Park Nap

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Tenebrae - Thursday, September 18, 2014, 9:47 AM



-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* A08: Banks of the Tornmawr *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

In the shadow of the great Highbridge, and beneath the guardhouses, a stretch of river has been laid out as a public park and fishing area. Here, the descending landscape of Alexandria folds into the river and crafts a comfortable view. On a typical day, a number of small boats and picnic blankets dot the landscape. To the side, a small shrine to Rada the River Serpent, as well as a dual shrine Althea and Daeus, in their guise as Mother and Father of the world.

A brilliant blue sky filled with bright sunshine spreads its wings over the city of Alexandria. It's a bit breezy, its cool touch whispering of oncoming autumn and ruffling the waters of the Tornmawr River. Occasional glints of sun off the river cause passersby to shield their eyes now and then; there are certainly plenty of those out here this morning, enjoying the weather, talking, strolling, maybe even conducting a little business in the quieter confines of the banks.

Off to one side, perched on a natural-looking rock sunk into the packed dirt of the bank, Arlean sits, coaxing a complex beat from a small hand drum set beneath one muscled arm. He's clad as a sailor, blonde hair tied back in a loose and unkempt tail and face looking as if it and a razor are currently in a few days' worth of estrangement.

GAME: Arlean rolls drums: (13)+8: 21

The base of the massive bridge holds a number of bricks, blocks, and assorted other construction pieces. It should come as little susprise that at least one has space behind it. Crawling out, Selia shuts the hidden door behind herself and blinks sleepily, frowning towards the sound of the drums. "Oy! I'm up! Ya can knock it off wit da noise already!" A Low Charn accent practically drips from the tiny halfers words.

The drums obediently stop, Arlean's roughened hands pausing long enough to identify the source of the complaint. When he spots it, he snorts laughter at the halfer. "Ye've slept half through a watch, lass, ye're lucky 'twas naught but the drums." His voice is a deep, sea-roughened baritone, the words good-natured, and one elbow comes to rest across his knee as he studies her more closely. "Up most of th'night were ye?" he asks, eyeing her with interest.

Selia murrs absently and stretches... which might be a bit of a view if you're into small ladies... and peers around a moment. "'Most'? Nay hardly. Sun were well up when took me nap." Steping daintily around the pools of daylight, Selia makes her way over towards one of the picnic benches. A broken one, with a couple weeds growing around it.

It's one thing to watch, and another to touch ... and like any sailor, Arlean's not immune to the watching, a smile tugging at wide lips and mobile expression betraying amusement rather than prurient interest. "Was it worth it?" he asks, tilting his head. "An' ye might try th'grass if'n ye're not after splinters in yer arse." He gestures to a patch of grass not too far away.

Selia fehs, but grins, digging a splintered board up from the weeds... and the small pouch stashed beneath it. Peering a moment, the halfer pointedly heads for a -different- patch of grass. Though still perfectly close enough to chat easily. "Oy, wot I be doin wit me arse be me busniess. And ya best be minding ta yer own busniess, boyo." The words might be a touch sharp, but the tone and grin are not.

"I'm not after yer arse, lass, if that be what yer thinkin," Arlean chuckles, shaking his head. The smile fades a little. "Just enjoyin' th'day. Surely there be quieter places t'sleep, if that be what yer seekin."

Selia snorts, and poses for a moment. "Sure ya ain't. Anyways, were quite 'nuff. Got places ta be 'fore long anyways, best be wake. Still, nay the regular place for bit o' music, is it?"

At that, Arlean just laughs. "Na, lass, yers be a fine one indeed, but I like me ladies a bit bigger." He shifts the drum under his arm, then adds to the mention of music. "There be no bad place fer music, lass. Don't let anyone tell ye otherwise. And if there be no music in a place, all the better reason t'play there."

Selia smirks. "Ain't it ya lads be sayin 'size ain't everything'? Only bad place fer music be where I's tryin ta sleep. But I ain't now, sa ya be alright. Where ya from, Dummer Boy?"

"Be that an invitation, lass?" One blonde eyebrow climbs up towards Arlean's hairline and stays there, but the wicked, wide grin he sports says he couldn't resist the return shot. "Seagarden be me home, but I've been t'all manner o' places. Can't say as I've been back since I left, though. And yerself? Yer voice says Charn, but that says naught o' yer true home."

Selia hehs, but doesn't comment. "Reckon home's where ya make it. Suits me ta make it here. Grew up in da Pits, but left soon as was able." That would be the 'Slave Pits', most likely. Not that they're literal pits in this day and age... well, not usually.

All smile fades from Arlean's face at the mention of the Pits. "Aye. Alexandria be a good enough city, an' better'n some. Reckon ye've got stories as want telling." He tilts his head, an appeal in dark eyes. The cheekbones hint at Cerenzan, but he's no pureblood.

Selia mmmms. "Every body got a tale ta tell. Most more dan one. Me own best over a mug, but the short bit be simple 'nuff. Work 'ard, save up me tips, bought me own contract." Not a typical tale, but skilled slaves might be given a chance towards freedom, to encourage efforts. "When the bit in Sendor started, went ta take part. Joined up wit da Resistance first chance I got. After da war, followed bunch o' da Irregulars 'ere. Ain't left yet."

Arlean nods as he listens, letting out a low whistle. "Don't sound so different, in some ways, but ye've done well fer yerself. Lookin' fer work now?" As he asks, he rests the drum across his knees, straightening himself out so that he's not leaning to one side.

Selia shrugs, and shakes her head. "Nay so much. Guild posts a bill now and then. Got some places can find a stage for a few drinks and a meal. Easy 'nuff ta find a bed. Ain't as if I need much room."

"Don't sound as if we're so different," Arlean eyes the halfer thoughtfully, most of his smile gone. "Life at sea be a different sort o' slavery, though most've 'em are slaves to their pricks, their beer, or both, 'stead of another man ..." He snorts. "I got out, 'cause I wanted adventure an' excitement. There are them as tell me I be a dumbarse fer that and they might not be wrong." The smile returns, though it's a self-deprecating one.

Selia frowns. "Many a man call hisself slave ta 'is prick, 'is stomach, 'is pipe, or 'is drink. Ain't a one 'o 'em been under da whip. Meybe ain't so very different, but be different 'nuff."

"There be sailors as live under th'cat, lass. D'pends on th'bosun an' th'mate." Arlean's smile fades entirely. Clearly, something there isn't a happy memory. "Still, I take yer point an' I'll not argue wit' ye. I'll tell ye, though ... thre be many types o' slavery, an' ye'll not see all wit' yer eyes." With that and a brief smile, he stands. "I wish ye a good day, lass, but I've stuff t'be about."

Selia nods, and rises as well. "Easier ta jump ship than break a chain, but I hear ya words. Reckon see ya 'gain some time." Dusting herself off, the tiny little halfer takes a few steps... and is just gone, disappeared into the shadows of the bridge.

GAME: Selia rolls stealth: (11)+29: 40