”Maybe it’s not so much the losing part that they’re upset about, more the losing to a…”
Razkar's lips trembled briefly but he did not smirk. C'mon, he thought, spit it out. That B-word I know you're longing to say...
”…An outsider.”
And smart, too. Impressive.
He stood leaning in the doorway as she sewed, straightened and adjusted. Razkar had to admit, she was as skilled with a needle and scissors and he was a blade. Every movement was clean and precise, economical and sure. She knew what she was doing and, just as importantly, she had the reflexes and strength to accomplish it. He would have to bring Ayatah her, if they ever came through this city together. They would-
Would what? Walk the promenade and shop for fruit? Visit the galleries? The Area, perhaps? You will never and can never return here.
The Myrian shook his head briefly and chased away the thought, smiled faintly as he noticed her words coming out more easily now. Her tone was less hushed and hesitant. Her body language was looser, more... no, not trusting. Perhaps accepting? Part of him hoped that once they got talking, she would see he was not a monster from legend or myth.
At least not in a dress shop. He was raised better than that.
”Why, not too long ago, the Champion of Ivak was at the Winter Council Meeting, and this one Akalak was making the biggest fuss! Were you there? It was quite a show. But would he have been so upset if the poor man had been Akalak, one of his ‘brothers’?”
"I was there." Razkar grimaced briefly at the memory. Part tradition, part council meeting, part petching theater, and all that was resolved was that despite their chest-thumping and decrying, the Council would still grab their ankles for the Champion. Razkar shook his head. "Man should not have been allow to make peace so easy. Must atone."
Razkar's eyes darkened with a cold, terrible anger. He'd once heard a poet quip that there was nothing more terrifying than the fear of a righteous man. He liked to think he was that, and what this... Leo had accomplished was monstrous. Razkar cared not for the gods or their feuds, save for Myri, and that a mortal would actually interfere so stupidly, and... and...
The Djed Storm. All the pain unleashed. All the ravages to my home and my people, all because some petching barbarian couldn't leave well enough alone.
"... some things not get forgiven..."
She met his eyes after her imitation and he was back to the present... and had to blink at the brazen confidence in her own. He was so takn aback that he couldn't keep the smile from his face.
”Men.”
He did something in return that she would scarcely have thought a brute savage capable of: he made a joke. He made a face of mocking sadness and lowered his head like a naughty child, looking back up at her with big, round brown eyes.
"Ah, we but poor wretches." He said in a voice no-one could take seriously, and actually dared a snake-tongue-fast wink. "Why we need female. Clean us. Make us stand straight. You forgive?"
A snort answered him, and he chuckled. Then it was her own gaze that darkened as she processed his question.
”Well… yes. Only the lowest of men would not immediately marry a woman he’d made a child with. He must have been of very poor class. Trust me, if he’s not in the picture, your friend’s better off.”
He nodded slowly and a sadness crossed his face, but it was one with some peace and resolution behind it. As if he had been expecting that answer, and it explained much of what he had feared. He examined the belt she was working on and nodded a little faster, impressed with her work. He put it on and slid the double-bladed dagger inside it... then whistled.
"Is smooth. Very smooth."
He whipped it out again in a blur of flashing steel and dark skin, from small of his back to throat level in about as much time as it took Rosela to blink. An unmistakable pleasure flared in those obsidian eyes, and he nodded... but sighed. He went from a combat crouch to just standing normally, turning the dagger over and over, staring at it...
"Person I know?" He said, as if he was far away, looking at his own eyes in one of the shining blades. "She is part-Epyharian. Father was you people. Father left. Mother raise her. She gave me this. Is, ah... tradition? Of her clan. When she meet someone... close."
He was suddenly quiet, and she did not know what quite to say... well, she did, but she suspected now would be a bad moment to slide over the bill. Finally the savage sighed and replaced his weapon, smiling at the oh-so-smooth sound of sharpened metal on leather.
"Thank you for answer my question. I always think she better off. She is strong and much more... ah... in-tell-ee-gint than me. Must be barbarian brains." He said with a brief smile, then his hand went to his purse. "How much I owe, mistress?"
Razkar's lips trembled briefly but he did not smirk. C'mon, he thought, spit it out. That B-word I know you're longing to say...
”…An outsider.”
And smart, too. Impressive.
He stood leaning in the doorway as she sewed, straightened and adjusted. Razkar had to admit, she was as skilled with a needle and scissors and he was a blade. Every movement was clean and precise, economical and sure. She knew what she was doing and, just as importantly, she had the reflexes and strength to accomplish it. He would have to bring Ayatah her, if they ever came through this city together. They would-
Would what? Walk the promenade and shop for fruit? Visit the galleries? The Area, perhaps? You will never and can never return here.
The Myrian shook his head briefly and chased away the thought, smiled faintly as he noticed her words coming out more easily now. Her tone was less hushed and hesitant. Her body language was looser, more... no, not trusting. Perhaps accepting? Part of him hoped that once they got talking, she would see he was not a monster from legend or myth.
At least not in a dress shop. He was raised better than that.
”Why, not too long ago, the Champion of Ivak was at the Winter Council Meeting, and this one Akalak was making the biggest fuss! Were you there? It was quite a show. But would he have been so upset if the poor man had been Akalak, one of his ‘brothers’?”
"I was there." Razkar grimaced briefly at the memory. Part tradition, part council meeting, part petching theater, and all that was resolved was that despite their chest-thumping and decrying, the Council would still grab their ankles for the Champion. Razkar shook his head. "Man should not have been allow to make peace so easy. Must atone."
Razkar's eyes darkened with a cold, terrible anger. He'd once heard a poet quip that there was nothing more terrifying than the fear of a righteous man. He liked to think he was that, and what this... Leo had accomplished was monstrous. Razkar cared not for the gods or their feuds, save for Myri, and that a mortal would actually interfere so stupidly, and... and...
The Djed Storm. All the pain unleashed. All the ravages to my home and my people, all because some petching barbarian couldn't leave well enough alone.
"... some things not get forgiven..."
She met his eyes after her imitation and he was back to the present... and had to blink at the brazen confidence in her own. He was so takn aback that he couldn't keep the smile from his face.
”Men.”
He did something in return that she would scarcely have thought a brute savage capable of: he made a joke. He made a face of mocking sadness and lowered his head like a naughty child, looking back up at her with big, round brown eyes.
"Ah, we but poor wretches." He said in a voice no-one could take seriously, and actually dared a snake-tongue-fast wink. "Why we need female. Clean us. Make us stand straight. You forgive?"
A snort answered him, and he chuckled. Then it was her own gaze that darkened as she processed his question.
”Well… yes. Only the lowest of men would not immediately marry a woman he’d made a child with. He must have been of very poor class. Trust me, if he’s not in the picture, your friend’s better off.”
He nodded slowly and a sadness crossed his face, but it was one with some peace and resolution behind it. As if he had been expecting that answer, and it explained much of what he had feared. He examined the belt she was working on and nodded a little faster, impressed with her work. He put it on and slid the double-bladed dagger inside it... then whistled.
"Is smooth. Very smooth."
He whipped it out again in a blur of flashing steel and dark skin, from small of his back to throat level in about as much time as it took Rosela to blink. An unmistakable pleasure flared in those obsidian eyes, and he nodded... but sighed. He went from a combat crouch to just standing normally, turning the dagger over and over, staring at it...
"Person I know?" He said, as if he was far away, looking at his own eyes in one of the shining blades. "She is part-Epyharian. Father was you people. Father left. Mother raise her. She gave me this. Is, ah... tradition? Of her clan. When she meet someone... close."
He was suddenly quiet, and she did not know what quite to say... well, she did, but she suspected now would be a bad moment to slide over the bill. Finally the savage sighed and replaced his weapon, smiling at the oh-so-smooth sound of sharpened metal on leather.
"Thank you for answer my question. I always think she better off. She is strong and much more... ah... in-tell-ee-gint than me. Must be barbarian brains." He said with a brief smile, then his hand went to his purse. "How much I owe, mistress?"
