[PM to Join] These Boots Weren't Made for Lurking

[Genet Meseret Dereje]

Vienda- Somewhere in Uptown
The 19th of Dentis, 2719

P

atrol. The creaking of boots and the chafing of too-stiff wool. A waking purgatory. It was a formal barbarism she could have done without. Patrol was for soldiers and mercenaries. If she had wanted to tromp about the streets making all the noise of a festival procession, she would have signed on with one of the merc companies. The Golden Band, or the Brotherhood of the Writ, either would have done. Even the Ten Guns, had she been desperate. They would have done this better. They had swagger. They had panache. These green-clad Seventen were far too serious, all brushed wool and spit-shined boots. The boots were the worst part.

Not that there was a ‘best part’. The uniform she had been pressed into wearing had been made for a stouter woman and it bunched in places she’d rather not have any bunching. That was anywhere at all. Under the arms and by the belt were the worst. How could a garment be both too loose and too restrictive? Playing dress-up and soldiers was pointless. What good did it do? Everyone parted for them. They disrupted the life of the streets. Passers-by and citizens on their evening business moved and parted like curtains. A costermonger and a garland girl stared at them as they passed. They said nothing. She could not read their faces. She could not read this place. Two months here and it was still alien. The smells were wrong, the hills too broad. She had though them gentle at first, but a climb up Ro Hill has disabused that. Cities should be hilly. It was at least one small virtue of the place.

Still, the life of the streets, the rhythm of the place, eluded her. The uniforms, the reputation did not help. Hardheads and enforcers, that was the reputation the green uniforms projected. How did that server? Who did that aid? Who would trust the Seventen to sort out their legal matters, to look into their stolen property or missing sisters? Who would take the care to root out corruption, or act as the eyes and ears of the magistrates?

There was no hope of blending in, of just passing on private business. She was a Prefect, not a damned policeman, and Prefects did not patrol. Yet here she was, doing just that. One more separation from home. One more indignity.

Her assignment was with the Investigative Division, but some idiot regulation required her to spend time on patrol. Time wearing too-heavy boots. She could not get a feel for the streets in the shining leather clod-hoppers. She’d freeze in her sandals on nights like this, but even numb feet were better than the suffocating stiffness of the boots. Tomorrow she would go out, and walk the streets as was proper. She’d done it every day she could. She had too few opportunities.

Being saddled with a partner had not helped. This was a new thing, and like everything here, made no sense. When had she ever worked with a partner? She should have been glad to be saddled with another Mug, another Prefect even. Somehow it seemed an insult, a dismissal. A relegation to the second class. She did not like having a minder. Even if they were a fellow Prefect. Nkemi, all bright eyes and cheerful smiles, had rather different notions of the ‘joys’ of patrol. She was younger, more open to the coarseness of the Seventen. The Good God preserve her, but she even seemed to have an affection for the swagger of it all. Probably for the best, all things considered. Genet was too much a woman of Thul’Ka, too much a creature of the courts and the magistrates of Three-Flowers. She was made to lurk in porticos and arcades, to hover in the offices of magistrates waiting for the authorizing order to untangle some abstruse matter or track down some criminal.

She had failed at that, and not for lack of trying. Everything had unraveled, but she still had a handful of threads. One had pulled her all the way to Vienda. And then she lost it somewhere in a warehouse on the river, in the rookery they called Saddlery Hill. Across the river, too far from her lodgings, too far to go on those days when she had some hours to herself. Too far from the law courts and the dismal buildings that housed the Seventen. There were watchouses out there, on the other side of the river. Sad, understaffed things. Tomorrow. She would go tomorrow. She would need an excuse. Some official matter that she could follow up, some dismal patrol that would earn her blisters and discomfort. Some patrol that might give her enough time to pick up that vanished thread.

At some street whose name she could not recall, but which she had seen any number of times, she knew by the way the patrol turned, that she was in for a long and painful night. Her cheerful partner seemed to neither notice nor care. Either provincial were hardier than she had thought, or else Nkemi really was enjoying herself. “You ever go on the march with the mercs?” She tried to crack a smile, tried to hide her contempt for the mercs. It was probably no good. “Only, you seem to be holding up better than me. I’m not used to this. Well, not in these boots.” She should be sitting in some dive bar, some local equivalent of the Drowned Man back home, soaking up rumors and gossip. “We’re not on patrol tomorrow, blessings be on the Good God. I was thinking of heading north of the river. Doing a little tour of the watchouses.” Doing proper Prefect work, or as near as one could in this place. “You been up that way, or have they kept you strolling painfully about Uptown every night?”

\\

[Nkemi pezre Nkese]

Early Evening, 19 Dentis, 2719
On the Streets, Uptown Vienda

Green was a very nice color. It was not a color Nkemi typically wore, especially dark green, but she was still very fond of it. All the wool was warm as well, much more so than the linen she had brought with her from Thul Ka. Even in the rainy season, it would have been absurd to wear such a thick and heavy fabric. But here? Nkemi was quite pleased.

The boots had been the hardest part. The uniform was a little too big all around, but Nkemi and two of the nice ladies from the barracks, Rocemury and Elixabetuh had sat with it and managed to tuck the coat in a bit and pin it, and with a belt for the pants and the cuffs rolled up and hemmed, it was quite manageable. For the boots Nkemi had not been sure what to do, but several pairs of thick socks for her feet and an extra one at the toe had made a (warm and comfortable) difference. Her feet felt very nice indeed, much better than the sandals against the cold Anaxi streets.

There was a part of Nkemi which felt strange to wear the Seventen uniform. Of course, she and Prefect Genet were visiting the Seventen, and it was kind of them to allow the two of them to wear the uniform, and Nkemi understood why it would be important on a patrol. But she was not a Seventen. Putting it all on and looking at herself in the mirror, Nkemi had felt terribly, achingly homesick. But Elixabetuh has been so excited that they had gotten the jacket to look so nice, and then it had not been hard for Nkemi to grow excited too. And then Rocemury had found a length of proper Seventen green fabric which Nkemi could wrap around her head, and then it had only grown easier. They were here in Vienda, Nkemi thought firmly. She would make the most of it. She had hung her baton at the waistband of the jacket too, the final touch which had made it feel more like home.

It was nice also to see more of the city! Nkemi recognized some of these streets from her own walking around. Slowly, slowly, she was beginning to put the map of them together, tracing it into pieces in her mind. This street, to the left, she had seen from the other end! There was a very pretty cafe midway down with the loveliest pale purple tables outside; if Nkemi squinted, she could see it. They even served kofi, although it was in the Anaxi style with milk and sugar.

They passed a man with a cart of vegetables and a girl holding bunches of flowers. Both watched them; Nkemi knew to treat the Seventen uniform with the same respect as she did investigations at home, but she could not resist a smile. Surely their patrol did not start until they had met their Seventen partners? The little girl with the flowers grinned back, looking startled, and even offered Nkemi a shy little wave.

Genet did not seem to like to talk very much. They had greeted each other at the barracks yard and started on the trip together; it would not be only them on patrol, but they would join two members of the Patrol Division, who would show them around. Nkemi had asked around about them and there had been many whispers and wide eyes; she had heard many things about this Reex Valenten in particular. She was excited to meet him.

When Genet spoke, it was to make a joke, which Nkemi had not expected. The other woman seemed very serious, as befitting the dignity of a Prefect, even here walking the streets of Vienda. Nkemi knew her own dignity was sometimes, sadly, sorely lacking, but she did her best. She had grown much better over the years at feeling her smiles in her chest and keeping them hidden from her face.

This time she failed. Nkemi giggled. Marching with the mercs? It was very funny to think about. Either it was a true joke, or it was best to take it that way, Nkemi decided.

“Not every night,” Nkemi said, regretfully. “But there has been a good deal of walking. I have not been to the warehouse district yet! It sounds very interesting.”

Nkemi glanced around, and her face brightened. “This way, I think,” she said, cheerfully, grinning at Genet. She was not sure the other woman shared her enthusiasm; perhaps Genet was simply very good at keeping it locked beneath. Very, very far beneath, Nkemi thought. Perhaps some day she would learn such solemnity. Perhaps not.

At the end of the street, at the corner where they had been assigned to meet, Nkemi could see two enormous chroves, waiting. And, too, there were two figures clad in the dark green winter wool of the Seventen, one very tall with light hair and the other less tall with darker hair. Luckily it was easy to tell them apart; Nkemi had not been sure if Reex and Naveneya were men’s or women’s names, but she had figured it out by asking questions. Nkemi wanted to speed up, but Genet was walking at a slow pace, very sedate and dignified. Nkemi kept pace with her instead.

All the same, they were soon close enough for a proper greeting. Nkemi bowed, deeply, and rose, bright-eyed and beaming. “Good evening!” Nkemi said. She had a distinct and heavy Mugrobi accent, softening every consonant and lengthening the vowels, so the words flowed as they did not in Anaxi Estuan.

“I am Junior Subprefect Nkemi pezre Nkese, of the Windward Market District of Thul Ka,” Nkemi delivered the entire title with the proper and appropriate solemnity, and then grinned again. Her field swirled indectal in the air around her, soft clairvoyant mona intertwines easily with warm static ones. “It is very nice to meet you!”

[Rhys Valentin]

somewhere in the Dives

Early Evening of the 19th of Dentis, 2719

"It's called clocking babysitting, Constable. Babysittinnnnggg. Isn't that right, my darling glorified rat-catching beastie?" Sergeant Rhys Valentin had his face pressed against the massive, broad skull of his chrove, Annabelle, the muscular black creature practically purring in deep, broken tones while he scratched behind her ears and complained loudly to Constable Navinia Greymoore in the most petulant of tones reserved only for talking down to children. Sitting high in the saddle and splayed over the thick neck of the creature, the tall blond placed affectionate kisses on the thick, short fur of the musky beast as if they were for all the world the bestest of friends, even though the not-galdor had been thrown and fought with for weeks before real trust had been established, "We're just gonna entertain a couple of Mugs freezing their erses off on chroveback and pretend they give a damn about Anaxas. Poor baby. This is our lot in life."

"Val, come on. This is a great honor, you know. It's rather nice to see you earning a bit of respect from that father-in-law you have as a Captain." The dark-haired woman next to him cleared her throat, rolling her eyes at her superior officer's over-dramatic but not entirely wrong shenanigans.

"Respect? Sod off, officer." Rhys groaned, thinly veiled hatred hidden beneath a chuckle and his thankfully ever-ready grin. Cheek pressed for a moment against Anna's head, his blue eyes fluttered shut while he tucked away much more vehement comments.

She sat much straighter in her saddle, short-cropped locks hidden beneath a standard-issue cap, watching her chrove's breath as it snorted, "Oh, don't be jealous, Beau. I'm sure the Sergeant has some kisses left for you. If you want that mouth any closer, of course."

The pair laughed, then, breaking the tension that had both of them quite convinced they were assigned the task of keeping their visitors out of actual trouble for the evening under the guise of giving them another fine example of Seventen on patrol, keeping the dangerous streets of Vienda safe from the horrors of the lower races.

Gods. Please.

If they only clocking knew. It wasn't the lower races they had to look out for, and Sergeant Valentin was a shining example, after all.

Stubby ears flexed beneath Rhys' fingers, twisting to hone in on the sound of boots and warm conversation drifting through the Dentis chill and bouncing off cobblestones. Sitting up, rubbing his face as if there might've been something on it left from his clandestine chrove cuddles, the blond let Belle's attention guide him toward the approaching figures, the glow of streetlights and lack of comfortable gait revealing them to be the Mugrobi officers of the law—prefects? subprefects? not that Mugroba even had true, centralized law-enforcement like Anaxas anyway—they'd been waiting for.

There was a musical lilt to their Estuan, vowels given full prominence even though at least one of them was smiling. As much as Rhys had wanted to keep his expression of greeting serious and proper considering the effort it'd taken to shape it that way under the sidelong glare of his Constable, he couldn't help the lopsided smirk that creased its way into his face, that tugged at the scar that split his lower lip. Sliding from the saddle after a very admirable salute, heel of his palm pressing against the monite of his sash, he kept his other hand comfortably on the shoulder of his mount, the chroven already snuffling,

"Good evening! I'm glad you made it to us with no trouble—"

As if Vienda was at all comparable to Thul'Ka, he'd been told.

Navinia was joining him, offering a warm smile and a bow to them both, "At least it's a warm Dentis evening for patrol."

For Anaxas, anyway.

"I'm Sergeant Rhys Valentin and this is Constable Navinia Greymoore. It's a pleasure to finally meet the both of you after hearing of your arrival in our fair capitol." The caprise of their fields was an acceptable addition to their greeting, the tall blond having been briefed of their chosen focuses, his Perceptive-laden glamour so well-ordered after years of ignorance that it couldn't possibly give him away, no matter what he knew, "I've been informed that you'll be, uh, joining us with our chroven."

While Nia's Beau seemed hardly concerned with the pair other than lifting his head and inhaling deeply, dark eyes swiveling toward Genet and Nkemi with a calm, even-tempered grunt, Rhys was visibly shoving on the shoulder of Anna, keeping her from shoving her entire muzzle at the closest Mugrobi visitor.

"The middle of the street isn't where I clo—isn't where I expected to be introducing you, but I suppose it's just how things go."

"Have you met any other chroven at the station? You've been on one before, right?" Constable Greymoore was far more prepared for such things, waving the pair closer, ready to give a full formal lesson right there in the clocking Dives with all the enviable calm the young dark-haired woman seemed to possess in such comfortable contrast to Rhys.