You've Got to Pick a Pocket or Two [Marius]

[Ifran]

73rd Fall, 511 A.V. It was, perhaps, rather plebeian for a man of Ifran's stature to walk through the Bizarre, perusing the wares on display as if he were the sort of person who did his own shopping, but the truth of the matter was, with Aru gone back to Ahnatep to act as his eyes and ears, Ifran of the House of the North Winds was just another performer at the Crooked Playhouse, and one who may or may not have rubbed Master Fabel the wrong way. But it was not Ifran's fault that the vaunted master of the Playhouse was threatened by his talent, skill, and work ethic. Ifran had jumped through every hoop, worked harder than anyone else, and was learning the ways of the Alvad tradition of theater. And so there he was, against all propriety were he back in the dusty streets of Ahnatep, where his pedicured feet rarely tread, but rather lounged in a palanquin -- he walked through the marketplace with an eye for anything. Something for the ethaefal, Corvus, over whom he had watched all season, some dainty for Izdihar, or some clue into the mind of the deity who watched over Alvadas, especially something to do with the Inverted. It seemed to be in keeping with Ionu's humor that the truest power might lay in plain sight, diamonds cast before swine, as it were. But how to find these clues when one could not trust their senses?

[Marius Valdemar]

That stupid, dirty rat. Where was he? He had broken his word. Like most other adults, really. His mother had said she'd be fine if he just got the medicine, but she was gone by the time he got back with it. And now this bloody 'Iron Philosopher", who had said that he'd find him, had yet to show up. It had been too long, Marius thought. Too long since he was last contacted. Something must have happened. That bloody rat.

The boy kicked a loose bit of debris that had fallen from a building Alvadas had decided to put in front of him. It rolled across the ground and unfolded itself into a tiny sparrow, which immediately took flight. Marius watched it with disinterest; he had seen far stranger on these streets. Where was he?

He found himself in the Bizarre, a place he frequented when he and the orphan thieves wanted to perform some Tricks. He had done many Tricks on his own without his little gang of misfits, but that was harder and required more skill and luck. Still, it was his idea to start playing Tricks in the first place, and he was the best at them of any of the orphans. Why not play one? He had nothing else to do, and he doubted that the man he waited for would show up here again.

Merchants selling their wares began to shout at him in the practiced speech designed to grab interest, but stopped when they fully viewed Marius's age and state of clothing. Most just told him to shoo, but some waved greetings to him, which Marius casually returned. He let his eyes scan the crowd, searching as the Iron Philosopher had taught him. He did not just look, but saw. Observed. The rich ones often hid themselves when out, so as to discourage little pick pockets such as himself. But Marius had learned to see through these tricks by watching the way they walked, how they spoke, even the air around them seemed of a higher class. It was these he searched for, and it was these whom he could not seem to find.

It was then his eyes spied something strange, and he had to double take back to the sight. There was a man ahead, a man walking somewhat differently than those around him. Not daintily. Gracefully? He couldn't come up with the right word. Besides, his walk was the least noticeable thing about him. The man had six arms, six bloody arms! "An Eypharian!" Marius whispered in a quiet exclamation. He had seen some before, but never from very close and certainly not very often. Someone like that must surely be a rich one!

The boy had his target, all he had to do was get close to him. Quietly, just a bit closer. Not too quickly to make him suspicious, but enough to keep up with him. His breathing quickened. Almost there! Swiftly, almost casually, Marius acted as if he were looking away and bumped into the man's side. In that same instant the boy's hand deftly flicked into the Eypharian's pocket, and he was already ready to offer a feigned apology.

[Ifran]

Though the safety net of his family was far away, one could call Ifran's bearing noble, and the cut of his clothes, the quality of the cloth, were high. Yet he had no extensive wardrobe here, occasionally borrowing from the costume shop, but more often strolling through the streets in a pair of blue trousers, loose and more reminiscent of Eyktolian styles, and a cloak of similar color that could be drawn close around him, draped as necessary. But there was no shirt, which was not a dire problem yet, though the advancing chill of Fall was not something he enjoyed. Still, he knew he would eventually find a tailor willing to make a shirt for a six-armed man. The prince of the House of the North Winds had spent a good deal of time looking like an urchin himself, learning how to pass unnoticed through the streets when required, and so he reacted to the collision with quick reflexes, one of his hands snapping out to form a fleshly manacle about the wrist of what turned out to be a boy, perhaps of teenage years, a bit malnourished and dirty by his standards. "Sloppy," was all he said, and let go. It wasn't like he was simple enough to keep his money where it would be so obvious. "You have to move like a snake through the grass, alerting no one to your presence." He nodded toward the proprietor of the stall. "He saw you, and I saw him see you without having to see you. Do you see?" He hated Common, and was not sure the linguistic trick translated well from his native, poetic Arumenic. Perhaps he sounded pedantic. Such was life. With another measuring glance, the boy's body seemed emaciated to him so he made a decision. "Would you like a meal?"

[Marius Valdemar]

He had meant to reach in, grab, reach out and even possibly run if he noticed too early. Sometimes there was nothing in the pockets on people, but it was always worth the risk. His hand grasped nothing but fabric, but when he tried to slide out and be on his way he found himself trapped in place. He tugged at his arm, almost confused why it wasn't obeying him, when he turned and met the eyes of the man that held him.

The smile faded from his face. He pulled at his arm but the Eypharian's grip was iron. Just as he began to comprehend the amount of trouble he seemed to be in, the grip loosened and Marius's arm was returned to him. He held the place where the man's fingers still felt as though they had him, and prepared to run. However, a part of him felt more curious than afraid. He hesitated and looked up to meet the man's gaze. After all, he didn't seem that angry, and he wasn't calling for the boy's hand to be removed. In fact he seemed to be giving a sort of advice, hard as it was to understand through the heavy accent he spoke the common tongue with. That made him more angry than afraid. Who was this guy to come into his city and tell him how to do things? True he had gotten caught, but still!

A sardonic smirk twitched about the corners of his mouth. "I'd be eating a meal right if you hadn't grabbed me." He shot back. That wasn't true, and Marius knew it. There was no money in the pocket he had tried to penetrate. It was obvious even to him that this Eypharian was far too clever and streetwise to keep his money in easy lifting places.

The smiling boy threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine! Feed me, kill me, or let me go, Mr. Six-arms, but don't waste my time. I just hope that you actually mean to give me a meal, rather than us having a misunderstanding and you actually mean to eat me. I would not enjoy to be eaten, I think. And you wouldn't enjoy eating me! See, that's why I don't ever take baths. You never know!" Marius explained with a rambunctious chuckle.

[Ifran]

"Truly, a meal of street thief would taste of dirt," he agreed, though he seemed more amused by the big talk from the small boy than anything else. Making no sudden movements that might set him to running, Ifran turned toward the street again and started walking with food in mind, the best way he knew to let the twisting city know where he wanted to be. Each movement was economical, spare, yet graceful. The man was an artist, and his body was both brush and canvas. Even far from the stage such as they were, the years of training melted away to reveal an elegance that surprised. Not pausing to see if the boy would follow the promise of a meal or flee at the first opportunity, Ifran walked and soon came to a little inn whose proprietor was exploiting the good weather by moving tables and chairs outside. Thinking the boy would feel more comfortable with more directions to run, fewer obstacles to freedom, Ifran took a seat at the best available table and ordered meals.

[Marius Valdemar]

Marius hesitated. Should he really follow this strange man? What if this whole thing was a ruse, and really he was angry with the little prankster for the attempt and wanted to lead him away from other eyes to slit his throat in the dark? Or maybe he was going to turn him in for all the things he had stolen. Marius chewed the corners of his mouth in thought. He was gaining a little distance now, but showed no signs of looking back to see if the boy was even following. Finally that feline-slaughtering curiosity took hold on him again, and Marius could not help but trod after the six-arm's heels.

Closer now and keeping a respectable distance behind, Marius was able to size up this man properly. His previous instincts had been correct; he walked with a practiced air that also smelled sweetly of a creature that knew what he wanted and knew how to get it. Marius wondered if he knew how to fight at all, and what that would look like. Perhaps he fought with a curved blade in each arm! What a sight that would be!

The boy jogged to reach the Eypharian's side, though lagged slightly behind so as to seem not too assuming. "I'm Marius by the way. I figure if we're going to be sharing a meal, you should be able to call me more than 'boy' and I should be able to call you something more than 'six-arms'." He wondered if the man took offense to such a title, but then figured even if he did he had already made up his mind what to do with Marius, and any further insult would be inconsequential. Just in case, the grinning child had already begun to map out various points of escape from the places they passed.

[Ifran]

If Ifran was pleased or displeased that the boy had followed him, he gave no sign, but indeed he had not addressed him as anything, boy or otherwise, since the botched attempt at a pocket picking in the Bizarre. Of course, 'six-arms' was hardly offensive when it was true and, in Ahnatep, considered a sign of good breeding. His smile was more amused than approving as young Marius sat at his table. While their food was prepared in the kitchens, he considered the youth. "I am called Ifran," he said in answer, simplifying his name. There were only a rare few Alvads who cared that he was a scion of the House of the North Winds. This far north, the Noble Houses of Ahnatep meant little. It was humbling in a way to realize that what was so important in the crumbling capital of the Eypharians was of no consequence in the larger world. Were he Pressor of his people, he might lead them to reclaim the entirety of the desert, but he was not and the future would tell what their Pressorah would accomplish during her reign. He had no desire to stop the lad should he run, but such vigilance would likely keep him alive on the streets so he made no unverifiable promises as to his lack of desire to detain him. Time would either breed trust or not. "I perform at the Crooked Playhouse."

[Marius Valdemar]

'Ifran' was true to his word. They soon entered a small tavern that they came upon, and the smell of food washed over Marius. His stomach grumbled loudly, and his mouth twitched at the sides in embarrassment. He had never been to this particular inn before, but that hardly surprised him. Even when he had coin enough he tended to buy only from the merchants that sold their wares by way of their small kiosks rather than chance any of the taverns. True the food was better in places like this, but there was also a greater chance to be cornered and he could not bring food back to the hungry orphans. He made no objection however, this man was giving him the gift of a full belly for whatever reason and Marius was not about to complain.

While their soups were being cooked in the kitchen the Eypharian called Ifran revealed his line of work. "The Crooked Playhouse?" Marius exclaimed, astonished. "You are an actor then?"

That would explain much. His walk, the way he spoke, it was all more than foreign. It was practiced. Careful. Marius wouldn't have doubted it if he turned out to be a thief himself, albeit a far more practiced one than himself. The boy did not think he was however; the best thieves had to have a good sense of their brethren. No, if this Ifran did indeed steal things it was certainly not material items. He began to grow more and more curious as to why he was out here, sitting across from this man. He decided to take a shot at an explanation and hoped for the best.

"Well Mr. Six- err, Ifran, you may be an actor but I definitely am not. So what do ya say that we cut to the chase? Somehow I get the feeling that you took me here more than just out of the kindness of your heart, am I right? What's your angle?" Marius said in his best professional voice, clasping his hands in front of him on the table.

[Ifran]

The growl of his belly was noted, but not commented upon. Such would be gauche, and it didn't matter that he was conversing with a penniless street thief in Alvadas. He noted also the astonishment in the lad's voice upon the revelation of his trade. Ifran nodded, but his expression mitigated his agreement. "In Ahnatep things are different. The art requires precise vocal control, and choreographed violence. I am a performer of sorts. My sort does not quite exist here in Alvadas, but I am learning and I think, perhaps, so are my comrades." He had to wonder whether the lad was being entirely honest, though. Not an actor? "Ah, have you never lied to get yourself out of trouble? I should think acting would be a highly prized skill upon the streets. Big, childlike eyes wring more coins and meals out of passing strangers, and an air of innocence might send vengeful eyes looking elsewhere upon discovery of a petty crime. I think we are more alike than you know, young Marius, though you mistake me. This is me being generous. Who looks kindly upon a six-armed foreigner in Alvadas? Perhaps the hungry lad he buys a meal."

[Marius Valdemar]

"I-hmmm." Marius had not thought of it like that. It was true that often to evade trouble or even to illicit a theft, Marius played the frightened child. Sometimes nobles or other rich ones he stole from took pity on him, thinking him only a helpless child starved to stealing and occasionally even treated him to a better meal. He trained all the orphans in his gang in such deception, though it required practice and did not always convince.

But an actor? No, not like the kind he had seen before. Once some of the denizens of the Playhouse took advantage of a outcropping formation that Alvadas had placed growing from a wall by utilizing it as a spontaneous stage. He had heard the professional actors call it 'Alvadas's will' because it had grown right as the troupe was wandering the streets. They put on a free show right then and there, and Marius had also happened to be there.

They had simply become different people then. Their faces changed, their voices, their accents, even the way their bodies had moved. It was a total transformation, not a petty deception that Marius was wont to put on. It inspired him, and that evening the orphans all came together to play a new game of Write a Play, which had ended up in a fight over who was to play the lead role.

Though he denied it, Marius suspected a further purpose in this act of kindness by Ifran. Who in their right mind would buy a street rat a meal who had just tried to rob him? But if he wanted to stall, Marius would allow it. Trying to control the conversation would very likely end in Ifran abandoning whatever it was that he wanted the boy to do, and Marius was far too intrigued to let whatever it was slip away. It would be best here to simply ask questions and let him speak, he figured.

"Consider yourself looked kindly upon." Marius said between spoonfuls of the soup brought out before them. "But what kind of benefit is that? I'd think you'd do better to have the favor of some rich one, or a big merchant or something. Don't you think? Not that I'm complaining you know."