Because the Present Mimics the Past

Re: Because the Present Mimics the Past

Postby Serrus » Tue Mar 10, 2015 12:54 pm

He was standing, leaning up against the great wooden post that supported the small thatching above, blue roan standing aside, head peered around the post to watch the goings on, mirroring its master though the horse appeared to be more curious or contemptuous to all the noise -- if a horse could express some form of contempt. Perhaps it's just stroppy that it hasn't got it's fair share of the master's pear.

There is a great crowd separating Belcaw and the two woman joined by the third, a great multitude of gawkers and labourers watching the goings on, a change of scenery to their usual run of the mill day. They are too for the man to have any inclination of what they are arguing about, and can only presume the cloaked woman is claiming the one-armed seamstress has stolen something. The horse seems to be picking up most of the conversation train, ears swivelling in little flicks, though to the rouncey it is but the strange natterings Men often make among themselves.

"She'd make for a terrible pickpocket with that stump," the sellsword comments idly, perhaps thinking out loud. Though he can't ascertain what the brigand-woman's stake is in all this. As far as he's concerned, it's not his business unless something happens to make it his business, since the highwaywoman is money. He hands over the core of the pear towards the stallion, who breaks away from the gawking so popular among the masses, taking a whuff of the discarded fruit. It simply nickers, turning its head aside and upwards to glance back towards the three women.

"Worse than a bleeding wife, you are," Serrus grumbles to the animal, then takes a careful aim, and lobs the damn thing straight toward the back of Gloria's stupid head and skirts. To the three, it would very likely appear to have come from somewhere among the gathering crowd.

"That should break up them bitchin' bloody cats," the sellsword remarks, leaning back against the post. "Like tossin' in a pail o' water."
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Re: Because the Present Mimics the Past

Postby channe » Tue Mar 10, 2015 2:22 pm

"You don't even know me. You don't know who I am, you don't know what I stand for, all you know is what she's told you." She points at Gloria. "Fine. Don't give the sword back. I'll be angry, but that's just something you're going to have to live with."

She turns and walks away, down Drover's; the crowd literally parts for her. Are they afraid? Afraid of her?

Yes. Yes, they are.
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Re: Because the Present Mimics the Past

Postby Rance » Tue Mar 10, 2015 2:48 pm

When Agnieszka wanders away, Gloria follows her with the beads of her eyes. This, she wants to say, is the strength of a friend; this is my friend. This, she yearns to tell the disillusioned woman, is what it's like to not push the rest of the world away. But she doesn't. Few times in Gloria Wynsee's life has she given pause to her tongue, and this is one of them. But it does not keep her flat, too-round face from contorting into a sneer of displeasure in the former Councilwoman's wake--

When she's gone, Gloria cants her head to Ailova. "He's not got anymore shit," she mutters. "He sent to me a letter, and a box full of the ashes of the evidence he'd uncovered. But I'm not daft -- in Caliir's stall, I half-buried a sack full of -- of the Woodsbeast's offal. The stains wouldn't come off my knees; I treated myself to a new dress." A pause. "Thank you for -- for being near, Ailova."

The crowd parts for Agnieszka. When the woman is gone, the commoners return to their normal tasks: the unfounded murmur of thief, thief begins to crumble as the confrontation in the middle of Drover's Way refuses to emerge.

Under her breath, Gloria reservedly tells the brigand, "She'll die. He'll kill her. And I think she wants it--"

An assault from the masses interrupts her: a half-gnawed core baps with a wet impact against the bloom-cap scalp of her bonnet. Swiftly, the girl spins her bulky frame and casts a glare toward what she presumes is the missile's origin. As the crowd narrows like a drying sea, she sees him, all in black, all keenly relaxed like some whisker-faced drunkard on a date with a horse. Serrus Belcaw.

The seamstress waves at him with a her middle finger, its knuckle erect, contented to offend. Or greet.

"Speaking of shit," she says.
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Re: Because the Present Mimics the Past

Postby highawaywoman » Wed Mar 11, 2015 1:42 am

Both women watched the retreating back of the River woman. Ailova was mildly interested in how the crowds parted for the former councilwoman - a semblance of respect, or fear? Probably the latter considering the woman was married to a demon-eye magic user. Gloria spoke and the words made Ailova blink rapidly as she looked to her friend.

"He sent to me a letter, and a box full of the ashes of the evidence he'd uncovered."

"Wot? The bleedin' feck-eye destroyed the evidence? Wot a petty arse bitch move." Ailova spat to the cobblestoned street, shaking her golden head in disbelief. Why would he have done that? The being wouldn't stop and eventually it's destruction would affect even Aleskei and his woman. Eventually.

The core thunked the back of Gloria's head, cutting off her thoughts and words with a comical finality. Ailova turned, expecting the source of the throw to be a gutter-snipe or drunk - but someone different caught her eye at the side of the street.

"Speaking of shit,"

"Aye, there it be." A hand went up to doff her hat, but it only found a frustratingly bare head. Feckin' bastard. "The two o' ye seem well enoof acquainted. He ken the River couple?" The words were spoken askance to Gloria as both ladies faced the sell-sword.
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