RP: Frankie the Exile
It's Tariday, Quintoos 08 12:06:09 1018. The full moon is up. The tide is high and slack. The sky is brilliant blue and cloudless, the sunlight is bright, and a brisk wind blows from the northwest.
A07: Lower Alexandria Market District
Market square. Noise, people, merchants, customers, the whole works. Over in a quieter part of the market, the elegant figure of Duthei can be seen squinting critically at a collection of travelling dresses presided over by a smiling half-Sil man and his adorable little pigtailed daughter. Somewhere off to the left, looking about as blankly murderous as any desperately bewildered psychopath suddenly confronted with Unexpected Pink Ruffles and Cute, is Roselle - a tall, grey-skinned bolt of bruise-blue-swathed-gauze on legs. The target of her ire is a broad-shouldered lad, built like a squat tank and armed to the teeth with an array of skillets, pots, pans, and tinker's ware, who appears to be trying to cajole her into something that she quite obviously thinks is ridiculous
Coming northward into the Lower Market District this brilliant, sunlit day is the hunter Ga'Elian, riding shirtless upon his snowy-white griffon. As the brisk wind catches his long, coppery hair, it shows the intricate tattoo upon his back--A majestic stag in front of a tree, The archer's quiver does conceal a part of the tattoo. The elf and griffon are seen often enough in this marketplace that most people ignore him, although little children are still curious about the winged beast he rides. He waves to Roselle and brings his companion to a halt near her, then wordlessly dismounts and rests his hand on the rapier scabbarded at his side, looking at the broad-shouldered lad.
Walking her way into the marketplace is a woman that is.....gigantic. Only being able to be identified as a giantborn, Fiore walks into the marketplace and the citizens literally part for her, for she stands about 2 feet taller than most, 3 or more in some cases. The tall red haired woman smiles and goes about her shopping.....being very polite.
"Franklin Delvoit Hammerson, yer a theif, a cheat, and a traitor o da worst sort." The words are deeply accented, dripping with a mix of Low Charn and Undercommon, but spoken clear and loud, in a tone that carries across the market. "Ya drugged er mate, left 'im ta swing in yer place, an' nicked off wit da goods." Selia stands on the cobbles, bristeling with rage, finger pointed like an arrow. The target, a gaunt and grey human of a shiftly look, flinches at the words, finding himself alone in the crowd as others rapidly shuffle away.
Devola has the right idea. She is following Fiore, who parts the crowd for her. Therefore, Devola has no need to worry about people being her way and feels like the princess she thinks she aught to be. Unfortunately, everytime Fiore stops to shop, Devola has to stop as well or lose her new bodyguard type thing person.
Fiore looks behind her and smiles down to Devola. "Trying to keep people away from you, ma'am?" She says as she picks up a melon and promptly begins to eat it.....and tosses a gold piece at the person there....
Roselle does notice Ga'Elian - after all, who wouldn't notice the griffon? - and acknowledges his arrival with a curt nod. "I'm fine," she rasps flatly, her voice a sandpaper-and-honey growl, forestalling any questions. The lad, who's been startled into immobility by the sudden emergence of Tattooed Elf And Mount, opens his mouth, shuts it after a second, and before he can actually say anything again, Roselle turns on her heel and stalks off on a trajectory towards the Fernwood. She's still looking murderous, which makes it a little easier for her to get by - people automatically get /out/ of her way.
Devola looks up at Fiore. "Yes, more or less." When the giantborn begins eating the melon, Devola peers at it. "I should get one. Perhaps... maybe not." Indecision over melon! "You should work for me. I could use someone of your size."
"Oh, ah, um, h-hey there Shadow... ah, I, ah, I don't know what you're talking about." The nervous man stammers, looking around anxiously at the crowd as the little lutch advances on him. "Oh, do ya nay? Don't knaw nuthin 'bout da wineskin wot smells o' julic berries? Nutin 'bout dem gems went missin? Nutin 'bout ol Bobby found wit a pittance in 'is lap, ta drugged ta wake when da Guard found 'im? Ya git loud when ya drink Frankie, ain't none wot doubt yer guilt."
Ga'Elian nods at the lad as if in warning, then turns and follows Roselle, the griffon keeping pace with him, and likewise, parting the crowd. When Elian catches Roselle up, he says, "Fine day. A shame to ruin it with... unpleasantness." Then he glances toward Selia and the one she just publicly accused.
"If you think you should get a melon, you should. but only if you're hungry." Fiore says to Devola before turning back around. "I'm not going to though. To work for someone else would take me off of my training, even if it is standing around for hours on end. I am Fiore, Acolyte in the Order of Righteous Battle. It's a pleasure to meet you....what's your name?"
Devola smirks, and with a bit of a flourish and a slight bow, introduces herself. "I am Devola Popporu, most amazing Artificer of the age." She then whispers. "Eventually..."
Roselle cants a glance at Ga'Elian, brow lofting slightly as he catches up with her. "Day's fine enough," she returns tersely with a tight, thin-lipped little smile. In order to get to her destination, she's got to thread her way past the edge of the market, which takes her right past Selia and the shifty-looking man who's being upbraided. As Selia advances, the man backs up in slight alarm and that runs him straight into Roselle with a hard bump. The half-Sil stops stock still, glares at the unfortunate human who's already looking more than greyish around the gills, and shoves him back into the cleared space from whence he just came. Hard. "If you're going to cheat someone, -don't get caught-," she snarls. "Vardama's bifurcated flaming eyeballs! Here, have at him, ma'am, seems like it's well-deserved." This is followed by a very serpentine hiss in languages that sound Distinctly Unpleasant.
Frankie the Accused flushes, glancing around, though none of the Watch seem in sight. Stumbling away from Roselle, he goes still a moment, and gathering his bluster, the human stands straight, more than double the size of the halfling now but a few feet away. "S-s-so what? Know I ain't the only SecondMan standing here! You just want the gems for yourself!" Not exactly a dire comment in the Low Market, more than a few have fingers in something on the far side of the law. Still, not the sort of gossip to air in the open, usually. "Gems nuthin. Keep da rocks. Ya left yer mate ta 'ang Frankie. Ya broke da Code." A cloud passes over the sun, and the few manalamps sputter as an icy wind swirls around the pair, the plaza suddenly dark. "Yer cast out Frankie. Ya got till sunset. Ya ain't out da city gates, ya nay ever see me commin." A dire punishment. A thief without a network is nothing. No place to rest, no one to fence goods to, no one to gain information from, exile can be a slow death sentence.
Fiore tilts her head as she watches the scene in front of her. "Hmmm....that's certainly....different."
Ga'Elian, clearly seeing how irate both Roselle and Selia are, shakes his head and says to both, "Ladies, ladies... While your ferocity quite clearly exhibits what a force each of you is to be reckoned with, might I offer something to divert your ire and settle your wrath? How about a nice, calming drink?"
Roselle is still watching the drama unfolding before her; for the moment she ignores Ga'Elian's placatory attempt and tilts her head, rather like a predatory raven. She's silent, until Selia pronounces her judgement over Frankie. "You left your partner to die? You deserved that," she says very quietly, dark eyes cold. "Aye, that and probably more, but it'll serve." A very slight inclination of her head towards the halfling, acknowledging her and her right to pronounce sentence.
Much of the crowd is confused, unsure what exactly is going on. But more than a few eyes are hard and angry. Guilds have their own rules, but even the freelance keep to a Code of etiquette, set of guidlines to keep peace in a dangerous job. Surely there's more to the tale, a little backstabbing comes with the turf, but the tiny Dancer is known to many, and her words carry weight. Frankie the Exile looks around, but finds no refuge, none to stand beside a traitor. He runs off, disappearing quick from the market, but word will spread faster. He may find aid somewhere, but not without a pretty cost.
Selia, for her part, sighs, scrubbing a hand across her eyes and looking about a moment before peering at Ga'Elian and his 'pet'. "...you buyin?"
Fiore is certainly confused at seeing this. "Glad monks don't have to worry about stuff like that."
Ga'Elian, glad to see the tension begin to break with the departure of the miscreant, smiles and says, "For certes. In fact," he announces in the hearing of all nearby, "I'll buy a round for all the fine adventurers of the Lord City who'd like to join me in the Fernwood here." He then turns and tells the griffon in Sildanyari, "Run along, buddy. I'll catch up to you under the bridge in a while."
Roselle lifts a hand to her neck and cricks it sharply, setting the metal rings on her braid all a-clink. The gesture seems to leach some of her foul mood away - her expression settles into something more neutral, eyes losing their cold edge. "...Vardama's balls of fire. I should probably eat before I do much more drinking." An off-hand comment that brings a sardonic little twist to her mouth. Perhaps she has a sixth sense about these sorts of things, but she looks down, after a moment, to find a wide-eyed little girl with dishevelled curly brown hair staring up at her. "Yes, my hair does make noise," she explains with a crooked grin, correctly interpreting the child's gaze. "See." She shakes her head, and the clinking starts again.
Ga'Elian's griffon raises up on his powerful hind legs and jumps cat-like straight up, unfurling his wings to rise off the ground into a cold gust. Beating those wings, he quickly gains some 30 feet of altitude and heads northward, letting go with an ear-rending shriek as the crowds below recover the hats and other sundry items that had been blown free of them in the creature's sudden vertical take off.
Selia eyes the others a moment, and shrugs, a bit more relaxed as the griffion takes off. Predators larger than her make the lucht nervous. "Can nay tarry long, Bobby's outa sorts, lost 'is mate like dat. Good kid, but dim. Reckon be a bit 'fore 'e's over it."
Ga'Elian nods to Selia, "Well, another time, then perhaps." He smiles as he watches the griffon soar away.
The little girl giggles, ripples her fingers in a wave, and darts off just as quick as she appeared. Roselle lifts her eyes to track the griffon's flight, then cricks her neck again. "One for the road, then go?" she suggests to Selia quietly. Her anger seems to have burnt itself out like a quicksilver fuse, but perhaps her moods are mercurial. "Looks like you might need it." An exhale. "Food. Then Halo."
Ga'Elian heads into the Fernwood, holding the door for Rose. He says with a friendly smirk, "Looks like a private lunch, then."
Selia nods, and heads off, disapeparing into the crowd in moments.