Closed [Dovey] On the Edge of Rioting

Both Dovey and Dra-Vaerin get caught up in the chaos of the dock riots.

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This shining population center is considered the jewel of The Sylira Region. Home of the vast majority of Mizahar's population, Syliras is nestled in a quiet, sprawling valley on the shores of the Suvan Sea. [Lore]

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[Dovey] On the Edge of Rioting

Postby Vaerin on March 4th, 2017, 2:44 am

19th of Spring, 517


It was now thoroughly clear that Morwen's refusal to bring Winter would have a very significant and tangible effect upon Syliras. Spring was unseasonably hot. Dra-Vaerin had only experienced these outside seasons once, and he remembered the spring and fall seasons being much more temperate. He had taken to spending his time when he wasn't at work walking around the fish markets and docks because of the occasional gust of cool sea breeze. He was aware this was not the most efficient way to stay cool: but it did allow for him to get some exercise. The aerialist had learned his lesson the first time he was here to be very observant over where he was going. He was not a clumsy person by nature. In fact Vaerin had barely bumped into anyone since he accidentally collided with that sailor and his friend. It was objectively a good thing, because this hot weather had made almost everyone uncharacteristically short tempered.

Even he had felt his usually almost constant polite demeanor start to show cracks. His mood was now often crabby. Slight comments heard in passing that he would have usually ignored entirely would now result in his heckles being raised, and a stormy expression rooting itself onto his face for half a bell at the least. Although, he did partially chalk that up to the emotionally turbulent winter that had heralded the end of 516. He had felt his emotions spent in a way they had never been before: and by the end of the season, hardly left his apartment for anything other than work. The hot weather was just exacerbating this. It seemed as though the Vantha persecution was over now. Dra-Vaerin still had no desire to discuss his heritage with anyone. Just to be on the safe side. Viratas would always favour those that were shrewd. It was still not the right climate to try and forge links with the two halves of his blood.

In order to cope with the heat, the young man had foregone the under-bindings that his people often wore, as that did not promote as much air circulation due to the fabric's weave construction. The loose fitting and draped overlay of clothing he usually wore had a lot more breathability by itself. He had the sleeves rolled up and latched to the cowled neckline to keep his arms free of fabric, and had similarly rolled the pants up so they were now shorts. If he had not felt so physically exposed he may have enjoyed the way it looked more. He knew that he was not as frail as the full blooded Symenestra: but he was now a lot more visibly identifiable as being of their ilk because of the swaddling of cloth that kept him covered for the majority of his time in the city. Prior to this climate-induced costume change, he might have just looked like quite the eccentric dresser. Now with his face and sharp teeth, spindly and long limbs, and black finger and toenails fully visible to the populace such an illusion was fully dispelled.

Though, Dra-Vaerin took it in his stride as he always had. His skin may not have been as durable as steel, but it was thick. Even if he still felt deeply hurt on the inside he would not let the outside world know how it hurt him so.

He was currently walking past one of the main thoroughfares. You're not that far away from the fish markets...you could try your luck with getting something to eat. In the nearby distance he spied a gaggle of people. It was clear to him from their body language and the general din that was being made that they were unhappy about something. Perhaps Raoul was in town again and had taken to haranguing another stranger?

However, it did not seem that this was the case. He couldn't make out what was being said, but it was too many voices to be a similar situation to the one he had gotten himself in with that sailor. Unless he had managed to somehow get everyone in that crowd up in arms - which after the first few chimes of their initial meeting Dra-Vaerin could have envisioned happening.

As was usually the first reaction of someone seeing something interesting, he quickened his pace to find out what was going on. However, he decided to keep a bit of distance and try to gauge the situation before he tried to intervene or involve himself. It seemed like something of a dispute or angered conversation around the lack of food. The movement of the group made it appear as if they were making their way to the docks.

So the youth tailed them, still trying to grab onto bits of information that would allow him to understand what was going on. Once again he kept a respectable distance from them so it was very obvious he was separate from this group. He did not want to be associated with it. The flurry of voices from the men, women and children all combined into a cacophony of ill content. His ears were lucky to pick up one or two words from any one conversation before it was drowned out by another. He was starting to get the feeling that this mob was working its way up into a frenzy. Possibly in order to assist them with whatever it was they wanted to do? He started trying to look around for guards to alert them of the situation so it could hopefully end peacefully before it culminated into something.

In this moment he found himself scornfully judging the Sylirian knighthood. In Kalinor, the Ochya would have already resolved this issue by now.

"This city...truly amazing." He muttered to himself in his preferred tongue, still looking for the distinctive faction and its presence. The group was now firmly planting itself by the docks. His specific phrasing of this gave the implication of his current derision of Syliras. However, he did not worry about anyone overhearing him over the noise of the close by group. Even if they had, they most likely would not have understood him anyway. Many of those that walked Mizahar had no use for or seen a point in learning the beautiful language of his mother's blood.
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[Dovey] On the Edge of Rioting

Postby Dovey on March 5th, 2017, 11:16 pm

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Dovey needed a drink.

It was petching exhausting - look, she was even too tired to deny it anymore - petching exhausting to keep fighting off her grief for Mother. And honestly, she wasn't even sure if it was working. Yes, the bouts of sadness had come less frequently of late, and yes, each time they did come she'd found it easier to stave off tears - but that was all she could do, kill those moments of extreme heartache. She couldn't make herself happy - one night, in frustration with her useless, stupid emotions, she'd tried - and she was starting to suspect her stubborn sorrow of subverting itself into the numbness which seemed to have settled into her chest and limbs. Maybe, on top of the weariness her efforts had brought her, she was mourning after all.

Still, she had to go on fighting. If she didn't, all that pain would come rushing back at once, and she couldn't bear that. She wasn't strong enough.

No, she must just drink it all away.

But tonight she was in no mood to chat with well-meaning friends and acquaintances, and she was too frequent a customer at the Rearing Stallion not to expect someone she knew to be there. Which was why, rather than heading down to the block of taverns just inside the main gates, she was currently picking her way through the rabbit-warren which was the Warehouse District, in search of an inn called the Broken Casket.

Hot sunlight pierced down into the narrow streets of the district, one of Syliras' few open-air locales, and drew sweat prickling through Dovey's skin. Thank the gods she'd worn her linen dress today and not her wool. She might need to go shopping soon, she thought, and buy another warm-weather outfit - it didn't look as though the wool was going to come into season again for a long time. She kept one hand in the pocket of her dress as she walked, clutching the few mizas she had brought with her. She was not letting anyone else get their hands on her drinking money - but Dira take it, where was this inn? Why couldn't she ever find anything in this city, who decided to build it like a petching maze - but then, up ahead, she spotted something that interrupted her irritated train of thought. A largish crowd crossed the intersection just before her, moving fairly fast, bringing with it a cacophony of angry-sounding, indecipherable conversation. Within the span of a few ticks, the crowd had crossed the street and passed behind the shelter of a large warehouse.

Making up her mind in an instant, Dovey hurried round the corner after them.

She had to trot a bit to catch up with the swiftly moving mob - she was fairly sure it was a mob - but soon she was close enough to hear a few snatches of speech. "Rich pigs, hoarding it all - " she caught from a man on the edge of the crowd, then someone else: " - killed the crops, I heard!"

"They give us scraps - "

" - selling it for more'n - "

All thought of the Broken Casket went out of Dovey's head. Sure she needed a drink, and badly - but that could wait for half a bell or so. Something really interesting was happening at last in safe, placid Syliras, and she was not about to miss it.

She hurried after the group, panting a little as she tried to catch up with them - she wasn't so in shape as she would like to be. By this time the crowd had reached the edge of the Warehouse District and was surging toward the docks. Dovey followed curiously.

Near the edge of the water, the mob came to a ragged halt and stood for a moment in uncertain silence. Then - "We want food!" a woman shouted at a pair of sailors carrying a crate past the crowd. The sailors looked startled, but continued walking until they were swallowed between the warehouses - but the woman's cry seemed to spark the crowd to life, and it erupted into a chaos of furious shouts. Then, some in the group broke off and rushed a sailor carrying what looked like a sack of flour or grain from his ship.

Dovey backed up several long steps, moving toward the Warehouse District. Interesting enough, perhaps, but this might get dangerous soon - and she didn't want to look like part of the mob when a patrol or three of Knights showed up. Maybe she should clear out altogether.

A few of the mob seemed to have had the same idea. As Dovey moved cautiously away, a spooked-looking teenager bolted from the crowd, heading for the shelter of the warehouses nearby. Swiftly following came a tall woman, clinging to the hand of a young boy who stumbled along behind her. Before Dovey could react, the woman in her hurry slammed into her shoulder, sending Dovey careening backwards while the woman caught her balance and ran on.

She fell with a breathless cry of alarm, twisting desperately in a futile attempt to catch herself before she hit the cobblestones. But instead of the rock beneath her feet, her body met what felt like some sort of pillar draped in loose folds of cloth, but which she realized to her horror was in fact a person - and a person she was in imminent danger of knocking to the ground. Balance completely lost, there was nothing she could do to fix the situation. "Sorry!" she gasped, the instant before her full weight landed against the stranger behind her.


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[Dovey] On the Edge of Rioting

Postby Vaerin on March 8th, 2017, 2:54 pm

No matter where he turned, he could not seem to find any sight of the Knights. The only thing he could see were people breaking away from the crowd. Dra-Vaerin was happy to see that it was primarily the very young and those with children that were leaving: as objectively they were the ones that were most likely to get hurt or into more danger should this situation become exacerbated. Which judging by the more audible cries of indignation over the food shortage crisis that currently gripped Syliras that permeated Dra-Vaerin's ears, would not be very much longer. It makes sense that it is over these shortages...do these people feel so disenfranchised that they chose to act out like this though? It was not a debatable matter that it was outside the control of those in charge of food production that there had not been a winter to break up the other seasons.

Of course, the moment he had his back turned to the crowd was the exact moment that something happened. How could it not have been? The incident happened so quickly there was nothing that he could do about it, or steady himself. The tensions had erupted. The sailors were set upon. A taller woman and a young boy flew past in his peripheral vision. Something that sounded like a cat yowling after having its tail stepped on followed almost immediately after. As did the sudden rush of air that shortly heralded a fast and unstoppable force that collided with him.

Had the young dancer received more warning he may have been able to brace himself and saved himself from emitting his own gasp of shock before plummeting to the ground. A feminine voice uttered a breathy apology. At least this person had the manners to apologise.

He pushed his hands out in front of himself with the time that he did have to lessen the damage to himself. His face slamming against the hard, cold cobblestone ground of Syliras did not sound appealing. He landed with a soft thud, a scraping pain shooting through the palms of his hands, up his arms. For one of the few times in his entire existence, he was thankful for his mixed blood. Such an unexpected tumble for those of fully Symenestra blood may have very well led to a fracture. So fragile was their physiology.

The stinging in his palms was not unbearable, but definitely was uncomfortable. Through gritted teeth he pulled himself up and expected his nearly translucent palms. The damage was almost immediately visible. Angry pink agitation stood in stark contrast to the pallor of his skin, surrounding crimson droplets that leaked to the surface from where the ground tore his skin backwards. On closer inspection one could see the few strands of skin that had been scraped backwards from the unforgiving cobblestone that allowed for his blood to trickle out. He stood there for a moment, observing the domain of his god flow to the surface. It was barely a scratch honestly, and the wound would quickly heal. He did have a desire to clean it however.

He then turned to face the assailant that had sent him plummeting to the earth, and placed his still stinging hands to his side. Of course in such a manner that would not sully his clothes. He took a short breath, allowing his mind to cool so he did not act irrationally to the situation. He turned himself around to face the woman that had accidentally knocked him over.

"It...it is no problem, an accident I am sure. Are you okay?" He responded, before inquiring hurridly. He made a concentrated effort not to respond in Symenos, even though he desired nothing more than to exclusively talk in it at the moment. He was somewhat surprised to see that the woman that knocked him over was shorter than him. He was usually on the shorter side in comparison to others. The most striking thing about her were her rather thick eyebrows, and the intensely blue eyes that she possessed. Those two features were instantly noticeable at a glance. Dra-Vaerin was reminded of the sky above them when he looked into them. The other races had such varied and interesting eyes.

Of course, they did not have much time to really exchange pleasantries as it looked like things were about to get a lot more violent before anything settled down. He was beginning to lose hope in the Knights arriving before something truly tragic happened. He gave one desperate scan around the immediate area.

From what he could see, the crowd quickly overwhelmed the lone sailor carrying a bag of some description. The poor man had no chance against that many people as he was quickly pushed to the ground, incapacitated by a few sharp and swift kicks to the sternum and shoulders and pillaged of his goods. Young Vaerin winced, wishing there was more he could do for the man, but there was nothing he could do. From what he could see the rioting crowd was going to either storm the ship the man came off of, or proceed to attack the warehouse. Since they were closer to the warehouse, that was probably the method they were going to go with.

"Take every last petchin' bag-a-shite ye can grab. We ain't starvin' tonight!" a particularly angered man called out as he hefted a sack over his shoulder while thrusting a thick, sausage like finger in the direction of the warehouse where several skittish sailors quickly deserted.

Dra-Vaerin looked at his new acquaintance, desiring not to be caught up in the sudden riot over food.

"We should find and alert the Knights...now. This is too dangerous."

He gestured wildly in no particular. Surely there would have to be guards somewhere nearby?
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[Dovey] On the Edge of Rioting

Postby Dovey on March 10th, 2017, 5:25 am

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19 Spring, 517 AV
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A rush of panic hit Dovey as she plunged toward the cobblestones, slipping sideways off the back of the stranger she'd felled. There was no time to think - her vision fractured as her attentive energy was consumed by that half-tick intuition which was a necessity for every kind of creature, an intuition which regularly saved the lives of those in circumstances more dire than her own. On instinct the girl threw out a hand, palm flat, whole forearm braced to catch her weight, just an instant before she hit the ground.

It was not a clean landing.

Dovey's hips bounced once, lowly, before coming to rest on the cobblestones. Catching herself on her arm saved her head from slamming against the stone street, or her shoulders and back from being bruised in the impact, but the arm itself paid the price for that: her hand's hard slap against the cobble drew a low hiss of pain from between her teeth, and the rest of her forearm hit with such force that she was sure there would be bruising all up and down its length by tomorrow morning.

She climbed gingerly to her knees, flexing her fingers and her elbow, satisfying herself she'd done no worse than bruise and scrape the skin. Her palm still stung, and she blew gently across its surface, the cool stream of air bringing a bit of relief to the angry pink abrasion. Only then did she remember the manners which, she thought ruefully, must have been knocked out of her by her fall. She got to her feet as hastily as she could manage, turning with her good hand extended to help up the stranger she'd knocked to the ground - but when she swung about with her eyes on the cobblestones, she was presented not with any supine form but with the bare, upright calves of a morbidly pale young man. Her victim - or rather the victim of the woman who'd been running so recklessly, Dovey corrected herself - had clearly righted himself on his own.

She drew her hand down to her side, bringing her gaze hastily to the stranger's face just as he began to speak. His eyes were purple, she realized - how unusual - but she paid that and his paleness very little mind as she listened to his words, smiling apologetically all the while. Now was really not the time to be speculating about the man's odd appearance. Indeed, she hardly looked at his face at all - her eyes kept flickering to the side, taking little glances at the angry folk who remained so near them, trying to keep track of the mob's progress toward becoming a full-on riot. It took him only a few moments to finish talking, and then Dovey did turn her full attention toward him - it would be rude, after all, and would seem insincere, to speak to him without so much as making eye contact.

"I'm very sorry," she said again, before answering his question. "I'm all right, yes. But you? Are you injured?"

Whether or not he'd been hurt in the collision, Dovey observed, he certainly didn't look well. Not only was his skin so light in shade that it seemed almost gray, now that she observed his face more closely she could actually see veins - many of them - running faintly beneath his skin. Spidery lines, drawn out from his eyes to the edges of his hairline, some tracing their way down his neck - gods be good, was he actually translucent? If he was human, such a colorless visage surely did not bode well for the young man's health. And if he wasn't human, then what...

What, she finished the question silently, was she doing making up theories about this complete stranger's personal business when there was a riot in the process of erupting around them? The man before her had clearly not forgotten that; far from standing like a stupid stick and gaping, he was currently observing the people around them. His gaze traveled swiftly from side to side of the crowd - taking her cue from him, Dovey pivoted slightly outwards, giving those nearest them a quick once-over to be sure they posed no immediate danger before glancing farther out.

Her eyes widened almost immediately, and her throat tightened as she swallowed down the sudden lump which had arisen there. The sailor who had been attacked earlier had already fallen - well, that was no surprise. There wasn't much chance of winning a fight with a mob, let alone a mob with its mind already set on overpowering you. No, the really frightening thing was the thickset man who stood, feet planted firmly, near the front edge of the crowd. Shouting an order to the folk gathered near him, just as if he were the very Magistrate and not some common laborer like the rest, he stabbed a finger towards the nearest warehouse. The crowd swelled forward.

The man beside Dovey was speaking to her again, gesticulating randomly, talking something she could only describe as nonsense about alerting the knights. "The knights?" she replied, not taking her eyes off the mouth of the narrow street which ran beside that warehouse. That was the street through which she'd followed the crowd. There were probably other routes leading away from the docks, but she didn't know where they were or where they led, and she really did not want to be lost in some alleyway while there was a mob on the loose nearby. "The knights?" she repeated. "Petch the knights. We've got to get out of here."

She looked down at his hand, ready to seize it, and his nails were black and dagger-sharp.

Time stopped.

The skin - if he was human - the pale skin, the unworldly eyes - see how spindly his body is, how long his arms - the claws that tipped his fingers dark as tar -

A bit of Fratava verse ran singsong through her head, part of a children's ditty about the different creatures of Mizahar.

A spider, a spider
sits weaving in the dark.
Land-raised girls are easy marks -


She took a half-step away. The mob was piling forward now, she realized, slow as dripping honey but building up momentum as it moved toward the warehouse nearby. If she got tangled up with them, she'd have to fight for every step or be dragged into the warehouse with the current. If she fell she could be trampled, and there would be a thousand ways to fall, pushing her way through a mass of moving people in the wrong direction.

Alone, with no one to help her up or steady her, such a task was far more intimidating...

She glanced back to the man beside her.

He hadn't seemed murderous, anyway.

She sighed sharply, stiffened her spine, and fastened a hand round the Widow's elbow. "Petch it," she murmured to herself - then, her voice loud and urgent - "Come on!"


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[Dovey] On the Edge of Rioting

Postby Vaerin on March 11th, 2017, 3:10 pm

It had appeared as if Vaerin had not been a sufficient enough buffer in stopping this woman's descent. Indeed it appeared that her fall had a more painful landing in comparison to his. She also seemed to need a little longer than himself to regain her footing - though this could be chalked up to his experience as a dancer. Of course, it had not been long enough for him to extend a hand to assist her. Although, he was admittedly fairly hesitant to do something like that anyway - it was too easy to draw attention to the tapering black nails. Those nails that could cut and maim when utilized as a weapon. He didn't want to provoke a fight response in the woman: given the tension of the situation around them.

There was a tentativeness in both her smile and response when she apologised, before asking if he had been injured. Like most that saw him that did not hail from Kalinor, there was a certain level of confusion and curiosity that subconsciously crept to the surface. It manifested itself in the way that their eyes would linger. Scanning, analysing. Just for longer than would be socially acceptable. And then they would catch themselves doing it and try to disguise their voyeurism. To be fair to the woman, she had also been gazing behind them to evaluate the scene behind them. Which was wise.

He could understand how otherworldly his visage must have appeared to the people of Mizahar. His skin did indeed hold a greyish translucence to it that did make the delicate webbing of his veins gracefully skim the surface before retreating back away. The length and sinewy nature of his limbs also were something that marked him as noticeably different in both worlds: too short to truly be Symenestra, but a fraction too long to be entirely human. It must have appeared almost spectral, or morbidly suggestive of the dead, to those that had not much understanding of how they had adapted to the eternal darkness of their city. Part of this was however also because he had not managed to successfully put back on the weight he had lost during his trek to Syliras. However, to Dra-Vaerin he found such qualities of his genetic makeup to be utterly captivating and beautiful. Indeed, there were a host of compliments in Symenos that could be paid to one's appearance that revolved around being favoured by Viratas because of the prominence of their veins, or how the delicate length of their limbs could ensorcel even the most staunchest of their foes.

Of course these kind of thoughts were not helpful in the middle of the starting of what looked like it would be a very violent riot. He rather focused on responding the woman's question.

"I am glad to hear that then. I am fine, nothing worth worrying about." He responded, ignoring the still stinging sensation he could feel. He did attempt to keep eye contact as much as possible - after all it was the polite thing to do. Yet it was still crucial to keep an eye out in regards to their surrounding. To this end he hoped that he was not coming off as rude. But it could not be helped. If they got aggressive, the two of him were going to have to get away fast. Because, in Dra-Vaerin's mind there was no other possibility that he would help the woman get out of this situation safely.

Though, it was if young Vaerin was aware: he would have been glad that his new company was paying more attention to the members of the crowd that were closer to them. Because honestly, he was more caught up in the events culminating in the bulk of the crowd. Not the stragglers on the outside that may have been like them. Satisfying their curiousity. What a wretched mistake this was.

Part of him was panicking at the notion of such a violent outburst happening mere strides away from him. Hence the wild gesticulating. All rationality was temporarily suspended. Hence the desire for an authoritative figure - such as the knights - to step in and save the day. Therefore the more rational notion of getting to safety temporarily eluded him. In that regard it was probably very lucky that this stranger was much more rational in this time of need than he was. For surely he wouldn't have prioritised his own safety as much as he should have. It had been quite some time now since he had bore witness to such an aggressive display. Not since..

Now is not the time to think these thoughts Dra.

The youthful looking woman shared those exact sentiments as she made it very clear what she thought about trying to wait for the knights to come and save them. He saw out of the corner of his eyes that she was about to reach to grab his hand. Then it faltered. He didn't even need to look into her face to know what had cause it. He clenched his jaw automatically - of course she would put distance between the two of them. The dreaded widow was within striking distance of her.

The verse would have been met with chagrin if he was capable of hearing it. It technically did not say anything that was unfounded - women that were of the land were in a great deal of danger of getting tangled up into a web from which they wouldn't leave alive. Yet there was so much more to his people than that. These land-raised folk would probably never understand. That was not to say that Dra-Vaerin personally approved of all the aspects that entailed the harvest. Yet there was a lot conflicting factors that meant he had to practice a certain level of cognitive dissonance around the matter because of the dire nature of the dwindling population of the Symenestra.

His moment of quiet rage distracted him from the larger picture right in front of him. It was not until he heard the woman nearly shout "Come on!", and felt her hand clasp tightly onto his elbow that he refocused.

Yes, they needed to get out of here. He scanned the surrounding one last time. Going down the narrow street closest to the warehouse was indeed the only way they were going to truly get themselves out of danger unfortunately. Of the other ways, Dra-Vaerin knew from experience that three of them only led to dead ends. The others he was not as sure about, but he did not want to take that gamble. Best to stick to ways that would take them to main thoroughfares or the like. It was much more likely that they would come across guards that would protect them that way.

He nodded curtly as he set off in a sprint directly to the angered and riotous mob that was now truly beginning to seem little more than a pack of savage animals than people to the young halfling. Even if almost all of him screamed to avoid them and run in the opposite direction.

Though the two of them hardly made an intimidating duo, he was thankful not to be facing this situation by himself. Vaerin felt that it would not be easy for either of them to break through the crowd, but at least they would hopefully be able to better brace each other than they had moments before.

It was rather disconcerting to see the ravenous anger in the eyes of these rioters up close. The disenfranchised were revolting. In the hands of the so called leader from earlier and maybe a few others, Vaerin thought he could make out blunted looking objects. It could have very easily have been his mind exaggerating what he was actually seeing. He was determined to give them a very wide berth so as not to find out. Though it did give him pause - was this as spontaneous as it appeared to be?

That was a thought for later he decided, as he tried to better focus on the task at hand. There were several people actively pillaging and attempting to make their way into the warehouse. Most of the others appeared to be, like the two of them, trying to flee the scene. Or tossing up between whether to participate or not. This is where a lot of their trouble was going to sprout from he thought. They added another layer of chaotic unpredictability to the situation that would have to be navigated. He leaned in close to the stranger with whom he was fleeing.

"Keep your head down, and move quickly Enda. We'll get out of this."

He hoped that his words inspired some fortitude - more so for his benefit than hers. After all, if one of them slipped or fell near any of the bottle necked exits, it would have been too easy to end up trampled to death underneath the feet of fleeing citizens - rioters and bystanders alike.
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[Dovey] On the Edge of Rioting

Postby Dovey on March 15th, 2017, 5:01 am

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Dovey waited, body tense and motionless, her hand clamped on the Widow's elbow as the pale figure remained in place, surveying the area around them. She supposed he was being cautious - and that was not exactly a bad idea, given their current circumstances. Still, though, her taut muscles thrummed with nervous energy, and round her mind bounced the fretful, urgent desire to move - now!

When, in a few ticks, the Widow did take off running, she was nevertheless caught by surprise. She nearly lost her hold on his elbow, stumbling a couple steps behind him as he exploded into a sprint. She could feel her hand tugging sharply at her companion's arm, and she hurried to find her feet, to get her weight off him and allow them both to move on without delay - catching her balance, she put on a burst of speed to reach his side, legs pumping so quickly she would have plunged to the ground had a foot landed half a tick off-measure. But it only took her a few paces before she was running alongside the Widow, and then she allowed herself to settle into a mimicry of his own slightly slower sprint.

She was already starting to feel the fatigue brought on by their sudden exertion; her thighs were beginning to burn, and her breath grew short as she continued on the arm of her unlikely ally in their desperate flight. Silently she cursed her propensity for more sedentary pastimes - drinking games were all very well, but they didn't give you the sort of body which was actually useful in a crisis. Her work at Windmount Stables made her more than fit enough for an ordinary citydweller's lifestyle, but she was ill-equipped to undertake this sort of running for any extended period of time. Perhaps she should - but they had entered the crowd by now, and she needed all the concentration she had to weave her way through the sea of bodies while keeping her hold on the Widow's arm. Exercise plans would have to wait. At least the crowd had slowed them, and she was no longer tiring so quickly - though apart from that their reduced pace did not at all please her. The sooner she was out of this the better.

With her mind on the chaos surrounding her, Dovey didn't notice her companion leaning closer to her until he began to speak. Then she startled, breath catching in her throat as she flinched away from the ghost-pale, fanged creature whose teeth were now a matter of inches away from her bare neck. As soon as her mind caught up with his words she relaxed a little - he wasn't threatening her, at any rate. Still, she kept her eyes on him as he spoke, spooked out of her focus on the crowd around them.

"Keep your head down," he said, his voice low and reassuring, "and move quickly Enda. We'll get out of this."

Dovey nodded slowly, her body rigid as the two moved through the jostling crowd. She still had a tight grip on the Widow's elbow, but now she had been reminded of the sheer closeness of him, she was finding it difficult to be more afraid of the crowd than of her supposed ally - even if rationally she knew that the crowd was the more pressing threat. There was something viscerally unnerving about her companion, now that she knew he wasn't human - rather than seeming only sickly, his paleness had taken on a sinister feel, a tone of wrongness - like something long-dead under the mulch of the Kenash swamp - like something that came upon you suddenly in the dark.

His reassuring tone, though it had calmed her at first, now only furthered her unease; it was so at odds with the alien, threatening nature of his appearance that her mind screamed trap even as she attempted to reassure herself. He was as endangered as she was by the mob surrounding them. He wouldn't benefit from attacking her here, now; in fact, he might compound the risk to himself if anyone saw him hurt her. She knew he was a person, not a mere animal, and that he wouldn't turn on her out of blind instinct but only through his own rational choice.

Somehow that made him even more frightening.

Thus distracted, she moved through the crowd, keeping a firm hold on the Widow's arm even as she leaned subtly away from him. Someone squeezed roughly past her, a smaller someone, short and slim enough to duck between bodies and make their way more quickly than Dovey and the Widow toward the same alleyway which was the pair's own destination. They weren't the only ones trying to escape this situation, Dovey realized, her attention drawn back to her surroundings by the sudden jostle. But - wait - whoa -

She stumbled, catching herself on the next step, and looked up shaken for the source of the push which had caused her unbalance. Then there was a shove against her arm which nearly dislodged her grip on her companion's elbow, and she had her answer: a wild-eyed man, taller than either of the two, was trying to force his way between them. She couldn't tell if he was trying to escape, to make his way to a new looting site, or if he had some other incomprehensible motive. The look on his face could have been anything from terror to fury. "Petcher, go around!" she shouted at him, and was met with a distracted snarl.

She drew closer to the Widow as best she could, despite the roil of anxiety that action produced in her stomach. Still the man tried to shove through, weakening Dovey's grasp with every push. Panic flashed through her - she would stomp on his toes but she needed to keep moving, she couldn't lose her balance now - the muscles in her hand and arm were taut, her knuckles white on her companion's arm as she strained to keep hold. Idiot must think we're easy targets 'cause we're small - we are easy targets 'cause we're small - petch it, what do we do?

She voiced the question, word for word, voice shot through with fear. "What do we do?" in the ear of the spectral figure beside her.


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[Dovey] On the Edge of Rioting

Postby Vaerin on March 16th, 2017, 3:58 pm

Ah but how rude the young Dra was being wasn't he? Sprinting off without forewarning his new acquaintance. He immediately regretted not telling her of his decision. For one thing it did strike him as a very rude thing to do: the second thing was that her lack of preparation created a certain level of drag upon his ability to quickly exert his leg muscles in his sprinting. Therefore it did cause his balance to be negatively affected. How the two of them had not fallen over again was a blessing from the gods themselves. That was the last thing they needed.

However their fulcrum was quickly corrected as the young woman managed to sync her movements to his as best as possible under the conditions they were in. Neither of them could afford for the other to tumble. To this end Dra-Vaerin felt that perhaps his sandals (while keeping his feet exposed and thus not confined to the heat of a closed off boot or the likes) were not as practical as they could have been. The constant slapping of them against his foot made him a little concerned that they could trip him up at any moment. If he could will them to not, then he was sure that his relative athleticism would see him through. To this end as well, Dra-Vaerin hoped his partner's stamina was somewhere roughly around his own level so they would not be slowed down until they were safe.

Whilst she was worrying about an exercise routine: Vaerin was worrying about worrying. He felt that the quickest way to draw attention to themselves was to appear to be concerned or scared. It didn't help that as a defensive mechanism he could feel his fangs extend. Yes, there was a certain fearsome element that was gained by such a reaction. One that could be a line of defence even. But he did not want to use them as such unless it was completely unavoidable. The truth of the matter was because of the heat he had neglected to eat for about a day and a half now. He was still not exactly starving, but knew he would need to eat very soon.

As such, the potency of his venom was much stronger than usual. A bite from him if not attended to quickly could have dire ramifications for the recipient. Of course, all the traits which made the Symenestra feared were diluted in him. His venom was weak. It took much longer for his food to dissolve than others. Yet even then: it was lethal. He did not trust his seemingly unwilling companion to defend him should he have given cause to protect them. There had only ever been a very small number of people in his life that had stood up for him - so few he could count them on one hand. Surely this woman would sooner throw him to the wolves than defend him once they were out of danger.

This theory of his felt as if it gained more gravitas when he could almost hear the breath catch in her throat as he drew nearer to her and she realised what was happening. Even though it was not perceptible, her hand which dug into his rail thin elbows tensed just a little more. He could feel that run on and into her body momentarily, before she seemed to will herself to relax. Though he could still feel the tension in her body. It was so similar to the feeling he used to get when he had attempted to hug his 'father' during his childhood.

The result of this caused his thoughts to become as venomous as his bite. A string of generally unpleasant Symenos curses rattled across the corners of his mind, yet quickly dispersed as one solid thought cut through them. Damnable wretch. At least try to disguise your distaste out of courtesy. I manage to do so whilst living in the dreck of your civilisation.

Of course when the adrenaline and sour mood wore off he would regret such mean spirited thoughts. They were undeserved from his perspective and ran counterproductively to what he wanted to be. These kind of thoughts he avoided directing at other people because it was not the kind of impression he wanted to put on his view point in the world. But the heat of the moment really did bring out the worst in people. Indeed he would chastise himself over these thoughts.

Though, he did not have much time to think about it. Something slid through them, both causing them to refocus on the situation at hand. This something was a small waif dressed in worn looking clothing. The youth sped off in the same direction they were headed. He felt the human's arm that gripped onto him tighten, as he did the same. They could ill afford to be separated now. They still had not reached the alleyway yet. It was tantalisingly close, and it appeared as if very few had thought to follow their example yet. They must still have been thrown off by the sudden turn of events.

Not soon after came another attempt to separate them. The force of the impact caused him to know it was not a little child this time. The action nearly buffeted him right into another fleeing individual. He had to quickly steady himself by leaning with the sudden change of momentum, locking his knee and foot into a ninety degree angle from his body. With one fluid motion, he pushed himself back upright and tried to push himself closer to the woman while she berated the force behind them for such carelessness.

It was not until another concentrated effort that led to Dra-Vaerin to temporarily losing his grip of the woman, the he turned around to see an almost animalistic set of blue-green eyes and an undiscernable grimace. This man must have easily rivalled Raoul in height: absolutely dwarfing the widow, and his much smaller accomplice. He would not give up trying to push through them. A man of his size had no reason to be as afraid to lose all rational thought and try and push through them in the manner he was. This made Dra-Vaerin paranoid.

This...this is not good. He thought to himself. How could they topple or avoid such a mammoth? The woman quickly echoed what he was thinking.

"What do we do?"

He frenetically looked around trying to figure out what to do. How he was angry for his inability to scale the unclimable surfaces like a full blooded Symenestra. That would have solved all of this easily. In regards to their situation, they had some maneuverability - but not a lot. Nor was there a nearby wall that they could hug. Though, that would be a consideration when they got to the alley.

He tried to eye the man behind them again, but could not without risking tripping himself up. So he turned back to face the woman as they kept trying to move whilst contending with this assailant. His expression was confused as his mouth hung open with confusion, flashing the fully extended fangs. Perhaps such an action carried an unintentional threatening connotation. Although it still probably did not seem to be all that intimidating he thought. Despite the visceral reaction to him that most of the population of Mizahar seemed to have to the ghostly looking Symenestra: he was not a particularly physically threatening example of them.

"Can we defend ourselves? Or run to the wall?" Dra-Vaerin frantically spoke, the fangs increasingly a feature of his face, as their current length meant he had to over enunciate every word so as to make sure he did not accidentally cut his mouth whilst doing his best to be as concise as he was capable of being. Given that this was a particularly critical moment.

Conciseness and intent surely were the hallmarks of being intimidating. Appearing physically intimidating was an added help, but if one could not convey that intent, it was next to useless. His voice clearly wavered with indecision, and it shone through in his eyes as he looked into the woman's brilliantly blue eyes. He gazed at her imploringly to help him, and defend him if need be, with this: or to come up with a better plan. Like that, he had put himself in a position where he needed to trust her. How the Widow halfling hoped he did not come to regret that.

If they were to defend themselves, they did not appear to be as threatening as they could be. Especially now that they were frantically trying to figure out what to do. And more importantly with what? Well, not that Dra-Vaerin already knew what they could defend themselves with. He really did not want to consider that an option for the purpose of intimidation or self-defense. It placed him in too vulnerable a state after this issue blew over. He was easily identifiable within this city after all.

All he could envision now was a headsman's axe with this woman staring with glee at his kneeling and bound form. Of course in this vision, she was front and center in the crowd as he lowered his head, the vertebrae located at the nape of his neck poking themselves up through his skin gracefully as the taught muscles in his neck craned themselves downwards to meet the headrest that would ease his transition into the next life. After all, that was what such a threat made by him could mean. A death warrant.
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[Dovey] On the Edge of Rioting

Postby Dovey on March 20th, 2017, 9:13 pm

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The incident, strangely enough, had tipped the balance of Dovey's fear in a more rather than less rational direction. Her strange companion was still a potential threat, but far more immediate was her fear of the man who now sought to separate them. She took a half-tick to find a better grip on the Widow's arm, sucking in a few frightened breaths during the respite they were granted; the confused flow of the crowd buffeted them both from side to side even as it dragged them forward, the man behind them vanishing into Dovey's blind spot. Her eyes flashed to her companion's, and his bewildered gaze met hers in the same instant. "Can we defend ourselves?" he asked her, voice full of anxiety. "Or run to the wall?"

His mouth stretched oddly wide with every syllable, and Dovey glanced down in instinctive puzzlement - only to see his fangs dangling, long and sword-sharp, beneath his upper lip. Letting out an involuntary gasp of surprise, she flinched back a little before getting control of herself. He could not be threatening her - not while they were both in danger - and besides, judging from his expression, he was far more fearful than aggressive just now. She couldn't blame him for that. Regardless of her anger at the man attempting to push his way between the two, her fright was definitely the more overwhelming emotion.

She cleared her throat as if to buy time, though she knew full well that nothing she did was going to delay their assailant's next move. Either he would ram them again or he would go away - and she couldn't even snatch a look behind them to help her gauge what his choice would be. They shouldn't waste any more time - even the few ticks she had spent on indecision was too much. This was making an already dangerous situation even less safe.

Her eyes flicked back and forth one final time, though she saw nothing but the tumult of the crowd, and then she came to a decision. The choice wasn't based on reason - she had no time to sit and puzzle things through - but whether it was blind fear or some sounder instinct driving her, she had no time to second-guess herself. She tugged sharply on the Widow's elbow. "Come on, this way," she said, raising her voice to be heard above the general hubbub, and began to lead him slantways through the throng.

She hadn't set them on an angle too far from their original direction, and she thought - well, hoped - that so long as they weren't pushed further out of their way, they'd end up at the warehouse wall by the side of the alley and find their intended path easily enough. Still, she couldn't see the alley entrance too well from here, short as she was and surrounded by people, and she felt a twinge of anxiety in her belly at the thought of missing her road out of here. But the more immediate risk was behind them, not before, and for now she had to put the matter out of her mind. Maybe the Widow knew the area better than she did.

But then - a thought, sudden, set her gut to aching in earnest - if he did know the area, what if he used that knowledge to lead her into a trap? He could take them someplace secluded, where no one would come upon them - and then? Sometimes they kidnapped young girls, she knew; didn't they drink blood as well? Her spine prickled and her fingers twitched on the milk-pale arm held beneath them as fear spread its net once more across the whole of the scene, from the towering mystery man left not so far behind them to the delicate, ethereal figure with whom she had so reluctantly allied. The Widow had seemed as nervous as she, but what if that were an act? What if -

And then she was out of time for contemplation. A man clipped Dovey's side, causing her to stumble, as he hurried past her in she and the Widow's own former direction. He lifted a hand as he moved on, she assumed in apology, but the incident had dredged her out of her thoughts. They were a few steps closer to the safety of the wall, but the tide of the crowd flowed on inexorable, and rather than allowing it to carry them along as before, they were now attempting to cut through diagonally. Folk behind them would struggle to maneuver around, some colliding like the man who had just passed her, some perhaps causing a more dangerous impact. Meanwhile, those to the front and sides nudged the pair continually sideways, and would bend them back to their original path unless they struggled for every step. Continuing this way would be risky; surely they were out of the way of the man who'd tried to separate them -

- unless -

What if he hadn't simply been trying to move past?

She looked swiftly to the Widow. It was only a thought, and she didn't want to alarm him in case he spooked and abandoned her - but just in case her fear had any merit...

"Do you think that man will come back?" she asked cautiously. Then, after a moment she swallowed. That wasn't enough; he might not have realized her suspicion. "I mean, do you think he was after you?"


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[Dovey] On the Edge of Rioting

Postby Vaerin on March 24th, 2017, 2:30 pm

The unwilling accomplice of his made a highly noticeable flinch when she eyed his fangs. If it were not for the anxiety broiling away in his chest at this moment he might have snapped at her for such an unnecessary reaction at this point in time. He on some level could perhaps understand her reaction. His kin were ill reputed for their abilities. It could not have been all that different from his discomfort around the winged Zith when he lived in Kalinor. A discomfort which only strengthened during his travelling across the breadth of Kalea. So he supposed the reaction was somewhat understandable: she was not of a race (presumably at least) that had the kind of traits that would make them threatening. He often wondered how his biological father had felt knowing that his mother's kiss was venomous. It may have been somewhat similar to the woman's views of him in some respects.

While his compatriot was angered at the stranger ramming into them, Dra-Vaerin was terrified. Each blow rippled through the young man's delicate frame. He'd never been particularly worried about shattering like a fragile vase at a blow like others had - he was Dra after all. This constant ramming made him thoroughly question how fragile he really was. Would his bones break because of this man? The youth had never broken anything before - he didn't want to change that now.

He was getting desperate for a response, he did not want to get hurt. Thankfully for him the woman made a decisive response to the situation. She tugged sharply on his elbow and guided him horizontally through the crowd, whilst directing him to: "Come on". It was barely audible over the frenetic noises of the crowd. All this noise was doing nothing for Dra-Vaerin's spent nerves. He had to put a very concentrated effort into the action of following the woman on their new trajectory, not tripping or being pushed, and trying to keep an eye out on their mysterious assailant.

Dra-Vaerin could only afford a quick glance back at the man after they had put some distance between him. There was an odd, difficult to describe look in his eyes. It made the young man vaguely unsettled. But he could not put any more thought into it for the time being. They had been lucky that he seemed to not have expected their sudden change of direction. And just like that he lost sight of the man for the time being. Right now it was just important to watch where they were going. The were headed for the wall of the warehouse, which he could only assume was still in the process of being ransacked. As long as they managed to get away before the pillagers fled: they would be safe. At least that is what he reasoned.

It was not an easy matter to travel the way they were, due to the volume of people trying to run to this bottleneck. Once again the two had to rely on the other to counterbalance each other in order to stay upright or not swiftly pushed back into exactly the same situation they were in before. That was something he was sure that they both did not want that. He was thankful that the woman was leading the way: he was not sure he would have been able to be as forceful as she was. He would have been worried about his nails accidentally cutting an unfortunate bystander. A young-looking girl, holding the hand of an even younger boy grazed by the Dra’s free arm. They looked equally as terrified as he did. It was a sobering sight. Life here was truly harsh in ways that were different from the plight of his people. It was sad that these people felt so hard done by that they needed to act out in such a way – especially by involving and exposing such younglings to such events. Whilst his mother’s race were not known for being the most nurturing: it was in his opinion very uncommon for Symenestra – or even Dra children for that matter – to be exposed to such potentially life threatening situations. To risk the blood of the youth before they had a chance to shape the world or help their people would have surely been an affront to Viratas himself. Even if his god, like most elements of his culture, was misunderstood - surely even those in such a large city such as this were not that stone hearted to protecting children from the harshness of life. Even during his childhood, most had at least put on an icy façade of friendliness to at least obfuscate their distaste for him until he was old enough to understand what marked him as difference.

It was not much longer after this that, another buffeted into the woman, waving in what seemed to be a gesture of apology. This caused her to speak once more, as they continued their way, now nearly in the alley. Although now closer to the wall of the warehouse than the entrance of the alley.

“Do you think that the man will come back,” She started, her tone pregnant with cautiousness, “I mean, do you think he was after you?”

The pulse that was drumming in his ears became deafening. His pallid complexion blanched, even if to the outside races such an action was not immediately noticeable. Of course such motives could never leave the back of the youth’s mind: even if by blood he was half human. He did not look entirely like them. He had to do his best to temper the way he responded in this moment. He was terrified, he was irate. This was almost a daily occurrence for him. He couldn’t let others in on the pain of this.

He made sure his tone was as measured as possible, thus making his response sound rather flat.

“…It is always a consideration I have to make. Whether it be now or when leaving the confines of my room,” He could not keep the hint of bitterness from rising through this though – speaking more to himself than her, “Such is the lot in life dealt to those like me.”

He did not look at her while he said that. He never could look at others when even remotely hinting at matters such as this. How weak he was to even give his breath to vocalising such thoughts. He dug his nails into the palm of his free hand: making sure to avoid the scrapes from earlier. That surely would cause an infection. There was a certain resignation that filled his mind now. He was almost sure he knew exactly what the man’s motivations were now. The stranger probably felt himself noble. Maybe if it were any other that hailed from Kalinor, he would have been fair in his assumptions. Dra-Vaerin however had no intention of doing anything but making sure the two of them escaped.

He did not leave too much room for her to respond immediately to his statement – more so out of not wanting her to respond to his feelings on the matter. He was almost sure there was nothing she could add to the situation that she hadn’t already through her subconscious reactions to him. Although, one truth he was aware of was that individuals could always surprise one.

“Let us just try and stay away from him as much as possible and as close to the wall as we can. Regardless of his intent, him attacking us like in the alley will more likely cause us to fall in such a confined space. Otherwise I think trying to fight against the current would just cause us more issues, enda.”

He would do his best to not let her come to any harm: regardless of what others thought of his motivation. The only way for him to prove his worth was to go above and beyond. Nothing would be given to him easily in this life.

So he kept his pace as quick as possible, deciding it was his turn to take the lead. He weaved through the people as much as possible, clearly making a push to the wall of the alley before entering it. Personally Dra-Vaerin did not overly struggle with it. His time spent dancing had given him a good understanding of his body and how to balance it. When the crowd jostled one way, he would correct his movements so not to lose his footing. He did not pay much mind to his companion’s footing. He was fairly certain that he did not feel her body weight shift via the hand to elbow contact that had yet to be broken in a way that indicated that she had fallen or lost contact with him. Although he could not be entirely sure, nor could he turn around to face her easily.

At some point down the alley he heard a voice boom out: “Hey! You!”
With his luck, he was almost entirely sure it was directed at them. He also didn’t have to turn around to predict who the owner of the voice was. He was not going to stop moving though, unless she asked him to. Around him, he could feel some of the people in the crowd spook and pick up their pace.
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[Dovey] On the Edge of Rioting

Postby Dovey on April 4th, 2017, 8:44 pm

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(ooc: Sorry I took so long!)

"It is always a consideration I have to make," the Widow replied coolly, and Dovey's stomach dropped. Of course, she should have realized she wasn't the only one with a healthy fear of the spidery beings - not to mention how the two of them must look, she clinging to his arm as they pushed their way through the crowd. She wouldn't be surprised if the man who had run into them thought she was being lured away for slaughter.

She hardly heard the rest of the Widow's response to her question; they were coming up on the bottleneck alley now, and between anxiously pondering and keeping her feet, she had hardly any attention left to spare for her companion's words. But when after a slight pause he spoke again, the change in his tone caught her ear and she listened again. His voice was less flat, less pensive now; it carried a note of renewed urgency.

"Let us just try and stay away from him as much as possible," he said, "and as close to the wall as we can." Dovey nodded, taking a steadying breath. He was right; that was the most practical course of action available to them. The Widow continued, explaining his reasoning in quick, concise strokes, and Dovey nodded. There's that word again, enda, came a thought in the back of her mind. He's called me that twice now. What does it mean?

But there was no time to spend wondering.

The Widow moved ahead of her now, cutting a narrow path between the folk around them and towards the nearby alley wall. Dovey followed as nimbly as she could, though her own motions felt clumsy and overwrought in comparison to her companion's cat-foot grace. Where he slipped neatly between two converging bodies, she would find herself caught on both sides, forced to shoulder her way roughly through in order to avoid losing contact with her companion; where he stepped toe-first down to a sunken cobblestone without losing his stride, she would stumble, fingers tightening reflexively around his elbow in the instant of fear before she caught her balance again.

Still, it was relieving not to have to forge their path herself anymore. They had made good distance down the alley by now, and though they remained as near the wall as they could manage, the bottleneck effect of this narrow passage to the city proper was such that they were constantly buffeted from side to side - to Dovey's mind no less than they had been in the open. The crush of bodies was tighter in here too, she thought, though that might simply be an illusion caused by the more confined nature of this space. At any rate she was glad that someone else now had the task of sighting a way through. Her mind and her nerves had enough to deal with, simply keeping track of her balance in this mess. She could trust the Widow to guide her aright - at least, she reminded herself, at least until they were safe from the crowd. Then perhaps she should start worrying about attempted kidnappings. He seemed innocent enough so far despite his disquieting nature, but you never knew.

Gods, she sighed mentally. Gods, gods, gods.

What a day this was turning out to be.

She followed on, guided by the pull of his elbow on her still-clasped hand; they were a good distance from the entrance now, she thought, and even entertained the cautious idea that she was getting a little better at this exercise in balance. Then came the shout, and her larger worries were immediately relevant once more.

It was a masculine voice, rough and deep, loud enough to be heard clearly over the general babel. Dovey made an attempt at glancing backwards, but with her eyes off her feet she immediately started to lose the rhythm of her stride. She snapped her eyes back forward, unwilling to risk a fall, and kept after the Widow who had not altered his pace. Surely he had heard it too? What if that were the man from earlier, the one who had tried to separate them? Petch it all - what was that idiot playing at now?

The crowd around them was flowing faster, startled perhaps by the sudden,
confrontational shout. She wasn't sure what they had to fear; perhaps some of them had had some run-in during this chaos as well, or perhaps they believed the owner of the voice to be an accusing Knight. It couldn't be a Knight, could it?

Struck by the thought - the law here in Syliras was more confining than it had been back home, and the punishments nearly as strict - she considered for a moment before giving her head a small shake. There was no way a Knight could have lodged himself in the middle of the crowd, not unless he'd been there from the start, and she hadn't noticed any supercilious men in armor among the rioters. Besides, a Knight would be shouting something much more general than 'hey, you'. A Knight would be telling everyone they were under arrest or some such, if not just catching people by the scruffs of their necks and hauling them away.

So. Unless someone else's drama was being played out in the midst of this crowd, the fellow behind was most likely the same one who had caused them trouble before. Taking a quick double-step forward to narrow the already small gap between her and her companion, she re-secured her grip on his elbow. No use getting caught the same way twice. "Is that the man from earlier?" she said into his ear, hoping doubtfully that he would somehow refute the idea. But she was fairly sure the shouter was that same man - or at least, sure that it was too dangerous to assume otherwise - and she didn't wait long before she spoke again, urgently. "Can you look round without tripping? Spot where he is? I can lead if you need me to," she added; the task she'd asked of him would undoubtedly be easier if he didn't need to find a path for them at the same time. If he accepted, she would slide carefully past him, wrist bent so that her fingers still looped securely over his arm, and set herself to picking their way through the milling crowd.


Boxcode credit: Karin Ironyach
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"Common" "Fratava" "Pavi"
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Dovey
Haunted by sorrow
 
Posts: 126
Words: 97725
Joined roleplay: December 31st, 2016, 10:42 am
Location: Alvadas
Race: Human, Mixed
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Medals: 1
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