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The Grass is Always Greener (Intro: Vincent, Shimon) By Amber Michelle K. (Myaru) - Location: deck of the riverboat Margretta Vincent was never what one might call tolerant, but after five months in the wilderness with no one but his guards, Grasslanders, and Gabriev's spy Amanda for company, he wanted to think he'd learned a few things. He'd managed not to get himself killed, for one. Grasslanders - Chishans in particular - weren't very fond of Harmonian sympathizers. They were a fairly peaceful, simple lot, but their Karayan friends weren't, and it had always seemed like there were a few of them everywhere he went in town. They'd accompanied his caravan all the way to Tinto, the bastards. How did the Zexens put up with them? And Tinto - what a horrid place. The inns were loud, the food was spicy enough to burn his tongue to cinders, and there was dust /everywhere/. It had almost been enough to make him long for home, but father was there, and probably waiting to have him caned for taking off without permission. At least life had grown more tolerable after leaving Grassland territory. The Karayans were gone, his contact in Milit had been on time, and if he could make it another day on this damnable boat without spewing the contents of his stomach into the river again, he might even be inclined to say things were going well. So he'd thought the day before, but no such luck. By noon the next day Vincent was bent over the deck railing yet again, swearing to himself he'd never eat another bite. Whoopie the Chishan Trader was no help. "Have you tried snakeroot?" the Chishan was asking with his odd accent from just behind, a safe distance from the rail. "My great-grandmother had a recipe for snakeroot that would take care of this. Or was it elantine? Genius, whatever it was." Vincent hunched double over the railing, and wondered if he should let himself fall. The water looked cool and refreshing from where he was, rippling like turquoise silk along the side of the riverboat, rising and falling along with the ship in a nauseating rhythm. He squeezed his eyes shut. The riverboats in Harmonia were never this bad. Granted, they moved more slowly, and were more like barges than boats, but really. A boat was a boat, wasn't it? "How about mint?" Whoopie went on, oblivious. It seemed sometimes he must be talking to himself. "A good tea, maybe, but it might just make you sicker." Wonderful. He grunted some kind of response. It seemed to satisfy. "My friend the Miller used to say..." The man's name was Shimon, not Whoopie, though Vincent thought the latter fit him a bit better, and he'd been born in that miserable backwater country around Chisha so the idiocy wasn't entirely his fault. They put so much store in herbs and nature in that place, when Vincent himself would much rather have the services of a well-trained priest and a water rune, or at the very least an apothecary that knew what he was doing. He'd die before taking anything this bumkin gave him - and in fact might die after, if he was stupid enough to accept the offer. "Aha! Now /that/ might work!" Vincent raised his head in alarm and glanced back, very nearly losing his balance and tumbling over the railing. That tone - that wasn't good. "W-what?" "I've got some aloe leaf in my bags, friend. If you'll wait just a moment, I can mix it with-" "No, really, you don't have to!" Vincent's feet thumped to the deck and he spun a bit too fast to grab the Chishan's sleeve. He swallowed quickly, clinging tenaciously to the rough fabric. He hadn't heard what the man wanted to mix, but best not to find out. "Please, don't put yourself out on my account," he managed after a moment, letting go when it seemed Whoopie had given up on moving, and smoothed the sleeve with an ingratiating smile. "I'll be fine. We're almost off the boat. Another few hours, yes?" "Aye, but..." Whoopie gave him a good once-over, and for a moment Vincent felt as green as he surely looked. "You sure you're okay? It won't take more than a minute-" "No, no, I'm fine." Damn these grasslanders and their-- well, the Chishans and their overfriendliness! "I'm allergic." //To everything you can possibly offer me,// he thought to himself. It wasn't strictly a lie. He'd learned early on that his mother's garden was as good as death to him come springtime. His companion rolled his eyes. "Why didn't you /say/ so? I'm not wanting to murder my own trade partner." Holy Circle, there was that, too. When were they supposed to part ways again? The next town, or after? Surely before Barrinhill. He wouldn't have been stupid enough to sign on for more than a few weeks of this, would he? "It's fine," Vincent assured him with a pat on the shoulder. "It's usually not a problem, see? Don't worry about it." He tried to sound reassuring, and cracked a smile for good measure, though it probably made him look worse. In this condition, he didn't think anybody would blame him for being dour. "You should probably check on the guards. If they're drunk off their asses again, it'll be hell getting them off the boat." Whoopie looked doubtful, but acquiesced with a nod. "Aye, I'll see to it. We rationed their spirits, there shouldn't be trouble." Vincent buried his face in his hands as soon as the Chishan disappeared down below. He was better than this, wasn't he? Stronger than a bout of motion sickness, surely. It would be just perfect if they made landing and met Amanda as planned, only so he could be sick on her feet. She would send him back to Harmonia in a box. He took a deep breath and straightened, bracing against the rail and closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to watch the scenery race by. That made him sick, more than the movement of the ship. Despite the days he'd had to think about it, Vincent still wasn't sure how to proceed after Barrinhill. His only duty was to get Gabriev's spy across the border; what Amanda could not do on her own without looking suspicious, Vincent could do with a caravan and a bit of attractive merchandise. He had instructions to retreat to the Duck Clan area after that to wait for her reports, but he would be damned before spending more time with the tribes. No, he wanted to stay in Barrinhill, if possible. Gabriev wanted information, didn't he? He would get it straight from the source if Vincent could carve a place for himself in the area. For the price of extra torture, he might even be able to convince Whoopie to stick around and ferry supplies back and forth from the clans to keep him in business. But which side should he endear himself to? That was the question he still had yet to answer, and it was the all-important element that would affect their plans. Someone shouted from above, and Vincent opened his eyes and leaned over the railing to catch his first glimpse of their destination. It was a town called 'Pioni,' reputably an important trading point for the clans in the area. When he got a good look as the ship slowed, however, he wasn't sure he could believe it. It was hard to see much from a distance, but as they approached he concluded the place looked like every other fishing village he'd seen or heard about: thatch-roofed homes were nestled into the trees, raised on stilts, boards were laid out for the display of fish, and there wasn't a paved road in sight. That it was on solid ground was the only point in the town's favor. Not quite civilization. But close enough. ~~~~~ |