| abstract
| - Takes place right after: Last Orders Tavern - Comorro Station - Comorro Station A smoky haze hangs in the air of this shadowy tavern, with chalky white walls of cartilage and tables that look like flat-topped mushrooms surrounded by cushioned metal benches. The central bar counter is a D-shaped structure of gray-green bone and cartilage, coated in the familiar protective webbing seen elsewhere aboard Comorro. Holovid projectors display news reports from throughout the worlds of Hiverspace, from Rigor Strand to Hekayt Prime. Kestrel is stomping her way toward the bar, already fishing in her pocket for whatever bit of barter she happens to have today. "'Kari-cursed scalebacked sons'a bastard Nalls," she grumbles, shaking her head. Naoi follows Kestrel silently, far more at peace with the world, a silent little shadow for the spitball Tominate. "...Kin you -b'lieve- th'nerve'a 'em cats?" Kes asks, glancing back at Naoi over her shoulder. She plunks down on a barstool and nods to the 'tender, sliding a few crumpled Hekayti-credits across the bar in exchange for a glass of dark reddish-brown liquid. "Ehh, our species. Well wah wah wah. 'Ey needa think 'bout th'rest'a us too, fer th'love'a Kanter." "I am usually in a state of amazed bemusement, though if you were concerned that your interest would not be... minded, then force your way into their party. If they truely cared about anything else, they would not stop you." Naoi sits down next to Kestrel, folding arms over the counter. "If you do not take a breath though, you may run out of air." Kestrel blinks over at Naoi, then actually laughs, shaking her head. "I ramble," she agrees, nodding. "Always did, prob'ly always will." She sighs -- there's a good, deep breath there. "Wish 'ey'd leave well 'nough 'lone. Time ain't anythin' ya wanna go messin' with. S'only by th'grace'a Svajone we ended up 'ere, ya ask me. How many people landed up somewheres else, either scattered ta atoms, 'r blowed up by Medlidikke?" She shakes her head at that, and sips the drink, shuddering afterward. Naoi notices the shuddering, her lone eye half-lidding in thought. A gloved hand rises, then slowly pats down on her shoulder. The contact is ever so-brief, as she requests the universally despised drink at a bar. Water. "I have learned that people can never leave well enough alone. Did you lose someone special in your sojourn to this land? Perhaps this... Svajone?" "Naw... Svajone's one'a th'Saints," Kes replies, shaking her head. "She's th'Saint'a Travellers, see. An' if'n 'is ain't a journey, well hells, I dunno what is." She chuckles mirthlessly at that, and sips again, glancing over. "I did lose someone. Well. Ain't willin' ta call 'er lost yet. If'n anyone'll turn up, it'll be 'er." "I will not pry, even though I must repress my curiosity." Naoi responds, taking her small cup of cool water between two gloved hands. "So, Saints... you worship these figures, then?" Kestrel chuckles and shakes her head. "I don' mind. Don' never mind talkin' 'bout Seraph. One'a 'Kari's swords, she is. She knows death, an' she knows how ta make it inta a thing'a beauty. S'like'a art, watchin' 'er with 'er blade." She purses her lips, then nods. "Yup. 'Ey's dead from our own people. Kin speak ta us from beyond, y'know? Inna afterlife an' all." "Really?" Naoi says, a spark of interest at that. "Did you.. perform ceremonies to summon them?" She does lean back though, as Kestrel speaks of her friend. "Akari's Sword? Ah, she was a swordswoman as well, then? Funny..." "I dunno how th'mediums do it," Kes says, shaking her head. "Mostly only mediums kin hear 'em see? Well. Some people say th'rest'a us kin hear 'em too, jest not as reg'lar like. Can't control it. Sometimes when ya need it most, though... ya git a touch'a help, somethin' ya didn't 'spect. Newm, 'e saved m'life more'n once, I reckon." "Newm? Another of your saints, I presume." Naoi asks, sipping from her water. Kestrel nods. "Newm's th'saint'a gunslingers," she explains. "'E's m'chosen Saint. 'E was one'a Kari's followers, so I sorta worship 'er too inna way. She's... well, she's death, like. Short little lady, big sword... rough lady ta worship, lemme tell ya. She likes things th'way she likes 'em, an' no other." There's a quiet chuckle at that. Kes and Naoi are sitting at the bar, chatting. Naoi is thoughtful at that information, "The Light was sometimes harsh too, though we never seemed to find the proper balance between brutality and being too soft. Judgement, though, often is and what greater judgement is there then death itself. Perhaps it is not so surprising that this Akari could be seen as caustic." The Fastheldian woman has a short sword at her hip, hilt wrapped with a green ribbon. "I was a priest as well, you see. A battle-ordinated clergy, at least, known as the Ordinators." Newt comes inside, steps out of the way of the doorway and looks around on tip-toes. Ah! He begins to head your way. "Hey." "Mmm," Kes replies, nodding at Naoi. "Lotta our ground troops on La Terre, 'ey was Akarites," she replies, pursing her lips. "Seraph was one'a 'em. She's... well, she's one'a th'Lady's priestesses, too." A quiet little smile's offered. "She ain't missin' a eye, though. She's missin' part'a 'er left pinky finger. Cut it clean off, jest like 'er Lady." She glances over at Newt then, and waves. "She marked herself in a ritual display of respect to her.... patron, then? That is interesting. My eye was not freely given, though. It was a price for my sins, my pride." Naoi responds, "I would have liked to have spoken with this Seraph. I have a kinship with those that follow a religious sect, even if I cannot agree with them wholly. Different is not always evil, despite what the Scourges of our time were known to preach. Though, I must admit, I am surprised to learn that you are religious yourself." She turns, blinking back at Newt, then bows her neck. "Ah, young master. Welcome." Newt grins, "Hi." and slides into the conveniently empty seat next door, "Whatchya talking about?" Kestrel nods. "Our r'ligion's... diff'rent 'en most," she agrees, pausing for a small sip of her drink. "Ya got diff'rent b'liefs dependin' on which Saint ya worship, see, an' ya choose yer Saint based on whatcha like. Kanter, she's th'Saint'a Mercy. B'lieves in savin' lives at any cost. 'Kari, well, she's death like we already been over. Svajone watches over travelers, an' Irit watches out fer actresses an' th'like..." She shrugs. "I till think Seraph's gonna show. She don' die easy, nosir. An' yeah... 'er pinky, s'in amber, in th'hilt'a 'er sword. 'At's what makes it more'n jest 'nother blade." She tilts her head at newt. "R'ligion." "It makes it a holy relic, her oath of fealty to her Saint." Naoi says, nodding thoughtfully. "Interesting." She nods at Newt, "Aye, religion. Oh, speaking of blades..." She unhooks the blade at her belt, then presents it to the Ungstiri. "As promised." Newt turns around and takes it, eyes wide, "Wow. Cool." He looks up, similing, "Thanks." "Yup, 'zactly," Kes replies, nodding emphatically. "Ain't too many things what alla Saints 'gree on, but free will's one'a 'em." She rubs a hand across her hair and shifts a bit, then sips from her drink again, a glance directed toward Newt. "Ya takin' up blades, kid?" she asks curiously. Naoi waves away the thanks, looking distinctly at unease with the idea. "It is nothing at all. It is better that it has someone who will care for it then simply allow to gather dust on my shelves." Newt looks over at Kes and nods, "Uhuh." and then looks back to the gift. He grips the handle of the sword and slowly begins to take it out of the scabbard. "Neat." Kestrel scrutinizes the blade herself, and nods. "Solid blade," she offers. "Betcha you'll do a'ight with 'er, kid. Me, eh... ain't so good with 'at stuff. M'way better at marksmanship 'en fightin' toe ta toe like 'at." There's a faint chuckle offered, and the Later sips her drink again. Naoi nods, watching Newt out of the corner of her eye. "Admire it, if you like, but... I would be wary about baring steel. Comorro is not against punishing us for slights. So, what else can you tell me about this... Saint of Death?" Newt nods, looking it over, keeping it half sheathed, "That's cool. I'll only use it to practice and stuff." "Well," Kes offers, pursing her lips. "She's th'one what cuts ya loose when s'time ta die, see? Uses 'er blade an' jest..." The Later trails off, making a cutting motion with her hand. "Newm, th'one I worship, 'e was real special ta 'Kari, on 'count'a 'e was so good at what 'e did. 'Ere was one time 'e was shot bad, an' she wouldn't pull 'er sword ta cut 'im loose. Made it so 'e couldn't die from bullets later on, too." She chuckles quietly. "'Ventually someone sworded 'im real good, though." The Later and the Fastheldian are sitting at the bar, along with Newt, who is holding a short sword. "Ironic." Naoi notes dryly, "Then again, life always is. I put one man in a prison, and he visited me when it was my turn to see that life. Light, and apparently your Saints, work in mysterious ways." She sips from her water, setting the cup down to face Newt, nodding her understanding. "A sword is a tool, yes, but it is also a brush. I have heard several label it a style of dance, and it indeed is." Tamila's been sitting at the back of the bar, drinking by her lonesome. However, there comes a time when she does empty her glass, and that time appears to be now. She gets up with her empty glass and starts towards the bar, and doesn't seem to overhear the conversation at hand. Kestrel nods, her eyes going wide. "Ta see Seraph use a blade... s'like pure grace. She moves like a damn cat, she does. S'almost like... almost like she's got a bit'a 'er Lady in 'er, ta watch 'er. Sometimes s'hard ta concentrate on m'work." There's a quiet chuckle at that. "Kin see 'er through m'scope sometimes, see? She goes in onna ground, an' I cover 'er from a ways 'way. Backup. Heavy-hittin' backup." "Aye." Naoi notes, nodding her head, before peering at Kestrel curiously. "Ah, with your crossbows. Of course, that makes sense. As I was saying, yes, swordplay is a dance. Grace, and speed, is far more deadly then brute force. While one can chop the head of a man off with enough strength behind one's blow, it is far more effecient to simply open up his veins. We are fragile, even Wildlings. It does not take much force to draw blood." "It's possible to kill without physically touching a man," Tamila remarks in a voice just above a whisper, though seems like she's just talking to herself. "Without the use of psionics. Air and liquids when channeled right can have devestating results." She waves the bartender down, and then places an order. At Tamila's words, the Later glances toward her. Her expression hardens, and Kes reaches for her glass, taking another drink. It's mostly gone now, actually. She merely sits in silence. Naoi looks back to Tamila at her comment, then slowly over towards Kestrel. "I sense history here." It does not even sound like a guess. Newt nods, "So I gotta learn to dance too?" He says, somewhat despondently, before straightening up, "Crap. Almost forgot. I'm meant to be on the Tharsis!" He looks at the sword before offering it back to Naoi, "Can you hold it for me? I wont have time to put in on the Fox." "Not really my friend," Tamila replies quietly to Naoi, before looking towards Kestrel. "Someone just found out what lying is capable of doing. First hand. They also found out what it's like to have their trust broken and destroyed." She casually takes a sip of her drink and then shrugs. The former street rat casts an idle glance towards Newt, and shakes her head slightly for some reason. Kestrel snorts. "Also found out th'clinic kin tell me perfectly good 'at I ain't dyin'a some 'maginary poison," she retorts. "An' hell, T'mila, ain't my fault Dean don' trustcha. Mebbie y'oughta talk ta 'im if'n ya wanna know why, 'stead'a goin' 'round lyin' yer -own- 'Kari-cursed ass off." She stares into her drink, shaking her head. "If'n ya wanted ta make a point, ya made it. Yer a hypocrite." Naoi reaches across, taking it from Newt, and nods her understanding. "Good fortune, Master, and Light Preserve You. This will be waiting for your return." She then turns to face head, with Kestrel on one side, and Tamila on the other. "Trust is a weak, frail creature. A conduit to a relationship. It is easily broken, and without it, one cannot grow. Yet, with it, one can become naive and blind to the world about them. A balance has to be found, but if you do not make any effort to understand another's place and reasoning, then you are a coward. You cannot be sure that there is an insult until it is obvious that there is." Newt grins, "Thanks." and bolts it. "At least I'm not an ungreatful daughter of a scummer," Tamila remarks to Kestrel very casually and with an unusual calmness in her voice. "Have you forgotten how much I've tried to do for you and I've kept doing for you? I think you have." She reaches into the breast of her jacket as she looks towards Naoi, withdrawing a bottle of pills. The cap is unscrewed and she shakes two out and washes them down with her drink. "Balance? Try comprimise. To earn trust, you must first reveal something of yourself to a willin' party of the same. My trust in Kestrel was most certainly placed in the wrong person from the word go." "Ooh, she kin call names," Kes taunts, smirking. "Never mind 'atcher names don' 'ply cause I wasn't born anywhere near 'at ball'a rock." She shakes her head. "I -wanted- ta tell ya, T'mila. I started ta say it, even. Dean held me back. I -did- trustcha with it. 'E's th'one what didn't." She shrugs. "An' mebbie 'is's why." She finishes off her drink. "You planned ta turn me over fer a bounty once," she murmurs then, shaking her head. "An' I looked past 'at, an' I trustedja 'gain. Hells. Mebbie I shoulda jest kept on walkin'." Naoi has the good grace to look completly unrattled, though the tension around her eye speaks greatly of just how uncomfortable she is. "Perhaps I can serve as a neutral party, since the two of you cannot seem to come to an agreement. What is this secret that you spoke of Kestrel? How did her not informing you of the details shatter your trust, Tamila?" "Certain aspects of my work require knowing what people' strengths and weaknesses are, so I can match people up right," Tamila tells Naoi, with a shake of her head. She places her glass down on the bench and storms around towards Kestrel. "I'm going to do somethin' that you should have done. You want your fuckin' apology Kestrel, I'll give you your fuckin' apology." She slams her hand palm-side down on the counter and splays her fingers. "Bartender, can you get me a rag?" Her hand moves down to her dress to remove the throwing knife that's attached down there. Kestrel just blinks blankly at Tamila. "Already hadda 'pology from ya," she replies, shrugging. She just sort of slouches there on the seat, really. "Don' want yer fingers. Never did. If'n I wanted ya hurt, I woulda jest put a bullet in ya an' called it even. But 'at ain't what I wanted." The Later looks away then, scowling, and certainly not grabbing for the knife herself. "I let m'self git put inna bad place, where I hadda choose b'tween yer trust an' Dean's trust, an' 'Kari curse it, a secret can't be took back once s'told. You know 'at." She scowls. "You wanna know what it is? Will it put 'is horseshit ta rest? All ya gotta do is tell me yer not gonna tell nobody, an' I'll take yer word for it." The skinny girl glances over at Naoi then, and frowns, thoughtful. "Mebbies," she offers, almost meekly. Naoi seems confused for a moment at Tamila's sudden action, but Kestrel seems to have cleared up what exactly was intended. She slaps down, attempts to cup the woman's thigh, and wip the sheath right off and away from her. "No! Talk, you foolish woman." "Don't you look away Kestrel," Tamila growls at Later. "You're getting a proper apology, like it or not. You tourists never understand the significance behind the gesture and the respect involved in doing it. Hey, dart in the arse and a lie was ten times better than me wirin' up your entire room with tanglers!" She winces as she's slapped on the thigh by Naoi, but the sheath doesn't come off. In fact, the TKer finds herself pulled towards the one eyed woman and almost stumbles. "Hey, what the hell you thin' you're doing?" She snaps her head around to glare at Naoi and she tries to pull her leg away with no success. "Go beat someone up with pillows or somethin' and leggo'f my knife!" "...Yeah, cause you bein' minus a couple'a fingers's -'zactly- what I want," Kes replies sardonically. "Me havin' ta 'splain ta Bri why ya went an' mutilated yerself an' made it harder fer you ta do yer job, 'at's jest plain ducky. Hells, I ain't lookin' 'way cause it bothers me -- saw worse things inna war by far. M'lookin' 'way cause 'at ain't my brand'a 'pology, T'mila, an' it -wouldn't- have th'same meanin' ta me as it would ta you." She shrugs. "We's from diff'rent worlds, an' 'at's 'at. You will -always- look at me an' see a tourist." Finally, the Later looks back over, the conflict not even cracking the blank facade she's adopted. "No." Naoi responds, still holding onto the sheath, fingers locking around the fabric since she cannot remove it from Tamila's person. She isn't even looking at the woman, though for any coming in, it would appear that she is sliding a hand inside her dress. Which would lead to awkward questions to be sure. "She has denied your silly, barbaric apology. Stop being a coward, and compromise. Offer her one that she will take." Tamila tenses up and goes wide eyed as she looks down to the hand slipping up her skirt. "What the hell you thin' you're doin'? Get your hand outta there!" she protests, before giving her leg another hard tug. This time, there's the sound of ripping material as the sheath comes free and remains with Naoi... And unfortunately, so does the TKer's dress. She doesn't seem to have noticed that her lacy red panties are on display as she trusts a finger towards Kestrel. She then pauses and then looks down and that hand drops down to herside. "Dammit, not again!" Kestrel just plain goes agape at Tamila's state of dress. It doesn't even seem to have occurred to her to laugh. She just stares, jaw hanging just a bit open. "Uh... uhm..." She slips out of her jacket and offers it gingerly. "Mebbie y'oughta... y'know... cover up an' 'en git yerself somethin' ta wear 'fore we take off a-salvagin' in Zero-Gee..." Naoi is left with the knife, and some wry amusement at Tamila's expense, placing the sheath on her lap and laying the strip of Tamila's dress on the counter. "Of course you would wear red. I find that I am completly unsurprised. Now that you are forced to strut around half-naked, perhaps you will realize just how ridiculous you are being. Though, I suppose, one cannot expect that you will simply stay and have a drink with us so exposed." She passes the jacket down the line to Tamila. Tamila seems aghast at her latest predicament and greatfully takes Kes' jacket to cover herself up. "Thanks," she replies quietly as once again she takes a decent sized hit to her street cred. "And I'm sorry about putting that dart in your arse and makin' you believe it was poisoned." With that, the TKer quickly heads retreats the exit looking embarrassed and defeated. "Uh..." Kes says, looking after Tamila. "Mebbie I oughta go help 'er," she says then, blinking. "Make sure she gits back ta th'ship a'ight." She just plain -smiles- over at Naoi then. "You ain't bad at 'is mediator stuff, y'know," she offers. "...Thanks." With that, the Later slips off her barstool and pelts after Tamila. "'Ey, git yer paws off 'er, fuzzball!" is called indignantly right before she heads out into the tradeport.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)