When Soren arrives at the recording studio, he discovers a winding trail of crumpled paper -- each 'breadcrumb' a mass of scribbled out sketches and equations. The farther he follows the path, the more coherent and complex the schemata become; the ink still fresh enough to smudge.
The path ends in one of the unused isolation booths. A dark-haired woman sits on the floor, surrounded by a meteoric ring of paper balls. Pools of silky persimmon and black obscure her folded legs; the dress's kimono-sleeves fluttering like butterfly wings as the pen in her hand dances over a fresh sheet of paper. Indian ink stains her creamy skin like a lattice of bruises -- no part of her body left untouched.
"You must be Soren," she says without glancing up from her drawing. "I am told that you are the most important man in Xanadu."
The pen halts its intricate dance and Silhouette glances up at him, smiling. "Thank you for coming."
"The man who told you that is a liar and a fool," replies Soren, smiling. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Silhouette gives a good-humored laugh, "Yes. He is a bit of both, at that. But as for this particular statement, he was most adamant and sincere."
She stands up and moves to his side, presenting him with her sketchbook. She flips through the pages to reveal what appears to be the electronic schematic for a multitrack recorder - although there appear to be some arcane symbols intermixed with circuit diagrams. The system itself incorporates all the required mechanics: input jacks and controls, channel equalizations, input faders, and a routing section.
"After much thought, I have been able to develop a four-track recorder utilizing analog magnetic tape, which I assume exists here. Construction of a secondary unit will provide you with the ability to create reduction mixes, while virtually eliminating all background noise. With physical alterations to the studio, I suspect you could even obtain quadraphonic sound. As a side note, King Random did not request a system capable of transferring these recordings to a consumer-based format, so that aspect of the project is not included here.
"I believe the unit should be able to operate effectively under this world's technological paradigms without mechanika; although, I could incorporate such to expand the capabilities of the machine. However, that might require me to be attuned to this world's Pattern prior to construction."
She stares at him, apparently awaiting his opinion.
He stops her flipping pages and starts tracing the diagram, nodding. "You can't mix-down to quadraphonic with only four tracks. That's fine, though, since Quadraphonic is a gimmick. Do you have any preliminary ideas on frequency response curves? How much wow and flutter is the analog mechanism likely to introduce? Is this microphone only or do you intend to have direct inputs? Do you expect the tape to be re-recordable? Does the tape having timing data embedded in it and is there any sort of re-sync control feedback loop? How quickly does the tape material degrade?
"And what is that thing?" he points as one of her arcane symbols. Without letting her answer, he adds, "I think you need to come down to the studio."
Silhouette nods, "After you, then."
She follows him, "My intention was to create a secondary unit to accompany the main four-track console. Multiple tracks would be mixed together and reduced down on single track on the secondary, thus allowing for more complex recordings, including 'gimmicky' quadraphonic. The console will provide rudimentary control of the Larsen effect and will offer mic and direct input. I hope to achieve a wow and flutter of zero-point-two-percent RMS. However, that will ultimately depend on the quality of gamma-ferrous oxide available for tape production, which will also determine their degrade rate. Again, that detail remained outside the purview of my assignment, so I cannot answer your embedded timing question.
"As for the symbols you mentioned, they are mechanika formulae based on a recording construct I've been developing for another project. This alternative design would provide you more options, as well eliminate much of the pre-production requirements. However, I do not know if it would operate in this realm."
"I've got no idea if that would work here, but as long as it could be made by someone other than just you, that would be fine. Xanadu, as I understand it, doesn't make stuff. Assume we're importing either tape or things to make into tape. Ideally, we want to follow the standard colonial exploiter model--get raw materials from the shadows and produce finished goods here to sell here and there. I'm all in favor of recording being an art, not a science, as long as it's an art I can master."
He opens the door to the recording studio, which has a number of pieces of equipment. "So far, the best we've done is make a few plate and spring reverberation units. Nice, analog sound, and Ash did some clever stuff to give us multi-tap, but the control isn't as precise as we want and since we don't have that," he says, gesturing to the diagrams, "it's only good live."
He turns away from the machine. "What do you need to build your four-track?"
Silhouette runs her palm over the equipment one piece at a time, her eyes closed, her lips moving silently.
This should be a simple task for her magical skills, but it turns out to be surprisingly difficult. While she expected a strong effect, she manages only the briefest glimpse inside the machine. It looks to contain a long spring, but how that works is unclear to her.
[OOC: If she asks, Soren will take the cover off. In many ways it's pretty close to this reverb unit built from a Slinky.]
Silhouette frowns at the unexpected strain, which leaves a dull ache behind her eyes. She exhales in disappointment, but at the very least she has been provided Enlightenment regarding arcane manipulation in this realm. "Can you please remove the cover, so I might have a closer examination?"
She inspects the inner workings with a clinical eye; the pickups and phono inputs drawing her true attention. "Quite ingenious," she says with an honest tone.
"Someone was, yes," Soren replies. "I learned this from a book, about a generation ago."
After a moment, she nods. "Thank you, Soren. If you have constructed such units, this means electroacoustics and electromagnetism function in this realm. We should be able to construct this unit easily and, perhaps, expand upon it later. We may even be able to circumvent the use of vacuum tubes and move directly to semiconductors. That would greatly improve our options."
She opens her eyes and smile at him, "If I am hired for the project, I will require a multifunctional workshop; possibly including access to a small machine shop. A millimeter, oscilloscope, frequency counter, standard bench tools and testers, as well as soldering tools, at the least. Normally, I would have access to these items, but I am very far from home and have no way to return. And, of course, I will require free access to construction materials. Those will need to be imported, yes?"
Soren opens his mouth, then closes it again. "You're getting a different deal from the King if the word 'hired' is there. He used to know it, when we were in Texorami, but he seems to have forgotten it when he became the all-powerful lord of everything.
"As to your shopping list, I've got none of that. Assume you need to make your own test gear."
Silhouette sighs again, "And thus, we shall need to test each item imported to this realm. Heh. Draig Talamh does enjoy her little jests at times." She shrugs and closes the unit.
"Am I to understand that you have not been formally commissioned for this project?" she asks delicately. "I do not wish to intrude upon your Covenant and deprive you of your Profit. It is one of the only true Sins from where I originate."
Soren grins. "It's a congregation of sinners, Lady, and Syd is the Sinner in Chief. Kings are like sharks. They haven't evolved far enough to pay people who work for them. We swore an oath, he asks us for stuff, we do it, he takes care of us.
"If you're really his niece, you'll probably never get paid again. But you won't miss it."
Silhouette glances up from her examination; her voice empty of malice. "A man remains a thrall no matter how bejeweled his collar may be. Without tangible compensation for one's efforts, one can grow complacent and invite Stagnation into their heart. Or worse, they can taste bitter fruit when their efforts exceed their master's beneficence.
"However, an Oath does take precedence over Profit. But until such time..." A shrug.
She smiles softly, "And please, do not call me 'Lady'. You are an artisan, Soren. We are equals. Indeed, as you are the beloved of the King, I should defer to you."
He bows from the neck. "Lady and Lord have been the titles accorded to all members of the households of Princes and Princesses of Amber. We are not equals and can never be. I cannot perform the great magics of the King's father's children. Royalty is, in Amber and Xanadu, a matter of qualitative difference caused by accident of birth. I cannot become, even were I to marry into the family, empowered as you all are.
"That's fine. Random is uninterested enough in ruling that he grants us freedom, but it is a grant. It's a grant, not a right we were created with. Ask, sometime, what it means to control probability for your kind. And think on what that implies for the free will of all those who are not you.
"And it's not something he or you or any of you can choose not to have the power to do, even if you don't use it."
Soren refastens the cover on the reverb. "In the creation myths of my homeland, the omniscient gods created man with free will to observe how he would react to the extraordinary universe around him. In truth, the gods are more powerful than we thought, and less, and man has free will because the gods don't involve themselves most of the time. I always assumed our religions were wrong, but I never guessed it was because my band's lead singer and drummer were Lords of Creation."
Silhouette listens to Soren's every word with a gentle compassion. When he finishes, she nods lightly, "'Thus He remembered that they were but flesh; a wind that passes and does not return.'" A frown clouds her features, apologies in her eyes.
"Considering my past and relatively short life, I tend to forget the vast separation that exists between myself and the Quick. Perhaps that is because I find their insights far more pertinent than the antediluvian ideals of my peers. That their actions - footnotes in eternity - possess far more significance than the endless machinations of my kin. The candle that burns twice as bright, burns half as long, yes?
"And for that reason, I remain little more than a Nephilim in the grand scheme of things - walking hand-in-hand with shadows and dust. Never to be one with the Divine.
"I cannot be like them, Soren. But as you say, nor am I as you are."
She crosses the room and sits down at the piano, her long fingers dancing over the keys, making them sing like angelic mourners. "Still, I would hope that in this space at least, where ideas are freely shared, you will call me Friend rather than Lady."
Soren follows her over to the piano and stands behind her, listening to her playing for a moment before replying.
"Don't get me wrong. I'd rather live in Syd's world than any cosmos the god-botherers back home invented. They're not right, even if people want what they're selling. I never believed in them, even when I didn't know about all this and it would've comforted me to do so. If we have to have a ruler, I'm all for it being him."
He sighs, and continues. "So they're not so bad, by which I mean my favorite drummer. If you can't be like them, then don't, but you'll need to figure out who you want to be. Some of what they are is admirable. Your generation seems different from the older one. It's not just that you all are so damned old and yet young, it's as if every single one of you has been raised to refute some part of your elder's upbringing.
He shrugs. "I'm not sure any of you can be like they were, even them. Not after the rock of their reality died for them."
Silhouette continues to play as he speaks - a haunting music drawn from the piano's heart. If Soren is familiar with classical music, he realizes she is playing Strauss' 'Tod und Verklarung' - a composition normally associated with strings and woodwinds.
She gives a quiet laugh, "I do not know my cousins enough to speculate as to their upbringing, but I was not raised by anyone. Expect, perhaps, by myself and my faith. I did have a mentor of sorts once, but we had a parting of ways, so to speak. In the process, he discovered his mortality and I my inner strength.
"Your words are generous and insightful, Soren. I agree, I shall never be as my mother was or is or shall be. She certainly isn't the woman I recall or loved as a child."
She nods for him to join her on the bench. "But this 'rock' of reality. Of whom do you speak? I assume you mean a man or woman from your word usage. Forgive me. I have been abandoned in Shadow for a great many years by Amber's chronology and have little knowledge of its history or people. To be true, I did not even know I had a Family until early this year."
Soren nods. "Quite a family, and the Patriarch was King Oberon, who was to Amber as Random is to Xanadu, except a few thousand years along. Nobody knows what was before then, if anything. Syd used to talk to me about his father, in vague terms, back in Texorami. He got more precise after he brought me here. Cambina wrote a book about Amber's history. It's a fascinating read."
"I shall seek it out, thank you."
He sits beside her, to the left, and starts improvising both a rhythm line and some low harmonies. He's quite talented.
"Amber was a myth in my home, we wrote songs about it, before we'd even seen it or knew it was a place we could go to."
He doesn't say so, but he seems willing to segue into his own music if she wants.
Silhouette nods lightly and surrenders the lead to Soren, following where he may. She's a quick study, complimenting him skillfully.
It's clear that he's playing a song he's known for years, and although he doesn't sing, it seems to want lyrical accompaniment.
"Mother spoke little of Amber. Protecting me, I suppose. Ironic, really. Only recently have I learned anything about the hallowed city. Yet, I could feel its call in my heart from the very start. Perhaps that was only my blood singing false promises, but it was an alluring refrain nonetheless."
Her head touches his shoulder, a chuckle on her lips. "So here we find ourselves. Two expatriates entwined by music and a King's desires. I, for one, could think of crueler fates."
She accompanies him deeper into the composition, "Are you familiar with the Family itself? I've met Uncles Caine and Random. But not Bleys or Corwin."
Soren stops humming along and breaks into the lyrics.
Your head is humming and it won't go,
in case you don't know,
The drummer's calling you to join him,Dear lady, can you hear the wind blow,
and did you know
Your stairway lies on a moonbeam.
"One of the reasons we put that on the live album was that we almost always improvised some part of it when we did it live, and it was better, but never wrong. All roads lead to Amber. Led. Now they lead here. The song needs updating." He plays on.
"Bleys is interesting. He's one of the few of your Uncles who has taken an interest in what I do. I can't decide if it's real curiosity or if he's trying to learn about Random from someone who washed his socks in the same van with him, but he's been helpful."
"Corwin has a favorite traditional bard. He's not very interested in my kind of music. I've met him, and I've read and heard some of his songs, but that's as close as I come to knowing him."
Soren grins. "My portfolio in the kitchen cabinet is very specific. You may need to find someone else to ask about things outside of the realm of music."
Silhouette smiles at Soren's voice - softly repeating, "'Your stairway lies on a moonbeam.'" A nod. "Lord Corwin's heart must be cold not to find beauty in that."?
She continues following his lead, accenting the music where she can. "I believe you understand these people far better than perhaps you realize, my friend. And from what I know, you are right to doubt Bleys' intentions," she gives a shrug.
A sparkle brightens her eyes, "So tell me, Soren. Your word to the King will soon determine my fate. Shall we remain within this realm of music and build something for the future together? I admit, creating for the sake of beauty rather than death does possess a welcome allure."
He smiles. "I shall, with or without you. I've made my choice, and yours is up to you. I recommend against messing around. There are several of your cousins who are on the King's shit list, even if they don't seem to know it. Eventually, he figures they'll figure it out and fix it.
"And don't count too much on Huon. He couldn't beat Khela and a handful of her cousins with an army and all the time in the world to plan. He's not even our number one problem."
"I count on no one," Silhouette replies flatly. "The least of all, Lord Huon. My patron he may be, but his faults are many and his virtues are few. I shall love him for what he has done for me and I will serve him as my oath requires. However, once my duties are fulfilled, his path shall be his own. As will his sins."
Soren rises.
"Your choice is to be a part of the family you're born to, even if you're a different part from the rest, or to leave and have nothing to do with them.
"I choose to stay, because here is more interesting than any other there, and my work here means more to me."
He pauses. "He's the one you need to convince you mean it. Helping him make this place what he wants it to be is his way of offering you a shot. Up to you."
She stands as well, smoothing her dress. "The King awaits your assessment of my schematics, as well as of my skills. I hope that my design - although requiring some adjustments - has met your standards enough to elicit an endorsement.
"I wish to remain here and assist the King in building Xanadu. The Grand Design resonates throughout this world. Its Calling cannot be ignored. And in this studio would be a perfect place to begin."
She smiles tenderly, "But more importantly, thank you for sharing your music with me, Soren."
He smiles back. "It's a musical place. Reflection of himself, I think. Get me a list of what you need and we'll get started."
"I shall develop the list and have it sent to you," Silhouette says. She walks over and brushes her hand over Soren's upper arm. "I look forward to working with you, Soren. Might we have dinner tomorrow? We can talk briefly of work and then play some music together. I rather enjoyed that."
After making arrangements, she leaves to collect her bread-crumb trail of papers.
As the warm, golden day submits itself to the cool caress of the blue hour, two vibrant figures cut through the crowded streets of Xanadu City. One -- dressed in flowing elegance -- is a dark beauty with flashing eyes and floating hair. The other... not so much. But their striking contrast of icy reserve and fiery wildness does not belay the apparent intimacy of the two -- a sisterhood of spirit, if not blood.
Now, after a day of artisanal questing -- collecting paraffin oils, shellac, paper, and drawing tools -- they find themselves like rudderless ships, adrift in city of dreams.
Silhouette turns her gaze upon Robin, her smile hungry as the shadows around them. "Strange. I do not feel the urge to retreat from humanity tonight. Perhaps, it is the somberness awaiting me should I return to solitude. A somberness not even my work will likely dispel. No. I prefer to cloak myself in this twilight life and drink deep of its wonders.
"Will you raid the night with me, cousin?"
Robin looks up from where she is, once again, trying to wipe the dried shellac off of her hand and on to her pants leg. Her green eyes twinkle at Silhouette under a blonde curl stuck to one temple by some iridescent oil or other and she bursts out laughing. The smile she sends back to Silhouette has mayhem at its source.
"Yes!" she answers, stooping on the question with all the patience of a hungry hawk.
"But Silhouette, could you have your... stuff sent back to the palace? It took nearly an hour to settle on the nibs alone. I don' wanna bust 'em in a bar fight." Robin wrinkles her nose is distaste. The value of good tools she understands, but pens!?! Despite what anyone says, swords are much better for killing things with.
"Although I had not initially intended on engaging in fisticuffs, it might be wise to lighten our load, should such activities occur," Silhouette says with an approving nod. "Let us retire to another shop, purchase a small trinket or two, and have the owners transport all our materials for a nominal fee."
She pauses. Scans the marketplace for a moment and soon spots her prey. With a patheress' grace she strikes off across the square toward a large fruit-stand displaying a towering ziggurat of peaches. "Tell me, Robin. Do you often engage in the bar brawls purposefully? Or do they transpire due to random misfortune."
Oh, look at all of that wonderfully teetering order, just waiting for a hint of freedom. Robin has an eager skip to her step as she follows her feline cousin toward their pre... errrr, peaches.
"Depends." Robin shrugs. "Me being in a mood to fight is definitely a random misfortune to someone." She grins evilly.
Silhouette snorts, amused.
"But there's also times when the other fellow obviously doesn't know when to stop. Some times it doesn't start anywhere near. And sometimes it doesn't start at all. Or there's no bar Or no fight." She shrugs again as her metaphor widens out to absurdity.
Robin rolls her eyes. Of course -- more shopping. Who knows? Maybe Silhouette will find some other absolutely indispensable delicate little widgety... thing for her project. But then, Robin did enjoy the drum store. Even if the owner didn't enjoy her being there. And Silhouette was patient through that. So okay, one more merchant. Then raiding.
Silhouette offers a sagely nod. "My first fist-fight transpired against a fellow slave-child. He attempted to steal food from me. I dislocated his jaw and fractured his wrist. Because he could not work, the owners fed him to the guard beasts. They also beat me for the loss of a worker. Although the wounds were agonizing, they did not hinder my performance on the shop floor. I was twelve." She smiles -- a smile that normally would not be present after such an admission. She may as well be discussing her first kiss for the pleasant tone of her voice.
Robin's nod and smile are very similar to Silhouette's. Ah, youth.
"So, I have not experienced the 'mood' to fight. But I am martially inclined should the need arise. It may even be illuminating," she chuckles. "Does not combat strengthen a sense of camaraderie?"
"Depends again." Robin answers. "For Brita's folks, definitely. She says that they fight for sport, though I don't think she personally wants to walk that way. For the rest of us?" The Ranger shrugs, "I think we're a little too individualistic to seek camaraderie through anything. We use fighting for other things. Brennan and Jerod fight to take someone's measure, fit them into the little pack structure in their minds. Martin fights to learn how to take down a variety of opponents. Bleys fights to show off. Benedict fights to be the best defender of Amber he can be. Lilly fights for the beauty of it. I fight to work off tension, clear my mind. Hence the fightin' 'moods'." She grins.
"12, hunh?" Robin continues as she pokes at one of the peaches near the bottom of the stack. "I don't remember my first fist-fight. Of course, it probably wasn't technically a 'fist' fight. Being as my wing-sisters didn't have any fists. Just, well, wings. And talons! We were always squabbling for perches, nest space, mice." Robin smiles in fond memory.
"Intriguing," Silhouette purrs, stroking her thumb over a peach's velvety curves.
She briefly speaks with the proprietor, arranging for the shipment of peaches to the palace, as well as their current packages. She haggles, but agrees to a fair price. After unloading the armful of art supplies to the delivery boy, she gestures for Robin to lead the way.
She lazily bites into a peach, savoring its juices. "So, am I to surmise that you are half-draconian? Such as the Men Who Walk Like Wolves? Were the younglings you had with you... yours?"
"Wow, Silhouette. Neat surmises!" Robin blinks in delight. "But no. My draconian-ness is a fairly recent twining and mostly due to patrilineal relations. I have two brothers who are grandsons of the Dragon. One's dead now. The other I've never met and is most likely an enemy. My father and a third brother were both soul-bonded to dragons -- a different kind and possibly some of the finest creatures to ever have lived. But both their soul-mates are dead." She shrugs sadly, and rapidly chases herself away from that subject.
"Me and the little ones have only been together for a couple of days, now. We met up on a beach. No breeding involved on my end." She smiles beatifically at the thought of her wonderful ones circling high overhead in the night sky, safely away from tempting bar fights and treats-on-a-stick. "But that was a really intriguing guess.
"The wing-sisters I'm referring to are the Storm Hawks of Arden. Shortly after birth, I was put in the care of the then Mewsmaster of Arden, Rattle. And while I loved my foster-mother immensely, I have to admit -- she knew more about raising eyas than infants." Robin chuckles to herself as she plays with her peach, rolling it from hand to hand, down her arms, tossing it. She's obviously decided that while Silhouette's peach may be food, hers is a toy.
But, even though she's playing with her fruit, Robin is hungry. Her nose leads her eyes in search of something hearty and not as... refined as the food served in the palace. Eventually, she picks up a faint whiff with some promise and heads off out of the marketplace.
Like a downy feather, Silhouette is carried along by the zephyr that is Robin. She chuckles at the woman's fruit-related antics, listening to each word as if they are being spoken by the Delphic oracle. At the end, she offers up a pensive smile.
"As a Daughter of the Earth Dragon, I suppose I have been at odds with creatures of Air. At least on a philosophical level," she says, covertly disposing of her peach pit in a window box. "However, as I spend time with you and the King, I find myself increasingly drawn to its uninhibited nature. The elation I experience leaping from the Falls is quite spectacular. And as I said at our first meeting, I do envy the Iron Dragons for their ability to take flight."
"Oh yeah." Robin sighs wistfully. "I wish I could fly all the time too. And the King is great, isn't he?"
"I look upon this change in attitude as a positive sign. Stagnation - be it societal or philosophical - inhibits Progress. Perhaps this new outlook toward Air and its incarnations will provide me with new Insight, yes?" This idea pleases [Silhouette] greatly; a feline grin curling her lips.
"Hope so." Robin smiles as her peach goes though a particularly intricate arabesque.
"See. Me and my brother, Daeon -- the one who's currently dead? Anyway, when he was in his Adonis incarnation, me and him got into a really nasty paradigm conflict. At a pretty poor time to do so. Horrific consequences. We were able to heal the rift before he died, but it was a close call. So while do I love me a good metaphor or a nicely inter-meshed thought-weave, I'm never going to favor them over family again." The wild woman winks to her sophisticated, urbane, mechanika artisan cousin.
Silhouette blinks idly, her mind playing with this revelation like a cat with a dead mouse. "Hrm." After a moment of silence, the informational tidbit is dropped into a mental shoe for safekeeping.
As Robin's nose guides them deeper into the city, a thought strikes her companion. "May I ask whatever happened to the dragon that wounded Lord Huon? Does it yet live?"
"Dunno. Those critters are reeeaaallly different from us. But I minced its head pretty good. So unless its recombinant powers are off the chart, it's not coming back in that form at least."
Silhouette purses her lips, sighing. "Pity."
Robin smiles with a contented little chirp as her nose brings them to their destination. The city has opened out into what will someday soon be a very nice neighborhood. But for now, the ground is mud, planks and sawdust, filled with the footprints and tracks of men at work. Beams, ladders and scaffolding claw up into the twilight like exposed bones and piles of earth and stone cluster around, lurking like haphazard burial mounds.
At the end of the street before the wandering cousins, an enormous tarp awning has been spread over an equally enormous rough-built fire-pit doing double duty as barbecue and oven. Spilling out from the eatery into the street and a couple of the unfinished neighboring 'yards' is a dazzling array of catch-as-catch-can furniture, cobbled together from the leavings of the various construction projects around them. Paper lanterns are strung from lines between leaning poles giving the whole area a warm glow. And the hubbub of hardworking men finishing their day, chases away the eerie quiet seeping out of the empty homes. Over the smells of exposed wood, earth and paint comes the scent of fire-seared meat, roasting potatoes and rough ale.
"Mmmmmm...." Robin gives a happy little wriggle as her nose lifts her to her tiptoes.
"How deliciously bucolic," Silhouette says, scanning Robin's gastronomical discovery. Her eyes drift to the blazing fire-pit with an intensity that matches its grease-sparked flames. Her chest emits a low rumble like an ancient boiler creaking to fiery life. "Yes, yes. This will do nicely, cousin," she purrs. "There is an open seat near the fire. Let us claim it for ourselves."
She lifts her diaphanous hem and nimbly traverses a plank over the fetid pools of greasy mud. As she enters the throng of hungry men, she becomes an immediate sensation - but not in a positive fashion. The epitome of aristocracy, she carries with her an unmistakable - and unwelcome - aura of gentrification. Dissent and disapproval rumbles through the crowd like thunder. It will not be long before the lightning appeared. For Silhouette, however, all that matters is the wooden bench next to the roaring-spitting fire-pit. All else is inconsequential, and thus ancillary, data.
Robin watches her cousin mince across the planks, gathering darkness around her like a stormcrow, and chuckles fondly. With a shake of her head and sparkling eyes, she follows. The girl smiles amiably to the men around them with a rueful shrug. Aristocrats. What can ya do?
Though the rumbles still circulate through the crowd, their tone drops. The invader's brought a bodyguard. Measurements are being taken and decisions are being weighed.
As the cousins reach the bench, Robin pats out an ember that has landed on her sleeve. She grins to Silhouette, "You gonna be okay sitting here while I get us some food?" the fire reflecting eerie green from her eyes. Which roughly translates as 'Will you hold off on the trouble until after I eat?"
Silhouette blinks; her voice lacking any form of humor. "And why would I not be okay sitting here, Robin? I am most content." Apparently, her translational skills are somewhat lacking in this regard. Her attention is drawn away by the fire, her body becoming as still as a porcelain statue. One of the many floating embers alights upon her bare arm like a lightning bug. She remains completely ignorant as its pulsating glow slowly ebbs and dies, leaving on ash.
"As spicy as possible, if you would. And strong ale," she says, dispelling her stoniness, if only for an instant.
"Got it." Robin nods with a grin and turns to leave Silhouette with her own contented craziness with the fire.
As she faces round to the crew of muttering workmen, she keeps her grin; comradely, confident and not at all intimidated. She strides over to take a place in the lines/crows in front of the crude counter, letting the ease with which she maneuvers her scabbard through the press say anything that needs to be said. A small space opens around the girl, but that just allows her room to rock on her heels a little as she waits.
In time, perhaps less than for other customers, perhaps more, Robn is at the counter. Her eyes take in the various roasting creatures with delight. "Oo. Double portion of the venison -- rare, please. The chicken..." she takes a deep breath and lets her nose guide her, "with the red sauce, extra peppers. And two strong ales. Thank you." She's practically dancing with anticipation. Real food. That she knows how to get. No fancy servants, no fancy spices. Well, none for her anyway.
As the scowling counterman nods curtly, Robin catches his eye. For a moment, her smile becomes pointed. There will be no spitting in the food, now will there? The counterman turns away quickly, but the Ranger knows her point has been made.
The fragrant food soon arrives on a pair of wooden planks - carved with troughs to catch the juices. A roll of fresh hard bread and butter accompanies them, as well as two frothing pints of ale. As per Robin.s unspoken request, the meal lacks any immediately evident spittle. His task ended, the counterman moves on to other customers.
Looking at the planks and tankards, Robin mentally juggles for a moment. Then tosses her peach (only slightly bruised for all the play) to a red-faced and sweating spit-boy. Dropping her payment on the counter, Robin scoops up her prize and wends her way back towards the fireside table with a grin of triumph. Her nimbleness might be tested a time or two, by accident of course, but the Ranger has danced her way through much more tricky things than a crowd of slightly defensive workmen and finds this course no difficulty.
When Robin returns to the table, Silhouette immediately stands up to assist with the tray. "Ah-yes. You have done well, my friend," she announces, breathing in the spicy steam. The aristocrat fades into distant memory as she rolls back her delicate sleeves and then virtually plunges into the meal. Fork and knife remain ignored as she tears the blisteringly hot chicken into thin strips with her finger. A content laugh cuts through the rowdy crowd, "Very well, indeed."
She raises her tankard, "Thank you, Robin."
"Thank you, Silhouette." She raises her own tankard in return with a chuckle. After a welcome draught, Robin whips out her eatin' knife and digs in with equal disregard for cutlery. Robin's meal is definitely on the more 'natural' side, no spices, very little cooking in fact, and it seems to suit her just fine.
Silhouette unashamedly licks the spicy grease from her long fingers - dismissing any air of aristocracy. The peppery sting wafting off her food hints that the cook attempted some culinary skullduggery on the unwanted gentry. But the spicy heat appears to perfectly satisfy the young woman; a happy purr rumbling in her chest. Yes, indeed, there does appear to be a human lurking behind that mask of stone.
As the twilight continues to deepen, Robin looks up and around to see if anyone is openly glaring at them. Satisfied with the result, a mouthful of venison is cut. With a quick subtle twist, Robin flips the meat high up into the air, at some speed. Above the cousins, there is a brief blur of gold and nothing falls back to the table. The Ranger presses her lips together innocently, but her eyes are laughing. "Someone's hungry," she murmurs.
Silhouette's bright eyes follow Robin's slight-of-hand, a smirk curling the corners of her mouth. "Best be cautious, cousin. Around this lot, one of your darlings is likely to end up as an entrée. Her gleaming teeth snap down on a chicken leg and suck the meat from the bone.
Robin laughs out loud. Gotta love carnivores.
"They are a loyal lot," she says, dabbing up some juice with bread. "That is a rare thing."
"Rarer among men then critters." The Ranger nods in agreement. "But even among critters, these little ones are very special." Her eyes glow with fondness as she slips another mouthful of venison under the table where there's a flicker of bronze among the flickering shadows cast by the fire-pit. "Right now, we're practicing subtlety." She snorts with muffled laughter as her eyes dart to Silhouette, mistress of the art.
"I promised them I wouldn't leave them again, sooo..." she shrugs. And another mouthful goes under the table.
"Oh, I don't know," Silhouette muses. "Are not men and saurians equally cold-blooded?" A wry chuckle escapes her and she surreptitiously drops a chicken leg with plenty of meat beneath the table. They are fire-lizards, after all. They'll be able to handle the spicy food, she concludes. And better them than the neighborhood dogs.
"Leave them again?" she ventures. "Were you forced to do so in the recent past?"
A quiet chuffing noise drifts up from under the table and Robin cocks her head. The sound does not repeat but is instead following by a faint echo of Silhouette's teeth-snapping-on-chicken-bone sound. Robin chortles into her ale.
"Oh, you are a baaaddd influence on Chirrup, cousin. I'm never going to find him food like that on the trail!" She chuckles again. And takes an enormous swig of ale, almost as though trying to quench a burning tongue vicariously.
While Robin pauses to drink, Silhouette shoots her a wicked grin, "Every child needs a wicked aunt to spoil them. And this little one is my favorite." She resumes her meal while her cousin continues her explanation.
"I wasn't forced to leave them. I just got all excited and shifted through Shadow too quickly for them to keep up. Which will never, never happen again." She tells the table-top very sincerely.
"Huon-chase," she tells Silhouette by way of explanation.
"So they do not pass through Shadow on their own?" Silhouette asks. "Intriguing."
Robin shrugs a shoulder off-handedly. The little darlings don't pass through Shadow right now as far as she knows. But they're still young, there's plenty of time for surprises.
A thought strikes [Silhouette]. "I would not worry that such a mistake will be made again, Robin. I suspect Huon may have had his hand in your misfortune. His proficiency with Pattern is profound. At least from my brief observations."
"Iiiiiiii'mmmmm not sure about that. But thank you for the thought, cousin." Robin smiles.
[Silhouette] tosses her favorite 'nephew' another piece of meaty bone. "However, one thing still puzzles me. How did you capture him and how did he escape? His pride prevented him from telling me, even after I healed his wounds."
"Hmmmm..." Robin thinks about it as she sits back. "Who's asking, Silhouette? My cousin or Lord Huon's emissary?"
Silhouette raises a disenchanted brow - a cloud tainting her elegant features. "I thought you above all others would know the answer to that question, Robin," she says.
"My role as emissary extends solely to the matters that the King and I have and will discuss regarding his lordship. That role terminates outside of that purview. If that answer does not satisfy you, then I shall retract the question."
She sets her empty mug down with more force than is necessary.
"Whoa there, creature of fire." Robin raises her hands with a smile. Then the Ranger leans forward, elbows on the table, to offer an explanation.
"Listen, I'm still working my way out of a situation with someone who has very different 'rules' than me. And it's become abundantly apparent that just because I think I know an answer, doesn't mean I do. So even though it pisses people off or makes me look stupid, I'd rather ask up front than assume I know the rules and end of up in some du... honor duel or something." She wrinkles her nose.
Silhouette bristles at this, but not for the reasons one might think.
"Your answer is fine. Still want the intel from your rude country cousin?" She tilts her head and bats her big green innocent eyes at Silhouette. Which doesn't entirely match the lurking self-directed giggle.
"I understand," Silhouette says, relaxing. "So, yes. I would like to learn more of his lordship and his defeat. The more I know of Huon, the better I might deal with him should the need arise."
She raises her chin, smiling in a vaguely human manner. "And fear not Robin. I possess no honor to offend. Honor is the last bastion of the cowardly and selfish. Speak plainly with me, always. Simply know that I have named you 'friend'."
Robin thinks about it for a moment, then nods. "Fair enough and likewise." She finishes with a grin.
"Sooooo," she checks Silhouette's trencher, "shall we take a walk away from prying ears and measuring eyes, cousin? Unfortunately, the town's too young for any interesting necropoleis." Robin shrugs sadly, "And I'm not found of the mysterious caves in the cliff-face. Anything you can think of?"
"I find the eastern side if the lagoon pleasant and sequestered," Silhouette says. "Or, if you are willing to walk, we could journey to the Broceliande. It offers seclusion and will provide the children the chance to fly freely."
"Weeeellll, I think I'll steer clear of Broceliande for a little while. At least until Paige really has her feet under her. So lagoon it is. Maybe we can fish up something interesting." Robin grins mischeviously.
Silhouette nods to this, "Very well. The lagoon it is."
[Silhouette] stands up and wraps herself in her cloak. "Come. Our dining companions are sizing us up. Undoubtedly assessing the risk of assaulting us when we leave this establishment. Before they complete their calculations, I think it best we depart. Unless you wish to encourage them?" A Cheshire Cat grin flashs across her lips.
"OOooooo." A similar smile lights up Robin's eyes. "Tempting. But no." She pouts as she stands.
"This is Random's city and these are his people. As much as I like a good bust-'em-up on occasion, I don't think I should just pounce on the citizenry without provocation. Anyone skulks after us, though? Fair game." She grins to Silhouette as she settles her gear.
"Agreed," Silhouette chimes. "Uncle Caine briefed me on the rules of engagement with regards to the Quick. I would not wish to anger the King by disposing of his subjects unnecessarily."
She wanders out onto the street, tightening her cloak around her. After a moment to gain her bearings, she begins to lead them eastward through the city. She covertly checks to see if they are being followed; a disappointed frown darkening her expression. "Ah well," she mutters.
She remains silent as they walk; intent on reaching their destination.
While the moon spreads its silvery arms across the quiet lagoon, Silhouette deftly avoids the gently lapping waves like an elegant shorebird. Her fluttering cloak - like magnificent wings - compounds this avian image. She pauses only to pick up shells exposed by the tide, covetously pocketing these waterborne treasures.
Whereas Robin bounces around the waterfront like eager piper. Shells, stones, driftwood and feathers are added to her pouches with little chirps of interest and delight. Instead of avoiding the waves, Robin taunts them -- dashing in and out of the tide with playful giggles.
"You know, this reminds me of being little girl," [Silhouette] announces wistfully to her companion. "Running bare foot through the wet sand with my sisters. They loved the water so much. Some times I forget how beautiful it can be."
"Yeah." Robin nods as she slows to look out over the moon-rippled lagoon. "Vere's trying to get me used to the sea. It is beautiful. But he's still got a challenge in front of him." She chuckles wryly as she looks back to Silhouette.
"Vere?" Silhouette asks, blinking.
"My fianceee." Robin warbles joyfully to the moonlit night. She grins bashfully to Silhouette. "That was him at Cambina's funeral." Her cheeks color. That's the second funeral she and Vere have gotten all... demonstrative at. "He's also my cousin. Uncle Gerard's son. And soooo... well." She shrugs as words fail her but Robin is obviously very much in love.
Silhouette nods lightly, offering a considerate smile. "Congratulations on your engagement. I see he makes you smile. That, in of itself, speaks well of him."
[Silhouette] plucks a delicate piece of nacre from the sand, turning it over in her hand to catch the moonlight. "So, what did you wish to tell me that required privacy, cousin?"
"Ummm..." Robin's brow wrinkles as she struggles to remember a whole half hour ago. "Oh! Huon. You asked about his capture and escape. That's Family-talk. Not for public ears."
The Ranger picks up a stone and tosses it out into the water. "The short answer is we ganged up on him. And then... I let him go.
"Long answer is more involved. You want that?"
Silhouette tilts the shiny nacre between her fingers, catching the moonlight, considering this. "I believe I will require the long version. From what I know, Lord Huon escaped from Amber. Surely you do not mean you opened the door for him and allowed him to leave?
"If that is so, do the others know?" Concern echoes in the question.
"Of course you would. Stupid question, really." Robin shrugs again. Seating herself comfortably on the remains of a storm-tossed tree, the girl takes a deep breath.
"Yeah, the others know. And yeah, they're mad about it. I'm walking the cliff's edge with some of my cousins right now. 'Cause while I respect their right to be angry, I won't accept the blame they're trying to dip me in. See, I didn't open the door, no matter what they say. So when they come at me with 'Robin, you screwed up,' I get all mad and defensive. And if I let myself get all mad and defensive, someone's going to get hurt. And I don't want to hurt my cousins, no matter how snotty they're being." Robin realizes she's ranting and takes a deep breath, which ends in a slump-shouldered sigh.
"So mostly I end up not talking about it. Trying not to make the situation worse. Hence the stupid question."
Robin shifts her weight. "Okay. Soooo, Huon's downfall starts elsewhere but gets really plungie when he hits Rebma. He'd made enough splashes on his trek through Shadow that the Rebmans were well forewarned, well armed and well defended against him. With a number of our cousins in the ranks just waiting for the chance to take down an army-marching Uncle." She grins with shark's teeth.
"In addition, Huon's split his personal strength to strike both against the armies and at the heart of Rebma itself. So when things started getting down and dirty, he's unexpectedly facing two rather formidable sorcerors, one accomplished jack-of-all-trades and one of our best tacticians while he himself is not at full focus." Robin clicks her tongue and shakes her head. "Boy, his intel sucked. Badly."
"He is a blunt instrument to the bitter end," Silhouette adds knowingly. She tilts her head, remaining focused on the story.
"As you can imagine, when you get that many powers and egos scrambling, all sorts of weirdness shakes loose. The end result was that Huon's struck badly with a weapon of power and he, both sorcerors and the tactician end up being tossed into the main courtyard of Amber. Wheeeeree me, Bleys, Caine and Huon's ex-girlfriend are just sitting down to a very awkward dinner.
"Huon's first to his feet and flees. But in short order, the rest of us are after him. Leaving Amber unoccupied by any of the Royal Family." Robin's lips press together unhappily at that.
"Hijinx ensue on the chase. Hijinx that are inimical to the general environs of Amber and Arden but do serve to further injure Huon. He breaks from the crowd enough to get himself thrown into what is the local equivalent of a really, really, really big wasps nest -- a chasm of the Dragon. Several of us pursue him in. Then one of my cousins essentially hits the nest with a baseball bat and all hell breaks loose. Egos, powers, fubar.
"We ran Huon to ground amidst flame and Dragons. He surrenders. I move forward and take charge of the prisoner, 'cause we need to get OUT of there. NOW. Unfortunately, the Dragons have a different theory and they. Are. Chewing. Us. Up. I fall back to try and Trump all of us out. But it's really hard and I have to take myself out of the tactical situation just to get a contact. Next thing I know, me and Huon -- who are in the most protected spot of the squirmish -- are being chewed on by a Dragon.
"Buuuuut I've succeeded in getting a one-shot connect to Amber. Soooo, there's my choice. Do I abandon the rest of my Family and take Huon to Amber myself? Do I let the contact fail and keep Huon across my shoulders hindering my sword-arm and whispering sweet treason in my ear? Or do I dump the bastard -- hoping that someone's shown up in the Eternal City who can keep a lid on him -- and turn to help my cousins and uncles?
"Well, I chose what I chose and I'm not sorry. Even though it turns out that no one had shown up in Amber who could stand against Huon. And that one of those aforementioned sorcerors had a lot stronger handle on things than I thought he did. So Huon essentially walked away from Amber and his surrender. My sword-arm was redundant. And everybody's mad." Robin's arms cross and her face bunches up in a mightly sulk.
Silhouette strolls across the beach to stand over Robin. She folds her arms around her chest, lifting her head in regal disappointment. "Bollocks," she says softly, but the word echoes like a thunderclap.
"f our family faults you for this oversight, then they are truly fools. And if you allow their antipathy to trouble you even for a moment, then you are a greater fool than they. The fault lies with Amber for allowing your prize to slip through their fingers. You are a warrior, Robin, not a latchkey. Your rightful place was in the field. Your only mistake was trusting in the ability of others. It is a common, yet forgivable mistake."
She sighs, "I doubt any defense I can offer you will go unheard, as my affiliations are questionable at best. But for whatever it is worth, I do not fault you and you have my support, if you desire it."
"Thanks, Silhouette." Robin grins up at her cousin. "I appreciate it. Sometimes, just knowing that not everyone is mad is enough." She chuckles in the echo of Silhouette's thunderclap.
"But you should know that my cousins will probably have very different stories. And I knew that Amber alone couldn't hold Huon when I sent him there. So I don't blame her or anyone there for his escape anymore than I want to be blamed for it. Stuff happens," another shrug from Robin, "learn from it, move along. I just don't understand the finger-pointing fest at aallll." She shakes her head sadly.
"It is far easier to assign blame than to understand or rectify a problem," Silhouette says. "It is also counterproductive and foolish. The question being asked should not be, 'Who is to blame for the escape?' but 'How was it accomplished?' Once you have the answer to that, you may prevent the same incident from occurring again."
"Yep." Robin nods. "New rule for Robin. Don't ever leave Amber if you see the Regent already to horse. Sucks though." She wrinkles her nose, "The idiot boys get all the fun."
"So," Robin uncoils from her sulk, all trace of ill humor vanishing, "does that story cover what you wanted to know about Huon's defeat and escape? Or is there more?"
"Considering the circumstances, I doubt you possess the information I seek," she admits. "But I wish to know if you shall be punished for this. What will the ramifications be for you -- if any?"
"Punished?" Robin bends down to pick up another throwing rock. "I haven't made my report to the King yet, so I don't know. But I doubt it." With a wicked sidearm toss, Robin skips the stone out across the water.
"Ramifications? Definitely. The aforementioned honor duel. Bleah. After which I get to apologize to former-Captain Venesch. Brennan and I need to stay out of each other's way for a little bit here. And Uncle Caine's probably going to be nasty -- well, nastier -- in my general direction for a while. All of that I can manage. Jerod, though... I dunno what will happen there. Hopefully it won't involve too much blood." Robin frowns out at the sea.
"Uncle Caine? Truly? I found him most reasonable," Silhouette says. "And, frankly, quite scrumptious."
Her humor drains away, however. "This honor duel," she says, the word 'honor' catching like a fishbone in her throat. "What are the specified rules? And what type of combatant is this Venesch? Will he abide by the ruling? And why should you apologize if you are victorious?"
She turns around arms folded tight to her chest, exuding big-sisterly-disapproval from every pore. "And who is this Jerod and why will he shed your blood?"
"Wow. Lotta questions there, Silhouette. Lessee, in order..." Robin scratches the side of her nose contemplatively.
"Yeah, Uncle Caine is fun." She grins. "But remind me to tell you about Aisling sometime." Grin gone.
Silhouette nods, "I shall hold you to that."
"I don't really know all of the specified rules for the honor duel. But Brita, my second, does. I know I'm not supposed to talk to Venesch until the fight. I remember that. Oh! First blood only, the Prince agreed with me on that one. Uh, I pick weapons, he picks place... Aaaannnnnddd I told the King's representative that it was not my intention to humiliate Venesch. That's all I remember." Robin shrugs a little shamefacedly. She knows she should be paying more attention, but....
"Venesch is an accomplished fighter. He was formerly the Captain of Amber's Guard after all. But he is older and merely human, so most folk seem to think I've got a substantial advantage. Myself, I'm not so sure. He's had time and experience taking down Family members. And I don't want to get all overconfident about this.
"I'm sure he will abide by the ruling. His prickly inconvenient honor is what got us into this mess in the first place. If he were a less hide-bound man, he would just sneak away and off himself while I wasn't looking. So no worries on that front."
"And I have to apologize 'cause that what's I said I'd do. See, me and Venesch kinda of have this agreement, I apologize to him and only him for sending Huon to Amber unannounced and he apologizes to me for calling me a traitor. There's other stuff in there," Robin waves herself along, "but that's between Venesch and me."
The corner of Silhouette's mouth twitches, "His failure is his own. If he wishes to commit suicide because of his shame, why not allow him to do so? His precious Honor obviously clouds his judgment to such a degree that the man is a liability. Such a creature will undoubtedly repeat this selfish action again. Perhaps at a more inopportune moment and endanger his wards.
"Be wary of this one, Robin. During your duel and afterwards. He is dangerous."
"Huhn." Robin blows her bangs off her forehead thoughtfully. "I hadn't thought of it that way... naw, his service record is good enough for me not to leave him twisting in the wind. Besides, he did a good job training Jerod up."
"Jeeerrrrooooddd." Robin rolls the word around in her mouth. "Prince Jerod."
Robin smiles wistfully and crosses her arms. "You've seen him, you know? He's Cambina's brother and sang that first song at the funeral." Her head tilts as she tries to line up her thoughts. "Hhhheeee'sss the son of the late King Eric and one of our most traditional, old-school-Amber cousins. I remember during the Regency days, he and Martin and Lucas used to amuse themselves playing 'good old boy' games." She wrinkles her nose with an amused twinkle in her eyes.
Then her eyes grow harder. "That can have its distinct downside if one isn't a good old 'boy.'"
Robin shakes her head and continues. "Anyway, he's also half-Rebman and has family and friends, maybe even a home, there. Ssssooooo, Per-rince Jerod was mourning the loss of his sister when Huon came a-calling on Rebma. Needless to say, he took the whole thing really personally. And, I don't know... He was just taking crazy, crazy chances to nail Huon." The girl shakes her head as her expression wanders between wistful concern and budding anger.
"To add further spice to the stew, Jerod is Venesch's patron.
"Now the thing is, I don't really know Jerod. I don't think anyone does. I think Jeord's single most defining skill is the management of his own reputation. He is an expert at that. And his reputation is as a master of intrigue and a warrior par excellence."
"The warrior rep doesn't scare me so much anymore. We're all trying to play nice since the Brother's War. But court intrigue? That scares me. I got no defense against slander, whisper campaigns or any of that stuff. And a good assassination attempt will nail anyone. So if Jerod comes looking for my blood through those channels, I... well, I'm going to be bleeding.
"The other side of this is that, well, I'm not too happy with Jerod myself right now. He... he let his passion and arrogance get away from hm. Endangered my lands. Set the goddamn forest on fire around me and my Family! Which -- believe me -- is hard to take from JEROD of all people! He intercepted and used something important that I sent to someone else." Robin snaps her teeth shut sharply before she says anything else.
As she listens to this, Silhouette's hand clenches tightly -- heedless of the broken shell in her wounded palm.
Her green eyes are flashing as they dart to Silhouette, "When I said I hope there won't be too much blood, it's not just mine I'm worrying about. Regardless of my feelings, Jerod is an asset to this Kingdom and I don't want to break the peace just 'cause... awwwkk." Robin finishes with an angry ruffle to her wings.
Silhouette stares at her for a moment -- those cold eyes like polished onyx. A razor-thin frown forms across her stony lips. "Robin," she says in a soulless voice. "You may ask me for Enlightenment into the Great Game and I will provide it freely. I do not offer this lightly. You do not need to ask now. Or tomorrow. Simply know if you do, there will be no turning back." She casually tosses the shards of broken shell aside -- an oily stain on her palm glistening in the moonlight.
"But you will have your revenge."
Robin blinks at her cousin and flickers briefly through two natures. One opens wide green eyes full of worry and mutters, "Ooops" to herself in sad, resigned voice. The other smiles night-sky darkly and purrs, "Such beautiful rage."
Then Robin shakes her head into a third nature. She straightens and the girlishness with which she surrounds herself sloughs away. The fidgeting, the giggling, the adolescent angst and self-doubt tucked away behind the serious, yet still lively, eyes of a maker and breaker of worlds. She stands in the moonlight with her cousin -- a woman, a warrior and a scion of Amber.
"Silhouette." Robin nods her head to her cousin. "I thank you for your offers. They honor me greatly. I do not ask for Enlightment this night, but know that I will hold your offer in mind for future days.
"With regards to Prince Jerod, his offense was against me and it is mine to determine the response. At this time I chose not to seek revenge against my cousin. Should that change, I will approach you again on this subject. Agreed?"
Silhouette's immutable expression reveals neither relief nor disappointment at Robin's answer. She offers only a dutiful nod, "Agreed." The incisiveness in her shadow-stained eyes doesn't dissipate. If anything, it intensifies as she stares at Robin; as if she is peeling the girl away, layer by layer.
Part of Robin squirms under Silhouette's regard, she really doesn't like being stared at. Despite that, the Ranger holds herself exposed in the pitiless meadow of Silhouette's gaze.
After a pregnant silence, a wistful smile settles on her lips. She reaches up and touches Robin's cheek -- a whispery caress that leaves a crimson fingerprint. "Such a pity," she sighs and then turns away, strolling toward the surf.
"Heh." Robin smiles wryly to herself. She knows the future isn't written in stone and so doesn't worry about it. Instantly, the fidgeting and flightiness is back and Robin bends and dips among the debris on the beach.
"Hey, Silhouette? You mind if I keep some of these?" she chirps. The girl pops up holding some of the shards her dark cousin discarded.
Silhouette kneels to wash out her cut in the rolling waves. At Robin's request, she glances over her shoulder and narrows her eyes. Her suspicion dies away after a moment. "If you wish, Robin." She wrings out her hands and stands.
"Will you be returning to the Arden soon?"
"Tired of me already?" Robin grins. "As soon after the duel as the King will let me, yeah.
"Listen, Silhouette, we can wash your essence off of these if you'd like." She gestures with the shards. "I was just thinking of braiding them into my hair to remember tonight.
Silhouette chuckles at this, impressed. "Reading my mind were you? Yes. I would feel more comfortable that way. I mean no offense by that, Robin. Call it cautious practicality.
"But no, I do not tire of you. Indeed, if I feel anything, it is envy for Vere. For I shall miss your presence. I find it uniquely invigorating. Something to be cherished. And who knows when we shall cross paths again. These are complicated times."
"They are." Robin ruffles sadly.
"Here." She holds the shards out to her cousin, "I'm guessing it will work better if you cleanse them, but I can help if you'd like. Thank you, Silhouette."
Silhouette kneels down again, vigilantly washing the crimson stains from the shiny nacre. "You are more than welcome, Robin. I hope they will remind you that you have a friend in me." When she completes her diligent task, she offers them back to her companion.
"Might I braid them for you? I would do so for my sisters. And this feels appropriate for our circumstance. Considering what we have shared in such a short time."
"I'd like that, thanks Silhouette. Though afterward, we definitely need to find a pit-fight or a cage-match or something? Yes?" Obviously, the situation is bordering on a little too feminine for Robin, even though she likes it. The girl bounces up the beach to sit before her former resting log so that Silhouette can sit on the log and have easy access to Robin's hair.
Silhouette follows at a leisurely pace, taking a seat behind Robin. She assesses her best approach for the task at hand; the intricate tangle of hair and trinkets wholly impressive and daunting. With a warm chuckle, she begins weaving the moonlight-gleaming shells into the woman's mane. "If you wish, we can engage in bare-knuckled boxing when I am done. After all, it is a form of honoring the Fallen where I come from," she says. "However, I claim the rights to any teeth we may shed in the process." She parts another trio of strands, lacing them around another shard.
"Weeelllll, I'd have to fight your for those." Robin drawls. "And while that really sounds like fun, Silhouette, I was thinking about maybe meandering back up to the city. I think this place is about fished out.
"What do you think? I mean, we haven't gotten any good raiding in yet. Though it's kind of hard without burning down the King's city." She pouts.
"Draig Talamh teaches us that we cannot always have what we desire," Silhouette says, adding the last shard to Robin's hair. "So, armageddon must wait for another day. However, I believe we might discover a fine balance between banality and brutality within its hallowed alleyways and shadows."
She stands, offering Robin a hand up. "Shall we soothe that fire within you?"
"Oh. Let's." Robin takes Silhoutte's hand and hops to her feet.
Robin lets her feet's wings carry her away from the quiet solitude of the shore into the bustling torch-lit night of Xanadu's waterfront district. Warehouses, maritime chandleries and fishmongeries rub shoulders with brothels, taverns and gambling holes, all sprawling out crazily from a series of long piers in a jumbled patchwork of canvas, wood and any other material handy. Even at this late hour, the district is alive with shouts, laughter, snatches of song, and other sounds of vibrant (and not so private) humanity. Pounding hammers, grinding wheels and the creak and sway of block-and-tackle add to cacophony. A sea breeze bears the tang of the open waters and helps sweep away the scents of liquor, tar, rotting fish and human fluids of various stripes.
As Robin gets into the swirling throng, she unconsciously crouches a little. She doesn't really like crowds, cacophonies or strange smells, but there is definitely a fire within her that's not going to be settled by solitude any more than Silhouette's. Her head tilts this way and that, her rapture's eyes sharp, as the cousins stroll along.
In contrast, Silhouette appears more alive, more confident as they venture into the boisterous crowd. She relishes the urban clamor, the miasma of rich and bitter smells. And while Robin retreats, she grows bolder, standing above the crowd, a shark cutting through the sea of people. And the more she sees, the deeper her hunger. Her eyes burn when she meets Robin's gaze -- a knowing smile on her lips.
After a few moments, Robin stops, head cocked as though listening for something. Her eyes wanter sightlessly as she waits. Then sharpen to a happy feral gleam. "Reeeaaallly?" She murmurs to herself. "Oh, that'll do nicely." She turns an excited grin to Silhouette and bounds off down a winding alleyway between corral of very nervous cattle and the shoddily constructed wall of a hostel.
Silhouette pulls her cloak tighter; not from fear, but from excitement. As she plunges in the dark alleyway, she becomes predatorily aware of her confined surroundings, sensing the impending drama about to unfold. Whatever 'fun' her cousin has uncovered, she intends to partake in it.
The alley twists further into the darkness and Robin steps gingerly to avoid the piles of refuse that have congregated on this non-beaten path. The unhappy lowing of the cattle fades behind the cousins to make way for a new swarm of sounds. Barks, growls and the occasional low hissing can be heard from behind the patchwork but tall & sturdy fence that halts Robin in her tracks. The scents of musk, blood and feces leak out under the canvas that is tacked down along the fence's top.
As Robin circles the periphery, it becomes clear that the 'fence' is a hastily-built wall, deliminating a courtyard extending out from the claptrap warehouse behind it. The yard is roofed over with canvas and ungated. The muffled roar of a small crowd washes out into the night, momentarily obscuring the animal sounds of the yard.
Robin looks over at Silhouette and gestures with her head. Her prize lies beyond that fence, but her cousin can pick the path there.
Silhouette nods lightly, moving on alley-cat feet as she skirts the wall. She remains ignorant to the unpleasantness around her; such things -- and worse -- have been long known to her. Instead, she focuses on her clandestine task - remembering her youth of sneaking around the slave-pits in the search of food or supplies. With a practiced eye, she soon locates a weakness in the wall's design; a few loose boards that have been overlooked at the far end of the makeshift structure. She waits patiently until the crowd roars again, and then uses the din to cover the noise of her yanking each board. They come off their nails easily in her iron grip. A cursory check through the narrow opening and she offers a sharp nod; her eyes sparkling like broken glass.
Robin's grin flashes whitely in the dark alleyway. It's always better to do this kind of stuff with the truly sneaky.
The Ranger sticks her head through the gap in the fence. From the line of her shoulders, Silhouette can see the girl startle. For an impossible second, Robin remains absolutely stone cold still, then she edges through the missing planks.
And frankly, it's a sight to behold. Robin is not a slim woman by anyone's standards and furthermore, she is arrayed with pouches, sword, knife sheathes and trinketed hair. And yet, she squirrels through the covert entrance like nobody's business; never touching the sides, leaving nothing behind. As she enters, a series of growls, woofs and hisses emerge from the Ranger, blending in perfectly with the animal sounds already abounding through the makeshift courtyard.
Once inside, there is a long moment, then Robin's guantleted hand emerges to gesture Silhouette on through.
The inside of the courtyard is faintly lit by two small torchieres that bracket a rough and ill-fitting door into the warehouse beyond. The flickering light faintly traces the dark iron bars of cages of all sizes that are stacked and splayed around the courtyard. It also gleams off the eyes, teeth, scales, claws, feathers and chains of the cages' inhabitants. It's not a definitive menagerie by any means, fighting canines are represented far too strongly, but its not bad for a temporary holding pen in the harbor district of Xanadu.
Silhouette waits on the other side of the fence; making certain they are not observed. Satisfied, she slips through the opening and then carefully replaces the boards. She raises a brow at this sad collection of animal flesh and desperation. It appears a fitting place to attract Robin's darker attentions. With a supportive nod, she follows her wayward cousin toward their final destination.
Robin is crouched by a cage near the gap. Her non-gesturing hand is extended through the bars of a cage and is currently occupied with holding shut the beak of a large and wicked -looking ground-bird. (A cockatrice, if Silhouette is familiar with them.) The fact that the bird is manacled and been blinded doesn't seem to have dampened its fighting spirit one iota.
Silhouette kneels down, recognizing at the sightless - yet deadly - creature within. During her twenties, she researched such beasts for possible biological weaponry applications. In particular, she found this twisted amalgamation of bird and reptile quite pleasing in its corruptive elegance. So to see one so sorely treated cracks her granite heart. She whispers to herself, "'This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.'"
Robin raises the fabled Julanic eyebrow at Silhouette's reaction, but then a quick smile darts across her face. There is, indeed, a great deal of difference between killing and caging. She just didn't expect any of her civilized cousins to share her viewpoint on which was bad and which was fine. But then an ex-dead former slave-child probably does have a decent perspective on the whole issue.
She hands Robin her cloak, talking in hushed, clear tones. "You will need this to trap its wings. Watch for the tail. It can cause vicious wounds to exposed flesh."
From her sleeve, she removes two thin pieces of metal - lockpicks. "Keep an eye open," she whispers and begins to work on the lock. Almost as soon as she begins, the lock clicks open. Hate clouds over her face, a hiss on her lips. "How pathetic."
Robin nods vigorously as she takes the cloak from Silhouette and arranges loosely one-handed. Her other hand remains firmly clamped around the cockatrice's beak, keeping its head under control.
As soon as the lock springs, Robin elbows the cage door open and swoops the cloak over the struggling creature. With very fast, experienced motions, she catches the cockatrice's lashing tail and wing within the folds, bundling the creature up tight. She grins to her handy cousin as she nods to the set of manacles holding its feet to the floor of the cage.
But as her eyes sweep the courtyard in a quick check, she hisses suddenly. Over the barks and growls of the courtyard's other inhabitants, Silhouette can hear the ominous sound of nearing conversation and the door to the warehouse starting to creak open.
Silhouette nods without looking up - instead, focusing on the manacles. "As your husbandry surpasses mine, once the creature is free, retreat to the alleyway," she whispers in a mechanical tone. "I will follow and dissuade any pursuit, if necessary."
Much to her annoyance, the manacles provide her even less effort than the lock. As they click open, she narrowly avoids being raked by the creature's frantic talons. "Go," she urges and retreats to the nearby shadows to watch the door.
Robin nods in the flickering torchlight and returns her attention to the struggling yet still deadly corrupter wrapped up in Silhouette's cloak.
Sure enough, two men of questionable ancestry and four teeth between them, trudge into the fetid courtyard. For the moment, they remain unaware of the thieving cousins and their deadly prize. But, that said, their ambling course will make avoiding detection increasingly difficult.
Robin moves with clandestine speed toward the... boards that have been replaced over the gap the cousins snuck through. She shakes her head once sharply, instead of outright cursing. Holding the struggling cockatrice in front of her, its wicked claws extended forward, Robin doesn't even hesitate. Looks like dissuading pursuit is going to be necessary 'cause there's no way Robin's moving those boards quickly and quietly while at the same time maintaining control of the lethal creature in her grasp. Silhouette knows what she's doing and Robin's got her marching orders.
The Ranger's booted foot lashes outward and the blocking planks shatter into kindling. Before the splinters have fallen to the ground, Robin is out through the gap and into the nighttime alley.
At sharp cracking of the boards, the two men startle and rush for the gap, drawing wicked looking and ill-cared for machetes.
"Bugger!" says Three Teeth, waving One Tooth back toward the warehouse, "Git Grimey. Sum'at's got t' bird!"
With any hope for a stealthy solution dismissed, Silhouette retreats toward the opening in the fence. A perfunctory assessment of her surroundings, the terrain, and the man's velocity indicates he will reach her before she can escape. Leaving her back open to attack is tactically unsound, so she turns to face the armed worker.
One Tooth runs back toward the warehouse, yelling, "Grimey, Grimey, summat's ta'en the bird!"
A moment later, Grimey's head emerges from the warehouse. Silhouette can see that Grimey's head is too big and too high off the ground for an Amber-style human. As he comes out and straightens, she guesses that he's got to be close to eight feet tall. He's carrying a big club that she would prefer not to be hit by.
"Over here," Three Teeth shouts, swinging his machete at Silhouette. He's had some training somewhere, but her skill and natural gifts far surpass him if this is the best he has to offer.
Initially, Silhouette intended to simply incapacitate the man and flee. However, in the instant Three Teeth swings his machete, her Preceptor training erases all human concepts such as mercy, restraint, or hesitation. Cool logic guides her body to eliminate the threat as expediently and efficiently as possible.
Data fills her mind. Assailant: Aggressive stance. Dock worker. Diet poor, vitamin D deficiency likely, resulting in softening and weakening of bones, fractures and muscle pain at joints more easily acquired. Weapon: Machete. General-use design, broad blade, heavy and ungainly, average length twenty-four inches, attacks non-perpendicular to avoid bounce-back. Assessment: Kiri-age maneuver. Little more than an eye's blink in time has passed.
Her calculations complete, she waits until Three Teeth commits to his next attack. To his surprise, she advances toward him and turns her body relative to the downward swing. Before he can respond, Silhouette takes advantage of his unbalanced stance and grips the back of the weapon's blade with her right hand. Her left hand comes from below to grip the long handle, shifting her body to further weaken Three Teeth's grip. She steps back, using the remaining momentum and her own strength to swing the blade around and up, splitting the man open from balls to breastbone. While he's busy with the realization that he's already dead, Silhouette arches the machete around and bisects the man's throat.
The warehouse door opens like a lantern and Silhouette gets a quick glimpse of the fight pit. People are scattering, some following Grimey.
With her opponent dispatched, Silhouette resumes her retreat toward the opening; fighting a man almost three feet taller than she is tactically unsound and best avoided.
The great man comes roaring out, and a heavy iron cage flies past Silhouette, narrowly missing her head. If he hits her with one of those, she will definitely be going down.
The courtyard is quickly lit by men with torches following Grimey. There's some shouting about the bloody corpse.
If Silhouette goes full out, he'll probably only get one more throw with the cages. If she dodges into the cages, he could cut her off from the opening in the boards.
Silhouette silently curses at her poor situation. Even with a machete, she knows fighting against an opponent with a bludgeoning weapon is ill advised. The added reach and power would easily break through any defense. Normally, the correct course of action is to run. But if she does so, she risks having her skull cracked by a makeshift projectile.
With little other choice, she bolts into the maze of cages. They will greatly inhibit the giant's ability to swing his weapon and maneuver; thus providing her the advantage. Rather than heading for the opening, she checks around for cages near or set against the fence. She intends to use one to vault the fence and into the alleyway.
But if Grimey follows her into the maze, she plans to turn on him and attack before he can prepare his swing. And in such close quarters, even if he can strike, it will likely be a weakened blow near his hand; while her blade will split him open. After all, a cornered animal is by far the most dangerous.
A cage bounces off a nearby crate, causing the other animals to complain. Grimey seems to be clearing a path for himself by kicking crates and boxes out of his way, and sweeping them aside with his branch. Unfortunately for Silhouette, most of the stacked boxes are near the building on the far side of the courtyard. The good news is that Silhouette won't be found for a bit. The bad news is that she doesn't see any obvious escapes in the time before she is found.
"Ye can't escape, Lassie. Give up and we'll trade you for our bird back." That's One-Tooth. There's a coarse laughter from the rest.
Escape is no longer Silhouette's intention. Only a language of puissance and pain is spoken here; negotiations written in blood. And now she intends to speak it in volumes and with great fluency.
She remains hidden until Grimey closes the distance between them - allowing his pride and confidence to bolster. Patiently, she waits until he reaches a distance of five strides from her. The instant his arm swings back to knock another crate aside, she strikes. With a forge-hardened strength, she hurls one of the cages - howling dog and all - at his now vulnerable chest.
The great man takes the cage in the chest and staggers back a bit, but holds on and catches the thing, dog and all.
Using this distraction, she sprints forward like a panther, trying to get in under his defenses and eviscerate him with the machete.
He uses the cage to block her strike. Grimey laughs and the dogs in the nearby cage bark wildly.
The Dogfight spectators close in, leaving Grimey and Silhouette in a rough circle. This new entertainment is as good as any they've seen tonight, and they're betting on how long she'll last and if she'll hit Grimey.
Silhouette is impressed by the man's strength and suspects he might equal her in endurance, as well. She possesses no illusions; recognizing the potential for serious injury -- or worse. But she also recognizes his overconfidence. As impressive as his display of strength may be, Grimey has chosen a clumsy weapon. Between the odd shape and the constant shifting weight of the panicked dog within, the cage will make his responses awkward and sluggish. If she is to overcome, she must utilize finesse to turn this to her advantage.
She recalls her study of the traccheggie - the Acts of Concealment. They are considered dishonorable in fencing, but such principles serve only the Dead. Using the machete's length, she begins to test Grimey's defenses, but never fully committing, even when an opening appears. She wants to lull Grimey into a full lunge.
When (if) he does, she dodges and then strikes back toward his face. The natural reaction will be to raise the cage like a shield. However, using the machete's extra length, Silhouette turns the rusty blade downward and across Grimey's now exposed right hamstring.
Grimey keeps the cage up as a shield when she tests his defences, and on one thrust forward, he shifts the cage, catching the blade of the machete in it. He launches the cage away, spinning towards the spectators, with the machete blade caught in it. There is a crash, followed by silence, followed by a deep, mean laugh. Then the sounds of gambling break out again.
The creature will not be quiet, at least not enough for Robin to keep hidden in shadows. The courtyard wall shakes and light streams through the boards, but Silhouette hasn't come out yet.
Robin is sure, by the feeling on the back of her neck, that someone is watching her watch the alley. Or someones.
Crash, roar, etc. The noises and torchlight from the other side of the fence are definitely distracting. Time for some serious multitasking. In order, Robin calls out across the fence, "Cuz? You need any help in there?" as she's looking around the alleyway and rooftops for her spectator(s.)
Then, because the cockatrice is just being so... cockatricey, she will either (a) bundle it up tightly under one arm and draw her sword, or (b) rap its head sharply against the nearest solid thing -- intending to knock it unconcsious or at least stun it -- then tuck the stinking bundle under her arm and draw her sword. It all depends on how big and squirmy the darn thing is.
A good, sharp rap and the beast quiets down, but doesn't smell any better. It will be difficult to fight with it under her arm, but not impossible.
The more Robin looks, the more men she sees. Rooftops and both ends of the alleyway are covered, and she notices another man arrive at the far end of the alley. They're not really trying to keep Robin from noticing them. Much. Robin is pretty sure she sees at least some glinting steel.
A wild, gleeful grin spreads across Robin's face. Things are getting definitely night-raidey now. Oh, boy! Quickly, she ties up the now-quieter cockatrice securely within Silhouette's and stashes the resultant ucky bundle somewhere, if not secure, at least out of the way.
Keeping an eye and an ear out for projectile weapons, Robin turns to face her opponents, draws her sword and her second favorite knife. The blades flash in a little 'come hither' gesture to her ground-level partners. Time to dance.
Two men step from the shadows at the far end. Both men are sailors, the older has a sword by his side and knows how to carry it. The younger one stands behind him, holding a crossbow.
The older one walks down the alleyway towards her, ignoring the thumps from behind the wall.
He stops outside of knife's reach, but also out of sword's reach.
He looks at her and her sack. "Been stealing from the thieves, miss?"
Robin cocks her head as the man's words and tone of voice penetrate her glee. A rueful chuckle ripples through her frame as she straightens from her fighting crouch. She's said pert near the same damn thing herself to folks she's caught in Arden.
"Target of opportunity, officer." She shrugs, lowering her weapons but not putting them away. "Was looking for a rough time. Found it." She grins.
The roar of a crowd rises up from the courtyard behind Robin. Her brow furrows.
"Listen, my cousin?" she gestures over her shoulder with the knife, "She's more of a people- and paperwork-person than me. I'm going to go get her. Be right back."
With that, Robin dives back through the gap in the fence. Without the bundle of cockatrice, but hopefully without a crossbow bolt as well.
"Stop...", he says to her back.
Robin's back does not reply.
Robin comes through the opening, and finds herself on the outside of a rough ring of dogfight spectators who are now furiously wagering on how quickly Grimey can catch the thief. There are certainly two score of them. Possibly more.
Silhouette's cool resolve remains. Weapon gone. Magic inhibited. Opponent possessing greater reach and size. Retreat impossible. Best option: close distance, rely on her resilience, parry (not block), and inflict as much damage as possible before he can counter-attack. This will eliminate his reach advantage and weaken his blows.
Likely to the disappointment of the bettors, Silhouette closes the distance, using her small size to her advantage to get in under his arms and piston her fist directly into his solar plexus. If he swings a punch, she parries with a hook into his forearm -- hopefully, numbing the arm or even breaking a bone. If he grabs her, she'll break his fingers, bite his arm, head-butt him, and drive her thumbs into his eyes. Otherwise, nothing is off-limits. She strikes and stomps his groin, kidneys, ankles, knees, and toes. Anything to inflict pain and suffering.
And throughout, she still remains completely silent.
The onlookers are amazed, as the fight closes. Most bouts involving Grimey end in seconds. The little woman (all women are little to Grimey) is holding her own. His swings are met one-for-one by her responses. Both combatants are pummeling each other crazily, with little regard to personal protection. Whoever the loser is, the winner will have been savagely beaten. If nothing changes it will be a matter of which one can outlast the other. The betting is still running strongly to Grimey.
Cousin in danger. That's probably the last thought Robin has that can be put into words, the rest is purely instinctual. But they are good instincts, honed by decades of fighting in a myriad of different environments against enemies of unnumbered natures.
The Ranger doesn't even slow down as her green eyes dart everywhere, seeing everything. She means to get through, around, over -- whatever it takes -- the ring of spectators to where she can hear Silhouette's oh-so-pretty gown rustling amidst the cacophony. Anyone who gets in her way or tries to stop her? Unfortunate day for them.
But those are minor concerns. Robin's real focus is Grimey. She means to turn him into a puddle of Grimey-bits. Now.
Grimey is easy to find, in a close fight with someone who he completely eclipses (OOC: someone completely silent (see above), so you can just assume it's Sil behind the bruiser). He's engaged in a classical slogfest, beating someone and taking punches in return. Robin hasn't been noticed, and is in a good position to attack him from behind, although that would expose her own back to the same from the spectators.
Silhouette remains unaware of her cousin's presence - totally focused on her brawl with Grimey. She ignores the hammer-on-anvil ringing in her head from his every blow. Ignores the pain. Ignores the yells. Ignores everything except punishing this man. She continues jabbing at his floating ribs - hoping for a break or fracture - and mixing in a few overhand punches to nerve bundles under his arm pit. She is trying to weaken him up enough to inflict the finishing move; specifically, using her lower center of gravity to clinch and then grab the back of his pants and right bicep/inner elbow in order to control and finally take him down. At the very least, it will make it impossible for him to hit her with his arms or knees.
Silhouette jabs and weakens him, but he does the same. The two combatants are both engaged in a battle of attrition. The question is, who will run out of reserves first?
Keeping her grip loose but firm on her sword and second best knife, Robin times her moment to the best of her ability. The instant Grimey is off-balance or distracted, she roars in for the kill. Her goal is to destroy (or seriously maim) Grimey as quickly and as messily as possible, before rounding on the crowd with a fierce snarl. Robin is perfectly willing to kill every not-Silhouette here that threatens either herself or her cousin and shows it.
There is a roar from behind Grimey, and Silhouette notices him create an opening as he turns to look behind him. Flora's daughter darts in for the clinch, and finds the gigantic man slick with blood, with a dagger in his kidney and a ragged sword wound in his opposite side. He falls on top of her.
Robin turns and snarls at the crowd, which turns to flee. There's a lot of confusion, because the people still inside the warehouse are running out into the courtyard yelling "Raid!, Raid!" The most successful of them are climbing the walls away from the alley, neither approaching Robin nor going inside.
As she lies under Grimey's cooling corpse, Silhouette learns what smells worse than a cockatrice.
"Lovely," Silhouette mutters, eyes watering from the body's cabbage rot stink and the fetid mud. Her body protests against Grimey's dead weight and its incalculable injuries, refusing to work for a moment. She takes this painful reprieve long enough for the world to stop spinning.
When she gathers enough strength, she rolls the body away and rises to her feet. "Your timing is impeccable, cousin. As is your sword hand from the looks of it. Thank you." She pulls the dagger from Grimey's back.
Silhouette moves to protect Robin's back, scanning the crowd for anyone foolish enough to continue the ornithological disagreement.
As Grimey's corpse teeters and rolls aside, Robin throws a quick evaluative glance at her cousin. Silhouette? Wobbly, but grabbing steel. Dress? Total loss. Good enough. She acknowlegdes Silhouete's statement with a quick grin and a nod.
Keeping her eye on the stampede around her, Robin blends her back to Silhouette's, keeping the two-front defense tight, tight, tight. The Ranger pitches her voice for her cousin's ears alone and adds, "Cockatrice is in the alleyway. With Patrol. Wanna go get it? Or leave?"
Silhouette turns to answer, but is interrupted by the arrival of new people into the courtyard.
The Patrol, or whoever they are, comes pouring into the courtyard from the warehouse. This clarifies things a bit for the few remaining customers who are hard of thinking. While a few more make it to the walls, the rest are likely to be rounded up in short order.
The man who spoke to Robin in the alley is leaning in the doorway, watching the work and smoking a fat cigar. He nods when he sees he's been spotted.
Silhouette checks for loose teeth and then daintily spits a wad of thick blood onto the ground. She glances over at Robin, "Friend of yours?"
"Only if he doesn't try to arrest us." She grins back. Then concern furrows her brow, "You okay, cuz?" Because Robin is perfectly capable of sweeping Silhouette up in a gentle carry and bounding away over the rooftops of Xanadu. But she doesn't want to bother her cousin with that kind of... intimacy if it's not necessary.
"Can breathe, so ribs bruised, not broken. Cannot say same for nose, however," Silhouette states. She grips her nose between her fingers and crunches it into semi-straightness. Tears stream down her muddied cheeks, an animal whimper hissing over her teeth. "If we are not in immediate danger, I believe I would like to pass out."
It looks like mopping up work from here. The chap from the door pushes himself vertical with an exaggerated effort and comes over towards the cousins. He hasn't drawn his weapon.
"My Ladies, may I ask what you are doing here?" His language is courtly, but his manner is not. He is polite, but rougher than Castle-folk usually are.
Robin tilts her head at the likely-looking chap. She thought she'd answered this question already. "Looking for rough fun. Found it." She reiterates.
Turning back to Silhouette, Robin gently takes her cousin's chin in a feather-light grip and turns her eyes toward the guttering torchieres near the door. Quick expert eyes check to make sure that Silhouette's pupils are equally & appropriately reactive to the light.
"Right." Robin nods. The Ranger snags her second best knife back from her teetering cousin, swipes it quickly on her own pants and sheathes it with equal efficiency. Then she squats slightly, reaching one arm behind and beneath Silhouette's... behind. Stepping gently into her cousin, Robin lifts Silhouette up so that her cousin is seated securely on Robin's forearm, leaning against Robin's front left torso and can rest her head on Robin's non-sword wielding shoulder.
Silhouette - who is currently weighing the pros and cons of unconsciousness - allows Robin to inspect and then bundle her up like a boneless child. She closes her eyes and rests her forehead against the woman's shoulder. The awkward rig is without a doubt the singularly most comfortable place she has ever laid to rest.
The Rangers shimmies briefly to make sure everything is in place, then says, "Permission granted to pass out. I got it from here."
"Thank you," Silhouette whispers with genuine relief and does just that.
[Robin] then looks back to the chap, "Listen officer. My cousin's obviously not up to any paperwork tonight. Can we take this up in the morning?"
One of the nearby men laughs, and the leader's eyes dart to him and back to Robin. "We're still kinda informal. Paperwork doesn't really exist yet. How about we have a our medics take a look at your cousin and you have a nice chat and a cup of tea with the Lord Mayor?"
"Hmmmm," Robin considers the offer with her unconcious cousin in one arm and her exposed and bloody sword at the end of the other. "How about this? You find somewhere nice where I can tend to my cousin with your medics' assistance and I talk to Ash while I work." She smiles, that's about as much of a compromise that Robin's sympathy for working law enforcement can drag out of her. Family is down, that's always going to be her first priority.
The man pauses for a moment, his eyes darting around the room. "As you wish my Lady. Do you wish assistance carrying your cousin?"
"Naw, I got it. Thanks." Robin replies with a nod. She swipes her sword on her other pants leg and neatly sheathes it one-handed. Once her hand is free, she gently cradles Silhouette against herself.
The man yells out, "Paddock! You're in charge." A portly man nods. "Shall we go?"
[And now we transition cleanly and in summary form to the office of the Lord Mayor. Fade to black... and back up on the office.]
Silhouette is laid out on a couch, being treated by a local doctor, or perhaps by Robin, assisted by an ungracious local doctor who wishes she would get out of his way.
Robin's used to ungracious doctors, being one herself, but she's the only one she's going to let handle Silhouette's fluids, fur and form while her cousin is out.
"Lady Robin," says Ash, walking in the doorway. "Viper has informed me that you ran afoul of some miscreants in town. How is your cousin faring?"
"She'll live. Family constitution and all. She just ain't going to be happy about it for a while." Robin's wry smile and irreverent diagnosis aside, the Ranger is actually quite facile and getting Silhouette splinted. And bandaged and dosed and clean and covered. One might think she had some experience at patching up folk who regularly got themselves battered to within an inch of their lives.
"Your Viper's a good man. Certainly knows how to not escalate an already touchy situation. Like him." Robin nods as she finishes wrapping up the bloody knuckles on Silhouette's right hand.
Silhouette begins to stir - her shallow breaths quickening. Her bruise-purple eyes flutter like lazy butterfly wings until they eventually open fully. A wary gaze regards Robin for a moment - recognition kindling in the pain-thick soup of thoughts. Satisfied that she does not need to kill this person, she turns her attention to more important matters.
"How is my hair?" she asks seriously.
Ash looks over at her. "It's rocking, your Ladyship. The King himself would wear his like that if he could."
Silhouette appears satisfied with this, "Then all is well in the world." She closes her eyes against the stabbing light and concentrates on the task of breathing without screaming in pain.
He turns back to Robin. "Viper's job is to make my job easier. I hope you don't mean to recruit him away from my service, my Lady." He doesn't seem too worried about the prospect, though.
Robin shakes her head with a wry grin. She's flying solo these days but wanted to get in the commendation while she remembered.
"I understand we have you to thank for assistance with the smuggled monster, as well. With some luck, we will be able to get someone to tell us how they smuggled it in here." He smirks. "It would be nice to send a report to Prince Caine and Sir Archer about their problems, rather than getting reports from them." Ash slows his pace a bit. He takes a breath and starts again.
A quick chuckle shakes [Robin]'s frame. It never ceases to amaze her how folk decide to react to events. There's just no predicting it.
"But I am remiss. May I get either of you anything?"
"Another bucket of hot water, shampoo and towels." Robin smiles fondly at her cousin. "I think we should leave Random his royal prerogative to have the rockingest hair in the Kingdom. Otherwise, I'm fine. You, cousin?"
"A salve with St. Johns Wort would be welcome. And mint oil, if at all possible," she replies, squinting up at Ash. "Barring that, a nice cup of lemon tea will be much appreciated."
Ash nods at the doctor, who heads out of the room, calling for someone named 'Mound'.
She quirks a brow, "I take it we are not to be arrested for tonight's... encounter?"
Ash looks confused. "Arrested? My Lady, the primary job of a servant of the King, which we all are, directly or indirectly, is to play the game 'Guess the Mind of His Majesty.' Now I have many advantages, since I know the King well. He likes to gamble. He likes cities that are exciting. But he doesn't like large-scale unnecessary death.
"Easy enough to reach the conclusion. 'Stop the monster bird fighting, and stop it from happening again.' Your choice of activities is not my business." He pauses. "Unless the King were to tell me it was."
He smiles. "You made Viper's job easier this evening. That's enough for me."
Silhouette nods lightly, "Glad to be of service." She closes her eyes once more, her fingers flexing as another broken-glass caress passes through her lungs.
Robin blinks at Ash for a moment, before nodding to herself with a quiet smile. Yep, that's the way it is. She's just not used to non-Rangers understanding it. Weeelll, and maybe that's why Random chose him for mayor of His city.
"What's going to happen to the monster bird?" she asks with more curiosity than concern.
"And will this incident be mentioned to the King?" Silhouette adds. "He might frown upon my involvement in street-fights that end in bloodshed. If at all possible, I would prefer that Viper take full credit for this raid. Could we come to such an arrangement, Mr. Ash?"
Ash smiles and shakes his head. "Are you planning on murdering around sixty or seventy witnesses, Lady? Some of whom have undoubtedly run as far from 'the toffs who killed Grimey' as they can reasonably get? I'd recommend that the King be proudly informed of the help you provided.
"And as to the monster? Kill it and bury it, I suppose. It's not like we can let if free. Is it safe to burn the corpse, do you think?"
Robin chuckles as she moves to start cleaning and bandaging Silhouette's left hand. She flashes a sympathetic glance to Ash. "Going to take a while. Getting' used to being a toff."
"It's safe to burn," Robin nods thoughtfully over her work. "As long as you don't ever want anything to grow there, stay upwind, don't inhale the smoke and sink the ashes afterward."
Ash nods.
Silhouette stares at Ash for a moment - as if seriously weighing his initial option. In the end, she sighs, "Yes. I suppose you are correct, Mr. Ash. Perhaps notoriety would prove useful in this situation. And when one considers our King's tastes, it may even warm him to me. Diplomatically speaking."
She regards the bandaging with a pleased smile, "Gruesome as this may sound, but might I be acquire the beast's remains, if you choose to end its existence? The Cockatrice blood and bones possess many alchemical properties that I utilize in my research. This situation has been distressing enough without wasting such an opportunity."
Ash grins at her request. "I'll see what we can do."
Last modified: 21 July 2010