Closed Whistling

[Kellyn Kye]

50th of Winter, 513 AV
12th bell

New opportunity.
That had been all that Kellyn had needed to hear.

She was drawing. Earlier this morning, she had found her way here. It had taken some asking around. But she thought this was the right place.

It wasn't too public, just public enough. There were enough people passing by. Enough people stopping and staring, their mouths agape and their eyes popping with surprise, or alarm. She heard half-strangled whispers behind her back, could see and feel hot breath puffing over her shoulder. More than once, she had heard someone mutter the words "crazy" "insanity" "death wish." Considering the rumors going around and the way fear plighted the streets of Sunberth, she couldn't blame them.

There had been word. Of a Hound. The rumors changed with each retelling. He was a ghost. He was a mage. He was a beast. A man with a dog's head. He was a devil. Commanded an army of demons. He stole children. Turned them into black cloaks, set them to walking the streets. He was a cannibal. Had tasted Rokan's eyes. Had plucked them out and put them in his mouth and rolled them around like hard candy, before spitting them out and forcing them between the dead man's lips. Her favorite? He was the cause of the spoilage in the city. His foul Hound breath was the reason the food had all gone bad.

All of that? She'd gotten from one tavern. The Hound was all anybody could seem to talk about. Big news, nowadays.

Too bad she hadn't heard of anybody actually finding him.

Standing where she was, Kellyn felt a tug at her elbow. Surprised and annoyed, she looked over. Nothing. She looked down. A boy, dressed in rags, his lips blue with cold, his teeth chattering. "H-Hey m-missus. Y-Y-You don't w-wanna b-be doing that. I h-heard the H-H-Hound, h-he likes the l-ladies. H-He's a d-dog a-about it, t-too. A-And h-he a-a-ain't no man to--"

His words cut off with a gak!, and he stumbled back, suddenly yanked away. Another urchin, taller than the first, had caught him by the neck, and was dragging him furiously through the small crowd. Kellyn heard the older one hissing from between rotted teeth, "You stay away from her! You want h-him to think you're with?"

"N-N-No, but--" the first boy replied.

"No nothing!" the second spat.

Used to disappearing, they both vanished between some buildings.

After they had gone, Kellyn wiped absently at her elbow. She checked her pockets just in case. Then she went back to work, careful not to smudge the charcoal with fingers that were starting to go numb.

Nobody had met the Hound, no, not that she'd heard, or if they had, they weren't talking. That was the problem. The Hound, he'd promised opportunity to those who made contact. The only way to meet him, it seemed, was to follow the rumors to the right place. But who knew which rumors to follow? It seemed like a wild goose chase. A wild Hound chase. One she wasn't too interested in taking part.

So, Kellyn had decided to try a different tack. The man was named Hound, after all. Hound. A Hound wasn't hunted. A Hound did the hunting.

Maybe he would follow rumors of her.

Arrogance, she thought to herself, clucking her tongue, But why not give it a try? She rocked onto her heels to get a better look at her work, and with the motion felt her back press against someone's front. One of the gawkers had pressed up behind her, unwittingly coming too close as he tried to get a better look. Whoever it was started like a cat and scrambled away. She didn't even turn to get a look at him, simply remained staring critically at her artwork.

It was nearly done, now. Kellyn leaned forward, carefully added detail to a curve, a sharper line here and there. Leaned back once more, taking it in. After a moment, she let out a sharp breath. Perfect. Finished. With deliberate care (and not only a little dramatics), she reached up and pinned the sheet of carefully sketched paper to the building side. She made sure it was placed directly over one of the Hound's postings. Then she turned and walked away.

Behind her people scampered to get near enough to look. Those who couldn't read (a majority of the population) stood and stared in wonder at the little figures on the page, wishing for perhaps the first time that they had bothered to learn when their mothers had been teaching, or hadn't skipped to pick pockets when they were supposed to be in school.

Those who could read? There was a silence as they stood agog, disbelieving. Then they shook their head, muttered under their breath, and went on.

It was a letter. Carefully crafted for the Hound. He had his whispers. Now she would have hers. Those who had watched her, standing in place for a bell at least, standing and carefully, carefully writing, standing where those walking by could see and stare... yes, with rumors these days running faster than noses, there would be talk of the girl who had messed with one of the Hound's notes. If he was paying attention, he would hear. And she figured if he was listening, he would come. Curiosity might drive him. Or dislike. He had bothered to put notes up, after all, he had bothered to write and disperse his message. He had bothered to kill Rokan to get people interested. He wouldn't want any of that covered, and not by someone who had stood out when people would be watching and had dared him. For all he knew, she could belong to the Daggerhands. Her note could be a response to his on their behalf.

Yes, she thought he would come. She thought so. She hoped.

Finding a place next to a nearby building, far enough away that she was no longer the object of attention but still close enough to see where she had posted her note, Kellyn settled down to wait. The Hound wouldn't likely be by for a while. It would take a little time for the rumor to spread, though she was hoping he would catch her scent within the day. It would take a little more time for the people's interest to die down enough that they would wander off, and leave her note unchecked. He would likely come when there was not a lot of people around to see. Or he would come as just another standers by. Or he would not come at all.

Either way, she would be watching. In the cold and the damp and even in the dark, if it took that long, she would wait. She had to trust she would know him when he came. She had good eyes. She had faith in her ability to pick him out.

Sitting with her legs tucked up close so others wouldn't brazenly step on her, Kellyn shivered. She pulled her clothes tighter around her, took a warming sip from her waterskin, feeling the happy heat of alcohol zip through her stomach. Thoughtfully, she took her hat off her head and set it in her lap, as if she was just another beggar looking for coins. Not likely she would get any, but that would be a bonus.

Watching those still gathered by the post (and hopefully most of them were noncomprehending gapers who were likely to spread the word), Kellyn wondered if her whistle might be just loud enough to bring in the Hound.

[Fallon]

Words, whispers, the dull beat of a city wrapped deeply in the grasp of winter. Talking, mumbles, the rattle of skin and bones barely reaching her ears as she walked. And walked she did. Snow crunched, eyes stared as she walked, gentle steps barely gliding across the cold surface with every step landing with a definite thud. So many times she had stalked things out, so many times she had stepped and kept on walking. Shoulders swayed, her gaze ahead and sweeping to the sides, the layers of wools and furs cocooning her body in heat. And at her side, did the canine

The woman and the wolf were about. It was as if spark had been thrown onto oil, the air becoming alive with the crackle of wild fire. And whilst in some respects such a circling rumour had its advantages, it also carried a weighty responsibility. The Scars, the association to Hound, the rivalry with the Daggerhands, the list went on. Shoulders rolled, the gentle clink of steel from beneath her frame reminding her of its presence. It was still there, no need to reach out and touch it - the weight and sound was enough. Head dipping she slid down one of the narrow alleys and out into the glowing daylight of winter.

People walked, stammering and staring as she brushed on past them. Or at least until the hushed voices of nerves and another of defiance rose up. Squabbling children, the shouts of cries and the patters of feet. Hound rested in their mouths, the gawked stare as they dashed past her - frightened almost that the woman who towered over them would reign down upon them. There was a tilt of the head, the green orbs fixing as they ran past talking about someone, "S-She's mad! He's g-gonna get her!"

Who? Hound? Fallon shook her head, continuing on her way. Or at least until she saw that. Her entire head cocked firmly to one side at the image, her brow creased firstly with confusion and then with careful thought. There was a few gasps, the mumbles of horror as this girl made herself known to the world. Art was her calling and her dare; the original flyer was one she recognised - her brother's hand was the one that created it after all. The call for change, the letter to the city daring those to rise up and join together. And whilst a void was created in the space the Daggerhands left, they would simply move in and establish themselves. It was only early days, the trembling calm before the approaching storm. And when it did come, by the gods would it roar. But that was a time away, and in the meanwhile Fallon could focus her attention on the amusing girl and messing.

Orvin released a whine; his front paws reaching up to press against her leg and his large eyes focusing on hers. Scowling, his master looked down at him and released a growl, "Down Orvin. To heel." Her hand placed itself on the top of his head and firmly pushed against it. Sinking back down, he lowered himself down to sitting. For a long few chimes she held it there, a mumble on her lips escaping, "Good boy. Sit and Stay."

Head turning back to the artist - if that was what she even was - Fallon watched as she carefully placed the drawing over the flier. Focused as it was to get it perfectly square on, to smother the one beneath and leave a mark for her to remember. What was the point in this exercise however? To grab attention, to draw out Hound and his wrath. No, knowing him it would only prove to amuse him. It was still an interesting tactic however. Rubbing at her jaw she watched the people disperse - confused with the entire thing and then quickly moving on. Who wanted to be about when trouble started after all?

Arms folding she watched the artist make her escape next to a building. Sheltered from the wind and snow, but not the cold, the girl settled herself down waiting for contact. No, for the moment she would simply wait and watch - and Fallon in return would give the scrutinizing look to the latest pin up. Approaching it she stretched out her hand the gloved tips stroking it and judging the shape. Detail was important, vital in getting things across to the people. Promptly she pulled away, a firm step over to the artist, a hand reaching deep into her pocket as she stepped that way.

She flicked a silver miza at the girl, aiming for the hat she had balanced on her lap. A flicker of a smile grew upon her lips, her thumb cocking back to what had been left, "You draw that lass? Mighty fine piece." With Orvin padding up next to her, she gave a firm point down to the ground in command, "Got to have some pretty big balls to go toe to toe with that bastard." Smirking she held it for a while, eyes bright and full of questions, wondering what exactly was the drive behind this girl, "Got an issue with him? Fancy squaring up and taking him on? You're brave." Fallon chuckled and looked down to the girl with a teasing tone in her voice, "Or you just looking to get lucky and serve as his bed warmer?"

[Kellyn Kye]

Kellyn had expected her wait to be one of bells. Of bells upon bells. Yes, slowly ringing their way by. She had not expected for it to be one of mere ticks.

No sooner had she settled herself upon the chilly, wet ground, than she spotted the girl.

More aptly put, she spotted the girl's giant dog.

Her first thought as she laid eyes on the beast was of the Hound. But certainly he --or she?-- wouldn't flaunt his --or her?-- status so openly, for all to see. No. Caution was necessary. Eagerness should not be mistaken for certainty. The girl with the dog was probably unrelated to the one she was seeking. Just another passerby. Come to ogle.

Besides. That creature, whatever it was, was certainly not a hound. It was far more noble than the usual riffraff of street mutts in the city. Its fur was cleaner, fuller of coat. It didn't look obviously diseased. Nor aggressive. Nor mad. As she laid eyes on it, she felt a desperate need to draw. That feeling she had, it wouldn't come about, not for any old dog. That animal... she was almost certain it was a wolf. Kellyn stared more closely, tongue wetting her lips. Yes, she was certain, though she had never seen one herself before. There was just something about the graceful lengths of snout and leg and tail that made her know so. Her hand automatically strayed to the charcoal left ready-for-use in her pocket.

Still. Just because the girl had a strange pet, well. Such a sighting meant nothing, really--

And then the stranger herself stepped forward to get a good look at Kellyn's work. And Kellyn knew. Not only was the canine atypical. So was his companion.

The girl did not simply stare at the picture. She judged it. Took its measure. Its worth. Kellyn couldn't read her face from this distance. But she could tell very easily by that outstretched arm. She touched it. Nobody else had done.

There was also her posture. It made her stand out. Her body seemed to have a strange weight about it, though the girl was slim. The heaviness (of clothes?) was implied by a wider stance than was usual. Confidence was implied, too. She appeared to be sure. Certain of herself. The amount of space a person dared take up generally told a lot about their self-value. Then there was the set of her shoulders. The way she held her head. More than anything, Kellyn noticed a distinct lack of fear about the stranger. She looked at the image that had been put up, and she wasn't afraid or unsettled. That was not like the others who had seen it. The Hound. This girl... was not intimidated by him. Not at all.

That made her plenty interesting.

Kellyn tensed to stand, to walk over and investigate further. Then she stopped, watching. Relaxed back against the wall. Another abnormality. The girl... was coming here. As the odd pair drew nearer, Kellyn remained sitting. Her eyes were hard, but in a way that spoke of wariness, of searching. Rather than how they might have been: openly hostile.

A flash of silver was sent spinning into her waiting hat. The girl had arrived. The wolf had too. Kellyn was all too aware of the last. Her eyes flicked to the beast, which was on her level. Much too close for comfort. Still. This was such a good proximity for detail. Her hands moved of their own accord. Reached into her rucksack. Pulled out a book full of blank pages. Flipped to the first unmarred one. The charcoal was already in hand. She got to work, outlining the long, sharp snout, the shape of one eye. As she did, she squinted up at the girl and smiled, showing teeth. Her right hand, the one free from the task of sketching, reached into the hat. Plucked the Miza out. Held it up between two fingers, shining. "Very generous of you." The money was tucked against her palm. "In exchange, I'll give a silver's worth of advice: Don't be generous. Not here. Not with hungry people looking. They say 'generous souls end with pockets of holes.' That's especially true in this place."

"You draw that lass? Mighty fine piece."

"Glad you have a taste for it. I was hoping it would generate some interest. A simple recreation really. One of my finer talents. I'm sure you're aware of poor Rokan's fate?" She threw another glance the girl's way, before focusing once more on the wolf. The canine was settled so near she might just have been able to reach out and touch its thick, snowy fur. She didn't. Nor did she feel any inclination to. She liked her fingers where they were. "I saw the dead bastard myself. Really looking at something, especially something new... well, it makes it quite easy for me to later recall. And if I can remember it, I'm certain I can sketch it out. With enough motivation. Or reason. In this case, I was hoping that putting up a likeness of dear, dead Rokan might bring about some favorable results."

She had drawn the image in critical, but accurate, detail. The deathly pallor. The sunken, blank eye sockets, gruesomely empty. The certain, recognizable shape of the nose and chin that made the face what it was. And the mouth. Especially the mouth. With two dead orbs peering sleepily out between lips gone dry with death.

Odd words from the Hound's own note, randomly selected, had been rewritten, superimposed on the image. Some had marred parts of the face like a brand: 'too long,' and 'the individual can give.' Others simply floated in the empty space around the head: 'rubble' and 'claim the deathright' and 'throw against the fates.' She had chosen the shapes of words that had appealed to her. That looked as if they had meaning. Kellyn had even mimicked the hand of whoever had written them. To her eyes at least (and likely to many others), the two notes --the original and her own-- might have appeared to be written by the same person.

Now she cocked her head towards the stranger as she spoke. Kellyn had finished with the wolf's brilliant eye. She moved to the rest of the profile, the slope of the forehead. The ears, too. "Got to have some pretty big balls to go toe to toe with that bastard. Got an issue with him? Fancy squaring up and taking him on? You're brave. Or you just looking to get lucky and serve as his bed warmer?"

"Wrong on all counts, I'm afraid. I simply have an idea. An opportunity for... business? I was wishing to draw--" her lips curved, smiling around the word, "--the Hound to me. The image I presented was a sort of invitation, and a quick sampling of my work. I thought I might hold discussion with this newest of powers."

[Fallon]

XX-Season-51X

"Don't be generous?" Fallon held out her palm to the girl, "I'll have it back then." For a long while Fallon held the look, the smile slinking away to that of a neutral canvas. Her brow raised, her look turning hard, "Watch what you say to people next time. Besides, coin is useless if you can't buy food - and when I last checked humans can't eat them either." It was true however, for all the coin people could gather it never seemed to quite matchup to the price of the already dwindling food resources. No, they would not waste their time for silver. And on the off chance they did, they would quickly meet an end with her blades. Withdrawing her hand, she returned the limb to the warm safety of her cloak.

Head cocking to one side she watched Orvin pad over - curious and interested in what was going on - and took a long look to the girl as she did her work. Of course, he was not paying attention to the actual work but more to the specimen before him, almost as if weighing up if she was prey or not. Fallon did not get in his way, she doubted he would respond not well if she did; there would be struggling as she attempted to heave him away or get between the snapping jaws and his target. His temperament was wild like his species, and begrudgingly Fallon knew that. But, for the moment he was still and watching. Just how she liked it.

"Roken? No," she gave a flick of the hand, "Got it in the Summer by all accounts. The Daggerhand General however? Yeah, I know about him. Tongue ripped out, eyes in his mouth. Who doesn't know about it?" She turned her hands up, gesturing to the city around her, "It plays upon the tongues of men, the lips of women and the imagination of children. A tale of horror, an image of violence... but such thing is natural here. Or is it?" The mercenary gave a shrug and left the question hovering in the air to be answered. The artist however continued her talking and drawing, the rotating of practice movements as she tended to the page.

For a while, Fallon was silent. Her eyes simply focusing down upon her slender hand, her feet shifting the weight from one side to the other. To sit outside in the cold was not exactly a pleasant past time for anyone regardless of occupation. It was that or some exceptional determination that she will have what she wanted, and that the Hound or one of his many proxies - which at the moment Fallon was certain was the only one - would come down just to simply talk.

How naive. Neither of them had real time to answer to the whims of others. If they were not trying to run around gathering and recruiting those they thought suitable, then they were trying to stay out of the snapping jaws of the Daggerhands.

Then again, Fallon mused after a long, hard look, Just because it does not shine does not mean it has no value.

"So a curios mind then. Should have known," sighing she shook her head and promptly took on a different tactic; the one of the supposed fool who knew nothing, "So what makes you so good in out to the rest of them? Talking big words. Looks like you have no strength anyway, no offence lass. But if Hound wants to make change he's gonna want muscle. You don't exactly look like you can do much outside of pretty squiggles."

There was another tease, a curling of the lips as she finally broke a grin. It was time to poke out those feelers, to judge, test and see if she was truly worth the time of the Scars - despite her nagging doubts. Orvin continued his staring, a slow lean in closer over the page and right at her. His ears gave a twitch, the head cocking to one side as he continued his staring. Inquisitive, nosy, his eyes bright as he stared. Fallon however continued, "Don't get me wrong, I bet a lass like you has plenty of talent in other things. Just sceptical if you ask me. Besides, I bet he's just gonna be nothing but trouble and if not that... well the death of a lot of things. Doesn't that scare you? The idea that he could be upon you in a tick and rip your entrails out soon after? Or that he could be watching you right now?"

[Kellyn Kye]

"So what makes you so good in out to the rest of them? Talking big words. Looks like you have no strength anyway, no offence lass. But if Hound wants to make change he's gonna want muscle. You don't exactly look like you can do much outside of pretty squiggles."

"Well. There's more than just strength of body. Strength of mind. Of will. I suppose even a brute like yourself has heard of those?" Kellyn smiled. "I would expect the Hound to be interested in more than just physical power. In fact. I'd go so far to say I would not be interested in working with him if he was not. Thugs have tried to run this city time and time again. Eventually, they always fail." On paper, she added shadow and shine to the wolf's dense fur, and drew the fang she could see poking out from between his dark lips.

"I have a little saying. 'In Sunberth, everyone wants to take and nobody, nobody wants to be taken from.' If you want to successfully attain standing in this town, well. You have to to be willing to make it worth the people's while. Earning even a smidgen of their loyalty, their respect? Making himself useful so that he and his bloody gang will be tolerated? That is what the Hound should aim to do."

She stopped, took a refreshing drink from the waterskin. Her movements were very particular. Very steady, measured, calm. With the wolf drawing himself ever nearer, well. Didn't want to risk him taking offense to her moving her arms unexpectedly, did she?

"Don't get me wrong, I bet a lass like you has plenty of talent in other things. Just sceptical if you ask me. Besides, I bet he's just gonna be nothing but trouble and if not that... well the death of a lot of things. Doesn't that scare you? The idea that he could be upon you in a tick and rip your entrails out soon after? Or that he could be watching you right now?"

Kellyn shook her head. "Plenty of talent? No. Your first judgement was entirely correct. What I do is make 'pretty squiggles,' as you so kindly put it. My business with the Hound would be related to that. I would use my charcoal, my paper, and my mind to benefit us both. I have an idea to make some coin and perhaps bring in much-needed public support for his... movement. That is all."

She rolled her right shoulder in half a shrug, darkening and deepening the lines around the wolf's eye. He was so close, now, that she imagined she could pick out individual eyelashes. Her exterior remained detached from the danger he presented. Cool. She had wanted to draw the wolf, after all. He had obliged. As far as she was concerned, this was what she had asked for. All he was doing was giving her a proper showing. If he ended up biting, or attacking. Well. Maybe she would end up getting an even better look at his teeth and claws.

"I've lived in Sunberth all my life. I'm not afraid of trouble. Death, too, is common here. I can't say I would like to be eviscerated, but there are worse fates. As for him watching... I want his attention. How else would I be able to meet him? I need him to know who I am in order to suggest a partnership. Or, if that is too far-reaching, to at least become a part of his pack."

A shiver rolled through her, and her throat was feeling scratchy from use. Still. She had said a lot, but without saying much about her actual plans, or illuminating her usefulness. Things, unfortunately, had to be that way. For now, at least. The Hound would probably not like his time wasted, and if this girl was with him, well. She would take note of every extraneous moment. But more than that, Kellyn thought, the Hound wouldn't like a potential ally spouting her mouth off to every person who approached. Caution was necessary. In the end, all this talk was, too.

"And actually," she said, playing off her thoughts, investigating, "I could ask the same of you. If the Hound is watching, I'll not be the only one visible. He might deign to take notice of you." She paused. "That is, if he hasn't already."

[Fallon]

So far Fallon felt the girl was largely all talk. That was not necessarily a good thing. Loose lips and a person who believed themselves sharp was a fool. To belittle others without knowing their merits too. It was a shame in a sense, but if this artist believed herself so righteous and correct in this belief there would be little she could do to dissuade. And here she was, sprouting off as to what she would do, how she would run things. No, there was no idea as to what was needed to be put in to make things work. Of the sweat, tears and blood that would come and fall. To grab even a scrap of land and build up would require much sacrifice - and that even before they could consider doing anything useful.

But, they were the Scars and they had the reminders of the past to help them. For that was their way.

"You think he woul' take kindly to you playing advisor?" she cocked her brow, the rough undertones of annoyance, "Why the petch would the Hound take words from a stranger? What do you know about tactics and building stuff up? Everything has a price after all." It would not take a genius to work out what she wanted after she mentioned she would use her charcoal and paper for the Hound. Fallon's eyes would only narrow in response, her teeth chewing at her lip, "So you'd make more pictures like that then? Get the Hound's good side and plaster it all around? Got to be kidding me."

Mock, play critic, ridicule, see how much determination she carried. See how sure she was in seeing this through, and how willing she was to bring change about. To see the distance and to the end. The Scars did not need the half hearted individuals, it would only destroy them to have such.

Orvin bobbed his head in, the hot breath blowing at the woman's face, the tail beating madly. A low growl escaped, far from a menacing one but a growl never the less. He gave a sniff, the snout pressing against her cheek out of curiosity and then let out a snort - almost as if flustered by something. Fallon in the meanwhile kept her eyes on the artist, unphased almost by the woman and her story, her plan and her ideals, "So you want to run with dogs then? Why?" Fallon left the question hanging there for a moment, letting the true weight of it rest before continuing. "Indeed. What is to say he hasn't?" was Fallon's retort with a steady gaze, "Nah, he wouldn't bother to waste his time with me. Why would he want a brute like m'self anyway? Because strength of mind is obviously where it's at."

And then, promptly, the canine licked the woman across the face.

Even Fallon could not keep a straight face. Laughter erupted, a loud cackle of amusement as the wolf gave a slobber and promptly padded away back to her. Her gloved hand gave a firm pat upon his head, a gentle push against the top lowering his head to the ground. Barely, Fallon managed to give him some form of command, the hand still pressing down as a guide,"Down, boy. Down."

It was only after a chime or so that he finally realised what was wanted of his master, and promptly lowered himself to the ground. There was only the low mumbling of praise after that, before her head turned round once more to the artist, "Least this hound likes you. Got to be something eh?"

[Kellyn Kye]

"You think he woul' take kindly to you playing advisor? Why the petch would the Hound take words from a stranger? What do you know about tactics and building stuff up? Everything has a price after all."

Kellyn shook her head, though her eyes remained steadily on the wolf. Her hands stilled against the paper, the sketch complete. Or at least practically so. "Not adviser. As I said before, I simply have a proposition. I heard talk that one of the Hound's... promises, offerings?... was the opportunity to make change in this city, was it not? That is what I seek to do. Make change for myself. For others." Lylan's bright smile flashed through her mind. The necklaces of shells and carved wood, little hollowed beads of bone, and of other collected flotsam suddenly felt conspicuous around her neck.

She continued. "What I have is a suggestion of business that, if he was interested, could benefit us both, as well as the community at large. Or so I figure, at least. That is all. I do not wish to advise. What you undoubtedly assumed is true: I know nothing of tactics, and little of building. What I do know are my limitations, as well as my strengths."

She was starting to feel worn upon, as if the girl was purposefully dragging things out. Of course, that would make sense, especially if she was a scout for the Hound... or even the Hound, herself? Still, Kellyn felt irritated.

She reminded herself to be good.

"So you'd make more pictures like that then? Get the Hound's good side and plaster it all around? Got to be kidding me."

...It was hard to do that, however, when the girl seemed to try to provoke her with such obnoxious statements. Kellyn's ire was one that tended to raise quickly, as a child's would. That was certainly happening now. It rose, regardless of the suspicion that she was likely being provoked by design, and that it was some sort of test.

Beside her, the wolf made a sound. It was a noise that rumbled low in his throat and chest like soft thunder: a growl. The tail was thrashing back in forth, showing agitation? The breath coming heavily and hotly, quite close to her face. One of Kellyn's hands twitched, about to reach out and push the muzzle sternly away. Despite that, there was no fear that these moments might be her last, or that she would soon feel the bite of pain. There was just the lingering pique at the girl and her words.

"No, actually. That wasn't what I was planning. I could certainly provide that service, should the Hound think it necessary. One is unlikely to have luck with such propaganda in Sunberth. But that is always an option." Her voice was shorter than it had been before, more clipped. As if in response, the wolf's nose pressed her cheek, wet and cool, a warning to go with the growl? An image of a mass of steaming, gnawed meat and bone, adorned in the rags of shredded clothes, and comically topped by Kellyn's red hat (stained a darker shade with fresh blood) made her hand move involuntarily. It pressed firmly against the wolf's wide chest. Instantly she thought she might regret the impulse --that was her drawing hand. She'd much prefer the other torn to shreds, if things had to be that way. But her limb stayed where it was.

"So you want to run with dogs then? Why?"

"Change." Though the word was stubborn, a reiteration of what she had been trying to relay earlier, it came breathlessly, which took away the intended harshness of tone. It was the damn wolf. He was entirely too close now. If he had been a distraction or discomfort before, she didn't know what he was now. Had she ever even been this close to an animal before? She thought not. Not a live one, at least. She tried to keep from squirming. Kellyn would never have allowed a person to get so close unless she wanted them to be, regardless of consequences. It was different with the canine, his initial nearness hadn't bothered her like a person would have... but still. Enough was enough.

"Nah, he wouldn't bother to waste his time with me. Why would he want a brute like m'self anyway? Because strength of mind is obviously where it's at."

"I think he would bother."

She said it as directly as she could, an accusation almost, intending to go on... but couldn't get any more words out before a sudden hot, slimy warmth ran up her cheek.

The wolf. What. She flinched... but no. It had... licked... her?

Just like that he had removed himself. Had returned to his companion's side. Kellyn sat completely still, her hand still held out where it had rested as a meager restraint against his furred body. Jerkingly, as the other girl boomed from laughter, her hand went to her cheek. Finding it wet.

There was a distinct moment of disgust. She wiped her sleeve over her face, still startled, though now her expression twisted to one that clearly said GROSS.

After that came... an uncertain smile. And a feeling she could only describe as girlish: she was... pleased? She didn't know why she should be. She had never imagined she would ever want her face slobbered upon. She didn't imagine she would want it to happen again. Perhaps that feeling of warmth towards the animal was just relief that it had been a lick, and not teeth.

Kellyn looked up at the girl, shaking her head. When she finally collected her voice, it was disgruntled, and maybe a little weaker than she would have liked. Her hands were shaking. Good thing she had finished her drawing. She slid the charcoal back into one pocket. "He probably just decided I wasn't worth eating, after all."

OOCReally, really sorry for the delay!

[Fallon]

It was that tone of annoyance that betrayed her. The subtitles in the voice, the inner crackling fire. Good, they needed people who had a burning passion for change on the inside. That drive and determination, with careful guiding hands would be a dangerous force - much like a honed blade in the hands of a swordsman. Sharp and pointed, precise and deadly. Fallon gave a rock on her heels, a gentle clink of metal and a wolfish grin upon her face. Eyes sparked at the artist, more so as the words became quicker, sharper and almost urgent to her ears. Orvin was indeed doing his job. Sort of. The slobbering did seem to break the charade, although her reaction was priceless. And whilst Fallon continued to laugh - more so when the face of disgust showed itself - did she manage to suck in the winter air to release a jabbing comment, "Gods above, your face."

Stooping down to Orvin's height she continued to pet him, feeling the ridges of muscle and bone beneath his fur. His eyes gave a glance up to her, the blink of anticipation as she regarded the artist. And whilst, for a long few chimes she held her gaze steady, did she continue her analysis.

Yes, she could be of use. Fallon would make sure of it. Even if it was to simply serve as an assistant to begin with. To spread the word, to be an extra set of eyes and ears. It was necessary in this city, that much she knew. And having a local at her ear would surely help in picking out the right tactics to deal with the gangs. Maybe, she had yet to properly decide. Still, there was nothing gained in looking a gift horse in the mouth.

The rough spark vanished, a low cough as she cleared her throat. Even her gloved hand moved to hold her chin, the eyes remained fixed, filled with mischief and ideas. The shaking of the head did not dissuade her, if anything it did the opposite. It pushed Fallon further, to question, exploit and control the flow of knowledge. Those that could that had the upper hand - and it was from there that Fallon immediately stood. Jaw resting in her palm she gave a curl of a smile to the woman, "Tell me. How far are you willing to go for change? How far are you willing to go to run with them?"

Husky would have described the tone, far from the rough, broken accent that graced it before falling to that of a natural - yet misplaced - one. Her hands came apart, mimicking that of a set of scales, one in open gesture to the artist and then back to her, "Would you simply cheer from the sidelines, or would you partake? Would you take up arms? Or would you slink to shadows?" The smile flickered for a moment, dipping down into a pale mask of nothing and then curling back round again, "Do you have the heart to reach out and grasp it?"

Letting the question fall, the weight rest as a murmur of words rested there in reach. Standing she looked down upon the girl, her hand reaching almost in offering and a shake. Bright eyes stared, the curling of a grin. Even the ears of Orvin seemed to prick with some strange form of anticipation. Fallon breathed, "Bitzer of the Scars, and right hand of Hound. Now, how about you and I have a little chat?"

[Kellyn Kye]

The girl's laugh had gone its way into the cold winter air, and now it was replaced by an expression that Kellyn immediately recognized: one of searching. Rough and plain, and practical in its examination, the tenor of which brought to mind the thought of calluses on the usually soft pad of a toughened hand. This girl, whoever she was, was someone who knew how to look, and who had likely known for a long while. More importantly, she knew what to look for. Kellyn herself hadn't often been on the receiving end of such a stare. She tended towards the opposite. As such, she felt a cool and gentle dislike welling up within at being appraised so thoroughly and in such a familiar manner. As if she alone should hold a monopoly on the skill of staring, that it should belong only to herself and to no one else.

Underneath that, there was a grudging sense of being impressed by the girl, too. Kellyn felt uncomfortable admitting, but here it was: this pair --girl and wolf-- were probably folks that she would have liked, if liking others had been something she practiced.

A balancing act was going on before her. Hands tilted left and right, heavy and light. Weighing. And still watching. Even the words watched, somehow, when they came. "Would you simply cheer from the sidelines, or would you partake? Would you take up arms? Or would you slink to shadows?"

"I would do what was necessary," she said, her voice coming back to its usual tone now that she had some space. And that was true. Kellyn tended to speak the truth. Or at least her truth. So yes. She would do what was necessary to enact change. If that meant doing something she generally avoided --confronting or harming through physical means, such a messy, unbecoming, and staggeringly common process-- she would. If she thought it was necessary. If she saw it to be. If it was what was needed of her.

The final question was asked, and rang through oddly with that flicker-flash smile. "Do you have the heart to reach out and grasp it?" Kellyn touched the brim of her hat. "Certainly the will." Will tended to lean towards the intellectual. Heart came from somewhere else, someplace more unruly. More cluttered.

"Bitzer of the Scars, and right hand of Hound. Now, how about you and I have a little chat?"

Kellyn focused intently on the introduction, mulling on the words, studying the girl as she had when the other had been approaching. Then she agreed curtly, with a bob of the chin. Yes. This was right. This girl --this Bitzer-- really did appear to know the Hound. Appearances, in her experience, were usually enough to give her a glimpse of the reality of things.

A response didn't come for a tick or three. Kellyn was taking her time, thinking Bitzer, trying to do something to cement the name in her mind. She knew how picky people could be about these things... and knew too that it was likely she should try her best to appeal to certain persons, including this one, and so should try her best to hold onto the given name. Kellyn's mind, though, was just not made for memorization of sounds. She tried to tie the word to the image of the wolf, both the live one before her and the one duplicated in dark charcoal in her little black book. Tried to tie it to the laugh that had come, too, which Kellyn took a moment to hook to a color... there, the flushed pinkish tint of Bitzer's cheeks, likely which came from the cold. It was a high and modestly happy sort of color. Laughter, blush, Bitzer, wolf.

When she felt that maybe she had a chance of remembering she replied in kind: "Skell. Let's." She didn't know why that particular name fell from her lips. That is, until she hazily recalled its meaning. Skell was a word for a homeless sloven, wasn't it? And what was it that she had pretended to be out here? A louse, begging for coins. She'd even gotten a silver from the girl in exchange for her efforts.

Well. She'd said it, so Skell she would be. The upside to telling someone else what to call you --especially a name like Skell, which Kellyn's mind would soon reject-- was that they typically remembered it for you. So you didn't have to. Kellyn wouldn't worry herself about keeping Skell the same way as she did Bitzer. Probably she wouldn't need to.

A hand was offered down towards her. Kellyn tried to think, had it been this hand that had represented less or more when the girl had been playing at scales?

More, she decided. She took it. Used it to haul herself up, sketchbook folded to her chest. As soon as she was steady on her boots Kellyn let go, drawing her arm in close to her body. The waterskin was at her hip. She got it, took a sip, put it back in its place. Then gestured for Bitzer --carefully reminding herself of the name-- to lead the way to wherever it was they were going.

"The Scars," she said, "A requirement, or an analogy?"

[Fallon]

So, the girl believed her. That was a start. Belief was always something people found hard to grasp - with the common cause being due to lacking information, or a strange sense of denial to what was laid before them. The minds of mortals were indeed fickle things until the right persuasion came along. And it was something that Fallon had managed to achieve. Of course it would make sense for the girl - Skell as she later introduced herself as. Why else would she present herself in such a fashion? There was only a slight, bob of the head in respect to this, a long silence as she herself was obviously weighed up in her mind, or put into memory - much like the hissing answers that were given previously.

Will, necessity, as long as there was no over straying from the path and she could be convinced then both of those could turn into powerful weapons. Though, even the nagging thought said that it would have been something less blooded in nature than her own. Quiet, hidden, subtle, but still very present. The roots beneath the tree that supported it in place. Not everyone had to be hungry in nature to do such things. Lips remained curled, the answers repeating in her mind, thoughts and ideas turning over in time.

Use, lead in, pave a future. The hand squeezed slightly in response, the slender fingers of an artist upon the rough leather of a glove - a final warning or a test? That was for Skell to decide now, for the glint in Fallon's eyes was up to her to interpret.

"Analogy," she hummed in response, "They serve as reminders of the past, injuries, events, things that have gone and mistakes we have made. A memory. And, it is through those scars that we remember and try not to repeat the same mistakes again. Slightly poetic, no?" There was only a gentle shrug, "Of course, if you wish to have such marks upon your skin then none will stop you."

There was only gentle steps as Fallon and Orvin took the slow pace forward. There was no rush, for words would take as long as necessary. Ducking into the shadow of an alleyway, Fallon paused to look back. Eyes darted, checking for things that may not have been quite right, a wariness that someone else might be following close behind in pursuit. Many were chasing the rumours of the Hound, all for different reasons - and to have them listen in could potentially destroy the entire operation. With the baying head of Orvin was a deterrent, for the woman and the wolf were on the prowl once more. This time with a little artist in tow. Shoulders rolling in her furs, her gloved hands clasped behind her back.

"So, you want to run with us, be an associate, a part of this arising change," Fallon softly listed things off, her eyes drawing into narrow slits of focus, "And, we in the Scars are looking for potentials and those interested in joining." Gesturing forward into the gloom of an alleyway, the mercenary paused to stare down it, "More often than not we give tasks to people interested in joining." Low tones escaped her throat, barely a whisper to be heard, "Be it murder, killing Daggers and leaving them in specific ways, causing the spill of blood on the street..." Fallon waved away the thought, her hand flicking to and fro with it. Such a grim topic, "But I don't think you would be able to handle that. Such things can be rather difficult."

"And... you also said you had a proposition for the Hound," her lips pursed into a line, "Are you going to share that at all? Whilst you do, well... I will think of something you may be capable of doing."