|
|
Post by Richard Cabal on Nov 27, 2009 20:20:16 GMT
Thin cats eyes Richard from their perches while hens bocked and pecked from within their enclosure. He passed them quietly, hand on his sword and wary. It was the tidbits that Katlyn had offered him in the way of rumor that had made him come here. He wanted to find information. So far, the people had spoken to had offered him little.
It was the middle of the day, the sun up high but hidden by clouds. A chill wind teased him.
Finding a suitable crate, Richard drew his sword and then sat on the box. His legs were stretched out in front of him and from his pocket, Richard pulled out a whetstone. He slid the stone down the edges of his sword, keeping them cutting sharp.
|
|
|
|
Post by Riga Poniard on Dec 11, 2009 3:45:06 GMT
Riga was in an extremely sour mood when she stalked down the filthy street, a bloody rag held to her nose. Experimentally she lifted the thing away and sniffed, unsure if the blood had stopped.
The first day of training under the Brotherhood had been grueling. A morning's session with target practice with her knives followed by a damned thrashing by the Black Knight had left her bruised and battered and filled with no small amount of irritation. She kicked a cat that had the bad luck to cross her path; it hissed and fled down an alley.
Riga stopped at a corner, searching the street for a suitable -- and cheap -- tavern. Funds were running low but she didn't want to nick a purse until she got the lay of the land in this new city of Camelot. Some places you could get away with a lot..... others you could get yourself into a noose.
A man sat on a crate sharpening a sword. At a glance, it looked like a fine sword, much more than the usual rusty blades sported by the dirty lot who occupied this end of the city. "Oi. Nice blade there," Grace grunted, dabbing at her fat lip. "Who'd you nick it from?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Richard Cabal on Dec 11, 2009 4:09:51 GMT
"Nick it?" Richard answered mildly and looked up at the woman who had questioned him. "My da gave me his blade. Some people told me ta protect some people with it. I got coin. I saved coin. I brought this blade. Nice lip." He looked her up and down as he continued running the whetstone down the length of his blade. A tall woman and from the way she moved, she could hold her own in a fight. In spite of the lip and nose.
"If ye want that nose ta stop bleeding, ye're goin' the wrong way about it. Will ye let me help or are we goin' to scuffle over my sword?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Riga Poniard on Dec 11, 2009 5:05:04 GMT
Riga raised a brow. The man sounded rather simple, country-ish even but he was fine to look at, a big brawny type with strong hands and a handsome face. Despite the pain in her face, Riga smirked and stepped forward.
"Though I wouldn't mind scufflin' with you over your, uh...." Riga let her eyes trail down before looking back up with a grin, ".... your 'sword', this sodding nose is a damned bugger." Kicking out another crate, Riga swung a leg over and sat, legs sprawled in a mannish fashion, fist planted on her knee.
"Alright, medicine man." Riga held a straight expression, a glint of something dark and mischievous in her eye. Her chin lifted defiantly. "Heal me." Her other hand rested openly on one of her daggers.
|
|
|
|
Post by Richard Cabal on Dec 11, 2009 5:20:14 GMT
Richard lifted his eyebrow in response at Riga's pointed comment. Copying Riga, he swung around, straddling the crate and sliding his sword back into its scabbard.
"Whatever you like," now his eyes were mischievous. It had been a while since he had exchanged flirtations with another and he was starved enough for mature company to accept it from anyone. Even this woman, who appeared as likely to slit his throat if he looked at her wrong.
"Lean forward, I wont be needin' the rag. Breathe through your mouth." With one hand he pinched the soft part of her nose gently, between the bridge and the end. Using his other hand, he placed his palm on the back of her head and tilted her face down.
"Keep your head like that." He dropped his hand back to his side. "We stay like this for a bit to let the blood dry up. Then you keep your nose outta trouble for a bit. Who did this to ye?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Riga Poniard on Dec 11, 2009 5:35:44 GMT
Riga didn't flinch when the man pinched her nose, painful though it was. Her eyes did water though and she blinked away the wetness irritably. Left staring at the ground, Riga shifted her eyes back and forth, looking for trouble from either this man or any accomplices to the sides. When nothing happened, her shoulders relaxed a little.
"It was nothing." Riga frowned as her voice came out muffled and nasal. "Just some bone-headed brigand that thought he could relieve me of my purse. Instead, I relieved him of his hand, but he did have good kick. Shoulda relieved him of his foot too."
Taking the time to give the man a good looking over, Riga thought he probably had an interesting history. His clothes were worn and of the usual for the lower classes, but his weapons were first-rate, denoting a higher station. Despite his hand still covering her nose, Riga grinned. "So what are you..... king's guard set to spy about the lower quarters? A butcher looking for a noble throat to cut? Just a mercenary down on your luck?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Richard Cabal on Dec 11, 2009 11:51:23 GMT
"I'm no king's guard and no butcher." Richard answered. "Fitting that ye removed his hand." Truthfully, the casual violence Riga spoke of made his spine turn chill. Hush, no judgment. You know nothing of her. Including her name.
"I'm Richard, just got to Camelot. Before I just followed where the jobs are. At the moment, its stoppin' drunkards from killing each other over some serving wench. Ye shoulda stopped bleeding now." Richard removed his hand and watched hawkishly for more blood.
"An' what are you? Wishing ta remove the hands of all thieves? Or jest making your way in the world?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Riga Poniard on Dec 11, 2009 15:53:50 GMT
"Just trying to survive, same as you. And the name's Riga." It seemed harmless to introduce herself to this man. He'd helped with her nose and hadn't tried to rob her.
The woman dabbed gently at her nose to make sure the bleeding was gone then nodded in appreciation. "I thank you for the service, Richard. Come..... let me buy you an ale in exchange. That tavern over there serves a decent brew. I'm new to Camelot as well -- we'll exchange outlandish stories and see who gets drunk first." Riga stood. It mattered not to her whether he came with her. What she needed the most right then was a strong ale to wash the bloody taste from her mouth.
|
|
|
|
Post by Richard Cabal on Dec 11, 2009 22:30:21 GMT
"I'll be first under the table," he divined and stood up beside Riga. He was mildly surprised when Riga's height did not end at his chest. Briefly, he wondered if this would cause a problem with Grace. Arriving back at their quarters supposedly drunk and then shrugged the wondering away. He was not a bad drunk.
They walked the short distance to the tavern in silence. When Richard entered he waved Riga through first, gripping his sword and tucking it closer to his legs. When they had their ale, they made their way to an empty table and Richard sat, looking around the tavern. This was one of the sooty taverns. The open windows served as chimneys and ashy smoke drifted from the fireplace. Richard supposed their real chimney needed a clean. The ale was decent though.
"So where are ye from before? I've only come to Camelot because few folk go a'travelling through the winter, Camelot was the closest big city."
|
|
|
|
Post by Riga Poniard on Dec 12, 2009 6:10:08 GMT
After entering the tavern, Riga approached the barmen, and returned to their table a moment later with a small basin of water and a bit of clean cloth. As she answered Richard's question, she attempted to clean the worst of the dried blood from her face.
"From everywhere and nowhere," Riga answered, wincing when the cloth agitated her sore lip. "A foundling I was, raised by a troop of rough men." She made a face. "As you can tell by my girlish and gentle manners. I've just come to Camelot myself, looking for work, always looking for work." Pulling her dirk as it was stabbing her in the thigh, Riga laid the sharp weapon on the table. "Hated that group of louts but they did teach me how to fight, a skill that's kept me in bread and ale ever since."
Finally clean enough to satisfy herself, Riga settled back in her chair after downing half her ale. The thick liquid burned the inside of her lip but -- damn her eyes but didn't if feel good going down? Licking her lip, Riga gave the man an appraising look. "So you're just here following the trade, eh Richard? Why's a fine lad such as yourself not given some woman a fat belly and settled down yet? Hearth and home an' all that crap?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Richard Cabal on Dec 12, 2009 12:48:38 GMT
"The things we hate most are the things that we learn most from," Richard answered with feeling. Aye, he had learned of grief, the lingering nature of love, of illness and death. Of responsibility, most especially responsibility; through the things he hated most. He lifted his tankard to his mouth and then paused before adding:
"A foundling or a changeling? Yer features ... they're all faerie." This said with a grin before he swallowed ale, the bitter taste heavy on his tongue.
"Hmm? Don't fancy the family life? I did have a wife and two daughters. Pluckiest things ye ever did see, scarin' the wits outa me an' I aint afraid ta admit it. Died though." Once the tankard was down, Richard hooked his index finger on his shirt collar and pulled down to reveal a distinctive circular scar. Sure sign of the plague. "Nearly took me with it." He let go of his shirt.
"Up for tha' scuffle? Outside the city o' course, don't want folk interrupting." More ale, sipping it slowly and then cradling the tankard in his hands. Richard propped his elbows on the table, leaning forward.
"Did you level justice at those rough men as well?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Riga Poniard on Dec 12, 2009 18:42:16 GMT
Riga nearly choked on her ale and barked a laugh. "My features are what?! That's a new one!" For one second and only one, Riga wondered at that. Her past was a large blank as was her family. A changeling...? But then the hardened woman shook her head. I believe in the here and now, what I see before my eyes, what I feel in my fist.... not some faerie glamor and old wives superstitions.
Noting the man's story and scar without comment, Riga shrugged slightly. It was the same all over; everyone had their tragedies. Tragedy didn't put gold in your purse or give you warmth on a bitter night.
Riga's eyes lifted with interest at the proposal, and hastily finished her ale. "You're on, Richard. Though I'll ask a boon...." Rising, Riga stashed the dirk and drew on her cloak. "....I don't want you to mess up my face." She grinned wolfishly through her growing bruises and cut lip. "Wouldn't want that, now would we?"
Slapping leather gloves against her thigh, Riga strode from the tavern and down the street, confident Richard would follow. Perhaps this man thought he could impress her with a little sword-play, then beat her soundly and try to tumble her. Will have a surprise coming if he does.
|
|
|
|
Post by Richard Cabal on Dec 14, 2009 1:49:30 GMT
"That," he swallowed the rest of his ale he stood up. "Will depend on whether or not ye can defend yerself." He had once said to Grace that it was a good man who didn't mind being beaten fairly by a woman. Now he had the chance to prove his own worth.
Riga left abruptly, Richard dropped a tip onto the table and strode after her. It has been a while since he had had the chance to spar.
|
|
