquered nails tangled in it. She let out a shaky breath, and made a conscious effort to let go, smoothing the brown fabric.

“I would be grateful,” Ava looked up at him again. “It isn’t far, all the same. Thank you,” she paused, lips twitching in a slightly wider smile, warmth and a little humor filling her eyes, amused by her own repetitiveness. “But I am all right. Benny,” she grinned, a little, as if making fun of herself again. It wasn’t quite right - it wasn’t the note she liked to strike in public - but it was genuine, and it was her, and the faint trace of humor was a wonderful release.

Her foot was hurting worse now, and a few small steps made it clear that the only way she could manage was either to go slowly, or else to limp. Ava, after a few awkward limping steps, chose to go slowly. She had, she thought ruefully, lost enough of her dignity already tonight.

“Where are you headed?” Ava asked the young man with another smile, this one polite but less amused, less intimate, a smile for smoothing awkward conversation between strangers. “Home, I suppose?”

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