| abstract
| - For Better or For Worse is a story about the citizens of SimNation in the 21st century (TS2). There will also be a sub-series, called The Days Before, which will be posted after every few episodes in the main series, and will take place in the mid-sixties (TS3). The series and sub-series are non-canon, so there will be some things that are not accurate, such as a different job, a pet, a different home, etc. Enjoy
- Naoi is stretched out on a bed, a thin parchment held in her hand, studying it with a frightening intensity. Torchlight, weak and faint, is her only source of illumination and it isn't even placed inside her small cell but outside and adjacent from it. Still though, whatever that parchment holds, she must be trying to read it. Eighth hour is on its way. The guards who are off duty have finished their dinners, while those on duty fidget as their shift draws to a close. The jailor is not at his desk, but rather strolling up and down the isle. The eyes of the prisoners follow him, some lingering on the iron keyring so massive as to be almost cliche that hangs at his hip, others merely bored out of their wits and watching the mindless pacing for lack of anything else to do. The jailor's eyes linger on none but the door, and then his desk. Turn. The door again. Occasionally, they flit to the narrow slits at the top of each cell, gauging the time by the daylight left outside. The quickly fading daylight. Naoi rubs at tired eyes, laying the thin sheaf of parchment to her heart, then folds fingers behind her neck to support her head. The ceiling is no more fascinating then the wall, surely, but it is worthy of it's time of inspection. Of course, after a moment, the jailer's oddly apprehensive fidgeting is noted, the woman's lips curling down into a classic and expressive frown. There are no bells out here to ring out the changing of the hour, and yet by some instinct born of years of routine, the jailor knows exactly when his shift is up, exactly as his replacement knows just when to show up. Too bad the replacement is a new recruit. Irritated, the jailor pauses by the door, folding his arms and tapping his foot in an expression somewhere between that of an impatient mother and a mutt waiting for its dinner--a comparison which might not be entirely off the mark. "Kaed," Naoi says to the jailer, in that low husky voice. "Eager to run home to your wife? What is she making today? Perhaps I can convince you to bring some back?" Kaed casts a *look* at Naoi. Starting as disapproving, it changes to cruel speculation. "I 'spects it'll be stew today," he says. "Ah, but you ought to try some, no? Thick with meat and potato, herbs, too." He grins, showing teeth and apparently with no intention of actually bringing any. Naoi smiles back, a sad, serene little thing. "That does sound lovely. Is your wife feeling better? I remember... you were speaking of a rather ragged cough that was bothering her." Gray eyes shift across, studying Kaed's expression. "You are waiting on your replacement, then?" Kaed shrugs nonchalantly. "Aye, I s'pose she is." He seems unwilling to speak on the subject. Eyes flick once more to the windows on the wall. Foot taps. At last, the door opens and the recruit enters--young, spry, certainly not out of her twenties, and yet with a certain hardness to her face that speaks of experience. Pale brown hair of the sort that seems colorless has been tied back into a bun so sharp it looks like it ought to hurt. She salutes Kaed, fist thumping to chest, and extends her hand for the key ring. "About time," Kaed grumbles irritably, practically thrusting the ring into the young woman's hand before storming off. The woman looks down at the keys in her hands, lets out a small sigh, and starts towards the desk. Naoi doesn't bother giving Kaed her farewells, eyes closing for a second, before she places the parchment away in the waistband of her pants. The new jailer, if eye contact is etablished, recieves the simplest of nods. Too early in their relationship, it would seem, for words. The new woman does look to Naoi in passing, returning the nod and even accompanying it with a faint, sympathetic smile as she walks past. It's probably missed anyway, what with closed eyes. From Naoi's position, she can not see what the woman does next, but she might here the soft chink of the keys being dropped on the desk, and the scrape of the chair being pushed... in? Yes, there's a clunk to follow the sound as it strikes the desk itself. Then footsteps coming in the opposite direction as the jailor turns around and marches back the other way, towards the door. Naoi's eyes snap open, the strange pattern of behavior worthy of her renewed attention. She sits up slowly, using her arms as a brace, looking out. The jailor doesn't so much as glance Naoi's way in passing this time, but as she moves in front of the bars, there's an amusement-like expression on her face that suggests she knows the surprise it gives a couple of the prisoners. Ascending the stairs at the end of the corridor, the sound of the door opening can be heard, and a draft of fresh air wafts down into the cells. Naoi swings her legs off the edge of the bed, rising to a vertical stance. Walking on quiet feet, she moves to the edge of her small little world, looking toward the door that the woman moved toward and out of. Then, her gaze shifts across, back to the desk. Naoi's not the only one with eyes turned towards the desk. There rest the keys, after all, the iron shining dully in the torchlight. Yet after a moment the sound of footsteps at the top of the stairs is renewed, and magnified. It sounds like at least two people on their way down again. Naoi studies the keys quietly, one hand gripping the cold iron of her cell's bars. She purses her lips, gray eyes half-lidding, withdrawing even as the sound of approaching footsteps. Back to the bed, it would seem. Three people appear at the base of the stair, speaking together in low voices. The new jailor is among them, and seems to be instructing the others--a man and a woman with likewise hard features and disciplined countenance. "I want you two to handle the transfer," she is saying. "I will remain here to keep watch on the rest of them." Naoi sits down on the bed, sighing, one hand rising and rubbing across the stubbled sweep of her skull. Then she turns to her bed, but freezes when she overhears some of the woman's instructions. Puzzlement, surely. Hope, definatly. Attention reclaimed. The girl-priest looks back out her holding block, seeking out the three individuals. Said three are walking at a brisk pace down the corridor towards the desk, stride purposeful, even hurried now. The original jailor takes the keys, and shows them to the man--a tall, dark-eyed, brown-haired guard, it would seem. His companion is slighter and fairer, but no less intimidating to look at. Many eyes are following them at this point, the attention of every prisoner on the block keenly engaged. That small smile flickers across the woman's features once more as she starts down the hall, keys held in front of her, every prisoner first stiffening with excitement and then going limp once more as she passes by. Naoi may pride herself on being stone, but the last few months have worn some of that away. The promise given and offer taken also, no doubt, weigh heavy on her heart. So, as they walk down the line, she too begans to express carefully curtailed eagerness, watching the woman as she makes her route. The three stop before the cell next to Naoi's, the woman pulling a slip of paper from her pocket to refer to it. "I believe this is the one," she says. "Transfer to... A cell in Aegisport, I believe." Naoi looks up, studying the woman, and then the slip of paper in that hand. Hope. Still though, she backs away from the cell, giving those that would come in or unlock the door plenty of space. She ignores any and all poisonous glares from the other prisoners. They don't seem headed for Naoi's cell, though, inspecting the woman held prisoner in the one beside hers. The woman frowns. "Not quite what I thought you'd be, to tell the truth," she murmurs. "Kaoi Sloth?" Naoi's teeth grit together, and she comes forward, expression falling. She looks toward the gathered group of guards, exhaling deeply. There's apparently some gesture of affirmation in the cell next door, and the woman gives a satisfied nod. "Excellent. Former Ordinator, charged with the attempted murder of the Archmage Tshepsi and fraud whilst trying to convince others that you are a Scourge? These are the crimes of which you are charged? You are due to be removed to Aegisport forthwith." Naoi brows draw down, hard and fast, and it isn't a pleasant look. It is apparent that she is not happy that there is an official charge of fraud. Still though, she speaks up. "That, mistress, is Naoi Cloth. You have the wrong woman, as I am sure the accused will agree, now that she knows the stigma attatched to the name." The woman's eyebrows come up sharply as she looks to Naoi, and then back to Kaoi, an expression of confusion coming across her face. "I am certain I was told it was Kaoi Sloth." Kaoi lumbers up to the bars of her cell, and it's fairly obvious she's well named. She is a monster of a woman, rather spherical in shape and with about as much hair (or is it fur?) as a sloth. She presses her face close to the bars to glare at Naoi with beady eyes from beneath a heavy brow. "I's sure ye's mistaken," she informs the real former Ordinator. "It mos' def'nitely be me dat done dose things." "Kaoi," Naoi says in a voice as cold as steel, surprisingly entreating despite it. "You do not want these crimes, these transgressions. Be content with your simple assault, your petty theft. You have no idea what it is you are asking for." The woman makes a quick gesture towards Naoi's cell with her hand, and the man steps over to take a good long look at Naoi. When he looks back to the women, his guess is clear in his eyes. "Erm..." he hesitates. "Lita? I'm pretty sure it's this one." Even bald and having spent so much time in her cell, the difference between Naoi and Kaoi is pretty evident. There is no hint of pleasure at being picked over the woman-beast, staring at the man as he inspects her. Once a decision is made, gray eyes shift over to Kaoi, and then down as she bends her neck to the woman. She backs away from the cell, hands clasping in front of her, a petinence's stance. Kaoi is not convinced, muttering a curse and calling Naoi a few foul names as she retreats back into the shadows of her cell, and the guards step across to Naoi's. Keys jingle as the door is unlocked, as well as the rattle-click of armor as hands shift to weapons--just in case. "Accompany us, please," the woman called Lita says to Naoi. "If you give us no trouble, we shall have no cause to give you any. But mind that if we get the slightest hint of deception or mischief from you, you shall regret it. Sunkissed or no you are overpowered, Mistress." "I will give you no trouble." Naoi responds, as hands shift to weapons. In fact, she retains the harmless gesture, the posture along with her petite size all but reading harmless. Rather they believe it or not is beyond her control. After a pause, she moves forward, leaving the cell that had been her home, however briefly. Eyes are upon her, Lita's most sharply, though she glances briefly over her shoulder towards the sulking Kaoi. "Excellent. This is a routine affair, we expect it to stay that way." Murmuring a few brief words to the man and woman to whom she's trusting Naoi, Lita shuts the cell door turns to go back to the desk. With one of the guards on either side, Naoi will be escorted towards the stairs. A situation that Naoi is content with, proving true to her word, moving in between and with her armed escort. The ground level of the Prison Tower of this Royal Prison exists as an anteroom of sorts; a place where the local prison Marshal can process new arrivals, discharge prisoners who have served their sentence, and general take care of all the administrative work that is required by prison operations. To this end, the anteroom is a circular room that follows the design of the cylindrical tower structure. A stately wooden desk stands in the middle of the anteroom, facing the impressive arched double-doors that serve as the means of entry and exit from this room to the rotunda that surrounds the tower. The main desk is in turn flanked by two smaller desks, set in a "U" shaped arrangement, which are usually occupied by two other officers. A ladder at the back of the room, behind the "U" arrangement of desks, allows access to the levels above the anteroom, higher up in the tower, though are restricted to officers of the Royal Guard only. Guards equipped with halberds and glaives stand sentry beside the doors that lead to the main prison area. A large rug sleeps on the ground in front of the Marshal's desk, granting a touch of color and warmth to the otherwise dark stone ground. Sturdy arched doors on either side of the anteroom provide access to the stairs that descend to the two wings of prison cells below. The door creaks open before Naoi, affording a good look at the Anteroom of the prison before they're actually in it, and headed for the door. Headed for the door, but not quite there yet. "Where do you think you're going with her?" the Marshal's voice booms from his desk, the man half rising to his feet. The sound of it makes the various guards standing around the edges of the room tense and reach for weapons. Anger is obvious in his voice, and it makes both of Naoi's guards stop short, turning to look at him. Though across the room it's probably invisible, Naoi can probably make out a thin sheen of sweat on the male guard's forehead. Naoi's hands unclasp, falling to her side. That? That was unexpected. She looks to the Marshal, then turns her head to first her female escort, and then the male. Eyebrows rise, and the girl-convict stays quiet, a pragmatic decision. Wait and see. The Marshal rises to his feet, stamping right across the room to tower over the two guards and Naoi--who, short as she is, looks positively diminutive before him. He tops 6'5", at least, and has the muscle power to go with it. "State your name and regiment, please, and show me your authorization. I remember giving none." The female guard is quicker to respond than her counterpart, drawing herself up and thumping fist to chest in salute. She states the names--"Rilan Ironsmith and Myria Spring!"--and identifying the regiment. Then, with swift, sure movements she draws a rolled sheet of parchment from her cloak and presents it to the Marshal. Naoi manages a way to not look at the massive man, mostly because her eyes and chin remain tilted down in a proper manner. If she had a full mane of hair, and a dress, she could certainly pull off shy maiden. The Marshal snatches the paper from Myria, giving both a suspicious look before looking it over. He mutters the signature at the bottom of the page aloud to himself, nose wrinkling in disgust. "Damn. Never tells me anything." Handing the paper back, he gives a curt nod. "Off with you, then. Please excuse the delay." Still in a huff, he marches right back to the desk and plops down in the chair, however man hundreds of pounds of muscle and bone making it creak under his weight. Breathing a sigh of relief, Rilan turns to guide Naoi and Myria back towards the door. Naoi's eyes shift toward Rilan at that sigh of relief. Apparently, the girl-convict isn't COMPLETLY simple. Her gaze remains all but locked on the man as she starts to walk once more. You head into Fort Morningstar Rotunda. Rilan looks down at the young woman, feeling her gaze on him as they step out into the moonlight. One eyebrow rises skeptically, a note of challenge in his gaze, though he says nothing. Myria steps ahead of them now to snag a carriage from the none-too-distant road. Naoi remains silent, eyes focused on the man. At the rise of the eyebrow, she allows a gentle smile. "Thank you, Rilan. He was quite an imposing man, wasn't he?" "He is Warden over the entire prison," Rilan states simply, guiding Naoi to the carriage. "It is half the reason he is chosen for the job." Ahead of them, Myria speaks a few abrupt words to the carriage driver before they step in, doubtless a warning about transporting dangerous criminals. This carriage passenger compartment is rather cozy and informal, with a pair of shardwood benches facing each other and open windows on either side that can be somewhat inconvenient during inclement weather. Naoi allows the man to guide her, gaze still on him. "Yes, he is. Yet, he didn't know." If she thinks that is strange, she doesn't confirm it vocally. "That you were being transported? We have two prison Marshals, who take shifts. There are, on occasion, communication breakdowns," Rilan explains, seating himself and Naoi (forcibly, if need be) on one bench with Myria across from them. The carriage lurches into motion, and the stiff line of the driver's back can be seen through the little window. He looks worried almost. She wouldn't resist, and as soon as his wishes are known, she sets herself down on the bench. "You seemed nervous, unsure." Naoi responds, "I had thought perhaps he had intimidated you. He bellows like a boar, after all, and is about as large as one. You held your composure well. I envy your control." Rilan smiles a little, evidently flattered despite the fact that it's a *prisoner* he's talking to. After all, she's still a relatively attractive (if bald) she-prisoner. "I rarely enjoy being detained," he states, looking away out the window at a sharp glance from Myria. "He has the power to do considerably damage to my career should he discover something out of place." Naoi may have learned that important aspect of a man's willingness to be softer to a woman in her short stay. Perhaps, the iron core has melted, but the smile she gives Rilan is.... soft. Warm, even. It does soften some of the hard angles of her face. "I can understand that, Rilan. Myria, was it? I knew a woman that went by that name, she was a dear friend once." Myria grunts something in reply, shifting sideways on the seat, pressing her back to one wall and stretching her legs out towards the other. "Did you now." "I did." Naoi responds, though it wasn't a question. She turns her face to the window, respecting the woman's grim and pointed answer for what it is. Gray eyes follow the branch, and the small creatures jumping from branch to branch. "Ah, look, Rilan. A black-tailed chitter. Good fortune for our journey." Rilan smiles a bit, watching it leap from branch to branch as the carriage trundles along beneath the canopy, and offering Naoi a small nod. He's certainly the better conversationalist here. "An old superstition," he agrees. "I heard a tale of how it got started once... but can't seem to recall it now." "A young man, bold and bright, stepped out on a road. Three things followed him, the black-tailed chitter, a trader, and a thief..." Naoi begans, watching the small creature as it bounces about. "They say the critter saved his life, after the young man was accosted and robbed. The trader, you see, wanted it's tail. Led the merchant right to the young man." She looks away, back down to her hands, the grime and dirt that coats the woman like a thin film really observed for the first time. She looks... sad, or at least troubled. Rilan smiles again, glancing curiously over at Naoi. "Oh? Yes, that's the story I heard. Where did you pick it up? When I was told I didn't think it was... well, widely known." Across the carriage, that's a definite glare coming from Myria. "I collect stories." Naoi responds with a nod, "It is, after all, apart of the Ordinator Sect's standard teaching pattern. They relied heavily on parables." The woman rubs palms against her pants. "Myria. Is there something wrong?" Myria does not reply to Naoi, but the *look* she gives Rilan speaks volumes. Mostly, volumes of rulebooks and regulations he's doubtless ignoring (or not adhering to strictly enough for her taste). "No," she states flatly. Rilan returns that look, diverting his attention from Naoi for a moment. That one carries only a single sentence: 'Relax, willya?' Naoi leans forward, studying the guard. "Will your permit me to ask you something? Why is it that the guard suggest proper treatment of prisoners to be, while professional, cold and distant? It is not so different from what I have learned, Myria. You are very strong, I think, but it is easy to hold your duty at arm's distance and feel you have done well. It is when one takes enemy into thier arms, and treats them like a human being, that one can be proud of truely being just. No one is stronger then the man, or the woman, that strikes what they love when it has become necessary." She smiles. "You have a man waiting for you at home?" She looks to Rilan, "Surely the two of you aren't...?" If looks could kill, Naoi would have just been burned at the stake, resurrected, tortured, and eviscerated, such is the look Myria gives her. "No, and no." Rilan sniggers, trying to hide the sound with his hand, and failing miserably. Too bad he's not a prisoner. In a deft movement, Myria reaches over and gives him a punch on the arm that will doubtless leave a bruise tomorrow. He shuts up accordingly. "We are trained to do what we must," Myria states. "Your fate still lies in hands far greater than mine ever will be. Conversing with you, or trying to be your friend, is senseless nonsense. I see no point in it." "Of course you don't, after all, you are just following orders." Naoi responds, "I am being transported under your care, to face extended prison, and you cannot manage politeness. Oh, how like me you are." She watches the interaction between the two guards, leaning back as they bump over a road. "Every name, every face, should be worn as the burden it is. Apathy is the great evil of good men. My brother is an Imperial Watchman. I think he spoke of you. He is the only member of my family that I... well, not any more, but did keep touch with. A brother, and even more stubborn then I am." She looks over to Rilan, offering the man an even glance. "What about you? Have someone special to go home too?" Myria looks stiffly towards the window, silent for a long enough moment that it seems she will not answer at all. "I doubt I have ever met your brother," she states. "I do not exactly get out much." This is all said quite stiffly and stand-offishly, as if the simple fact that she doesn't get out much is right there the most personal fact Naoi might ask of her, and offered up as reluctantly as a blow-by-blow account of her mother's gruesome and gory death. Rilan smiles wryly, but it is the boards of the carriage's window that receive it. "My cat." "It is possible I am just imagining it." Naoi admits, after smiling at Rilan's quip. "Though? Who is to say. There is nothing wrong with being introspective, of wishing to be private." Her gaze shifts back out the window, perhaps seeking whatever it was that Myria is so focused on. "Do you like romance broadsheets? The sordid dirt that can occasionally be found on the streets. Certainly you have seen them in your time as a guard." "Certainly. I think they are complete nonsense and hogwash," Myria replies... and yet, is that a faint tint of color coming to her cheeks? Rilan clears his throat, rather loudly. "Hey look, another black-tailed chitter." "I am fond of them too." Naoi responds, "When I was younger, I and several of my sisters gathered around them, late at night. Giggling." She can be relentless, apparently. Of course, she does give the woman a break, perhaps to see if Rilan was lying or not. "They are nonsense," Myria says. "I am almost sorry you wasted your childhood on them. There are better stories, if you seek them." She shakes her head. "Any wives tales are worth more." Finding his chitter apparently uninteresting, Rilan sits back in the seat, folding his arms across his chest and watching the world go by. "What is nonsense about a young girl's laugh, or a strong woman's blush, or an old wive's tale? It is a story, nothing more." Naoi responds. "There is no shame, and I did not waste my 'childhood' on them, Myria. It was just a memory, I have other, if you wish to hear it. The first time I tasted veal, perhaps? The old lessons of theology of my old tutors in the Church, training with my sisters, learning and loving. What is senseless about a life?" "Mmph," Myria says simply, and rises to step out of the carriage. "Senseless in that it is useless," she says. Rilan also rises, giving Naoi a faintly apologetic look, as if to say, 'Yes, she's always like this'. "It is no matter," Naoi responds softly to Rilan. "Why is it useless, Myria?" She climbs out of the carriage, eyes narrowing as she looks up to the sky with orbs that have gotten used to the gloom. The gray stone face of the Aegis looms over a town that has grown where the roads end their northward march and the great wall begins, dividing the Empire from the Wildlands to the north. The scattered buildings that formed the foundation of the community were built by the armies of Talus Kahar I when construction of the Aegis took place after the Wildling War. Though small by modern standards, Road's End is notable for two things. The first is that the majority of the township's population are either relatives or family or currently serving offiers of the Imperial Watch and Aegisguard, or retired officers of the former Emperor's Blades. The second point of interest is the architecture, which is somewhat unique within Fastheld on account of all the buildings being log houses and cabins; namely, handcrafted houses that have typically been made from logs that have not been milled into conventional lumber. Loyalty to the Empire is so fervant in Road's End that you can practically feel it in the air, and monuments and shrines to the fallen soldiers of Fastheld - both past and present - can be seen everywhere. Though lacking a palisade wall, Road's End does feature southern and western gates to control the flow of traffic in and out of the township, as well as perimeter fencing to stop wild animals from wandering into the area from out of the Kahar Woods. Rilan rolls his eyes and escorts Naoi out into Road's End, the streets of which are quiet, all but completely deserted. Those few passersby there are don't even stop to look at the passing prison procession. "What is useless, but something that is of no use? I can do just fine, if not better exactly as I am." Stiffly, Myria starts off towards the road, a couple of feet ahead of the other two. "Why are you so resistent to the idea that what I am saying is not warm trash, but just words with thier own value?" Naoi responds, still drifting with the two as they make the processions along. "What is it that has you so frightened that you feel the need to explain in such harsh fashion?" "Why is it that you care? Why is it that you are asking me these questions?" Myria responds. "Your cause is nothing but idle curiosity, and I see no reason to open myself to you, of all people, on that count." Serving as one of the more well-maintained road's of Fastheld's highway system, Kahar Road stretches along an east-west route between the western side of Road's End and the northern gate of Aegisport. Because the traffic between these two destinations is routinely light, the road has been built only wide enough to accompany two carts side-by-side. The road narrows at this point just enough to allow traffic to shuffle in and out of Road's End, and the gate into the township terminates the road at its far eastern end. One of the defining points of this particular location is the sight of the Aegis looming in the north, marking the bifurcation of civilzation and Wildlands beyond. To the east rises the gate marking the end of Kahar Road and the beginning of Road's End. The cobbled highway continues on at a direct westward stretch flanked on the south by the Kahar Wood and on the north by the Northgrove Forest. "Cause, I have seen what closed-minded focus on duty and responsibility can cause and I have no wish for you to learn the hard way." Naoi responds. Myria casts a quick, semi-disdainful look over her shoulder. "Oh have you now? And how is that?" Naoi just smiles at the woman, "Why, wouldn't that just be nonsense?" Myria quirks a brow this time when she looks back at the prisoner, half a rare smile showing at the corners of her lips. "Would it?" "Is it?" Naoi responds, matching the smile surprisingly well. "Or is it a life?" Rilan smiles slightly to himself, evidently taking amusement out of the debate before him. "It is a life, of course," Myria says. "Whether it is a life of nonsense or not, I cannot say. But did you not attempt to murder the Archmagess? You surely have some interesting stories to tell." "Murder is different from what I saw there, that was duty, and I failed." Naoi responds, "But yes, the Arch-Mage and I crossed, you could say." "Duty," Myria muses. "Duty how? Last I knew, it was not the Ordinators' business to stab Archmages." "Is it not duty of all good people to protect others? It was not an Ordinator thing, Myria. It was the realization of what exactly the Arch-Mage was, and exactly what it is she was capable of." Naoi responds, moving along peacefully. "Ah." Myria sighs softly, trudging along in front still. "That is, in its own way, a bit noble." She coughs. "Wrong, perhaps, but noble." Naoi says nothing, as she goes, just a patient walk. Myria glances curiously over her shoulder at Naoi. "You do not believe it was wrong?" "Do you?" Naoi responds, simply enough. "Would you make the same call, had you been wearing my boots, Myria?" Myria is silent for a long time, and Rilan's own silence becomes less neutral amusement than honest curiosity. "I have never worn your boots," Myria states. "I cannot judge that." "Then you understand the utter complexity of the question." Naoi responds, "I am aware of my situation, nothing more. Quite a walk.... It is nice to be out in the fresh air once more. May I ask why it was I was transferred?" "Yes, it is quite a walk," Myria agrees. "But the fresh air is healthy. There is a camp not to far on where we will take our rest for the night, and begin again in the morning. I do as I am told; I do not ask questions, and haven't the slightest why you are being transferred." "A camp, really?" Naoi responds, studying first Myrai and then Rilan. "Very strange." "Not so terribly," Rilan breaks in. "There's not much in the way of waystations. It's an easy way to improvise." He shrugs, and the look he gives Myria is a cursory sort of '*Now* who isn't playing by the rules?' Naoi looks between the two, quiet, puzzled. Aware, but not yet discomforted. She goes quiet, in between the two escorts. Myria pauses on the other side of the bridge, casting a worried look back at Rilan, who returns it with a similarly furrowed brow. After scarcely a moment's pause, they veer off the road in a single movement, as if it were perfectly planned, Rilan moving around to shortly behind Naoi. Naoi freezes, holding up the progression, hands clasping behind her back. Still placid, still calm, but with a certain tension around the eyes. Rilan reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder, the movement at once gentle and firm. "This way," he encourages. "Not far to the camp." Up ahead, Myria pauses to look back, ready to help Rilan if need be. Naoi feels the hand drop down on her shoulder, eyes tilting up, leaning back slightly. She looks to the sky. A second passes, followed by another, followed by a third. Then whatever it is she was doing ends, and she looks toward Myria, then pushes on ahead once more. "Something the matter?" Rilan asks, voice surprising gentle as the hand drops away and he falls into step beside the Ordinator. "There is nothing to worry about, of course." "No, nothing." Naoi responds with a faint smile. "Just... a passing weakness. It is of no concern." "Good," Rilan responds. "It is not far, and then you will have chance to rest. *Some* of us"--a pointed look at Myria here--"might be a little cold at times, but we do not generally intend to walk our prisoners to death." "To death?" Naoi responds, surprise filtering into her voice. "What?" Rilan laughs. "Easy. It's only an expression. I do believe your danger of a death sentence is over, no?" "Aye.... I believe. They do not tell me much." Naoi responds, tense, but still peaceful. "Such is the way of things. It is... easier." "To my knowledge, that is not the purpose of moving you," Rilan says. "I only mean it is not much farther to walk, before you can rest the night, and we will continue tomorrow." The Verdant Plains is the collective name given to the regions of wide, open, and generally unremarkable grasslands and prairies that cover a large majority of Fastheld's central and southern geography, such as the rolling vista of green that reaches out across this particular area. They are regions of relatively low relief where the vegetation is dominated by verdant grasses and other herbaceous plants, with the occasional shrub or tree adding a touch of variety to an otherwise endless ocean of short grasses, gentle slopes, and low rises. The Verdant Plains are generally indistinguishable from each other, and though overland travel across them is usually easy going, it is often difficult to get an accurate bearing on your current location, given the utter lack of any real landmarks to use as a reference point. Both flora and fauna alike are bountiful in these regions of land, making them excellent prowling grounds for hunters and rangers alike. They also make for excellent horse country, or as a place to seek retreat from the rest of the world when one needs to lose themselves in nature, though offer little shelter from the elements. For the most part, it seems like the plains roll away in every direction, and whatever rests beyond the horizon is fit to be discovered by exploration if one does not have a map on hand. Naoi nods at the man, still walking, chin down and eyes on the ground. Myria is swishing through the grasses up ahead, but pauses now, looking back and waiting for the other two to catch up. "Here we are," she says, voice surprisingly soft. In front of them, not a hundred feet, a small camp has been set up. The shelters seem semi-permanent, as of a long stay, and there are marks on the ground where the grass has been cleared away to make room for fire circles. A few figures move between the tents, a few others clustered around one of the campfires. "We will linger here for the night," Myria says. "It is not so far to our destination, and we could all do with some rest, and perhaps even a bite to eat." Rilan looks to Naoi, a smile smile curving his lips. "Something, perhaps, besides stale bread and water would sound good to you?" "Lovely," Naoi responds, matching Rilan's smile. Then she looks away, studying the camp. Tight against her right side, her hand curls into a fist, short nails biting into her palm. "If you would bless me so, all I can say is thank ye." Neither Rilan nor Myria seem to notice the curled fists as they lead Naoi forward towards the camp. "I would hardly call stew and maybe a rind of cheese a blessing, but hey. Whatever works." Rilan laughs. Naoi doesn't respond, but she does relax her hand, eyes shifting about as she takes in the camp. Rilan and Myria lead Naoi on to a seat by one of the campfires--one where there are no figures, perhaps unsurprisingly. While Myria wanders off to find food, Rilan seats himself on the ground. "Don't look so tense. It's just a camp--it doesn't bite." "Don't make promises. I will be upset if I end up getting bitten." Naoi responds, offering Rilan another warm smile, at least appearing to relax. Then she lets her gaze drift, over to one of the dead fires, sitting down as well in a classic lotus style. Rilan grins. "Right, then. I'll caution you to stay away from Myria, and you'll be fine." Speak of the devil, that's about when she returns, balancing a trio of stew bowls in her hands which she proceeds to pass out. While shooting a glare Rilan's way, of course. "I heard that." "She is a biter then?" Naoi responds faintly, looking as the woman returns, nodding. Rilan laughs, accepting his stew from the returned woman and starting to eat. "She's back now. I think if I answer that, she'll have my head before dawn tomorrow." "Thank you, Myrai." Naoi says, relenting in her dogged conversation with the male guard. She looks to the bowl, dipping the wooden spoon in and stirring. Rilan lapses into a moment of silence while he stuffs food into his mouth, while Myria eats more slowly. She, too, is quiet, but hers is more a speculative silence, pondering Naoi from the other side of the fire. Naoi's takes a spoonful of the stew, savoring the simple fare, eyes rising up and meeting Myria's. She drops the spoon back into the bowl, "Yes, Myrai?" "Nothing, nothing." Myria looks away, spooning a mouthful of stew into her mouth. Rilan's gaze follows, but after a moment he just looks back to Naoi and offers her a shrug. "Speak, Myria, I will do my best to answer." Naoi responds, taking another spoonful, acknowledging Rilan's shrug, but focusing mostly on the woman. Myria shakes her head yet, before looking back to Naoi. "Perhaps tomorrow would be a better day for tackling such questions." "Patience is a virtue, but let me asks... what is it that so weighs on you heavily that you need to sleep on it?" Naoi responds, taking another spoonful of stew up for a bite. Myria smiles wryly. "Ah, clever. It is not that I need to sleep on it, however. Merely... considering some things." She shrugs. "Other things. You need not concern yourself with them." "Nonsense?" Naoi responds with a faint smile, spoon dropping down in the amalgation. Rilan grins at that, but Myria only shrugs. "Perhaps. Probably." "Do I need to ask please, perhaps?" Naoi responds, patiently. Myria turns a thoughtful, slightly exasperated look on Naoi. "No. You do not. Only need wait. Naoi turns back to her stew, stirring silently. Myria finishes off the last few bites of hers in silence, and rises to her feet, waiting impatiently for Rilan to finish the second (or is it third?) bowl he's snagged since first sitting down. "There is a tent for you. Either Rilan or I will be keeping shift outside it during the night if you need something." "Understood, thank you, Myria." Naoi responds, looking up from the bowl and studying the woman. "Likewise, my door is open should you wish to talk. Either of you." Myria flashes a grin for the first time since turning up outside Naoi's cell earlier this evening, and shakes her head a little. "I do not think I will disturb you. Neither will Rilan." This is said very deliberately, with a pointedness that can't be missed. Rilan winces, looking a little defensive as he scrapes up the last of the stew. "It is your decision," Naoi reminds the woman, smiling as well. The bowl is set on the ground, and she nudges it over toward Rilan with a foot. Half remains. "I will retire then." Rilan smirks, taking up the bowl and starting to finish it off with his own spoon. "Rest well." Myria quietly accompanies Naoi to her tent and takes up a post outside.
- For Better or For Worse is a comic strip by Lynn Johnston that ran in its original incarnation from 1979 to 2008 chronicling the lives of a Canadian family, The Pattersons, and their friends. The story is set in the fictitious Toronto-area suburban town of Milborough, Ontario. Now running as reruns, For Better or For Worse is still seen in over 2,000 newspapers throughout Canada, the United States and about 20 other countries.
- For Better or For Worse is the nineteenth episode of WWE Total Divas.
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