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Meeting at the Riverfront (Vincent, Monica) By Benita, Amber Michelle K. (Myaru) - Location: Pioni, Magridal Teaser: Vincent and Monica meet and discuss Barrinhill at the bar. Amanda arrives. "We're here, Monica," Maslowe announced to his sleeping bodyguard, adjusting his monocle. "Pioni, home to the lizard clan." "About time," the red-haired elf stretched as she woke up. "Three days of plains can really get to someone as young as me. I'm surprised you needed a bodyguard from how boring the trip was." "You sound like a jaded old woman to me," the duck merchant chuckled. "Oh, har har. It won't be so funny when you're on your death nest," Monica retorted jokingly. Maslowe laughed. "Ahh, jokes aside, we're supposed to meet up with the Margaretta, a small boat hailing from the Chisha Clan in the Grasslands. After we pick up instructions from them, we'll rest here for tonight, then continue on." "Chisha, eh?" Monica repeated as the carriage stopped. "They may be Humans, but they're not so bad compared to those ironheads and fanatics. Too bad they can't fight worth jack." Monica and Maslowe got off the carriage and hitched the horses in stables before reaching the small pier. Several lizard people walked around the dusty streets, conversing with each other as the pair passed them by. From the peacefulness of this village, it was impossible to tell that a war was brewing. None of the lizards bothered them, since they too respected the clans gathered in Magridal. They reached the pier and waited for the Margaretta to arrive. ** Activity on the deck picked up as the Margretta began its final approach to Pioni. Vincent left the railing and hung back near the door leading down below, leaning this way and that to get a look at the town that wasn't obstructed by some sailor or fall of net. It still didn't look like much, but now that they were closer, he could see what was hidden before by the trees: larger buildings, many with tiled roofs, and beyond the immediate vicinity of the dock, a market and the first signs of a paved street. Vincent nearly sighed with relief. Then he took a closer look at the inhabitants, and tightened his lips to suppress a scowl. The door opened behind him, but Vincent didn't bother looking back. The heavy steps told him who it was. "It's about time, eh," Whoopie said at his shoulder, the door pounding shut behind them. "Men're ready to leave when we are." "You didn't tell me it was a town of lizards," Vincent responded mildly. He managed to keep the acid out of his voice, and had long practice in Chisha to thank for that. "Don't they live in caves? That's what I heard." "The ones in Grassland do. Dunno what their natural home is, but I've heard of others with different customs." Whoopie gestured to the crowd bustling on the docks, grabbing a line of rigging that didn't appear to be in use when the ship swayed and tried to throw them off their feet. "Pioni is an important outpost for the clans here. Maybe it isn't the lizardhome." Vincent nodded, bracing against the wall to keep his balance. His stomach lurched unpleasantly. "Well then, I suppose you should do the talking. Who are you supposed to meet with here?" "Duck trader by the name of Masl--" was all the answer he got before the deck lurched again as the ship came to a halt against the dock. Vincent nearly lost the rest of his lunch, and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. A duck. Because lizards weren't enough to make his day worse. Wonderful. When it seemed the boat was finished moving Vincent reached back to retie his ponytail in an attempt to make himself presentable. His clothes were in fine order once they were straightened, and when the crew extended the plank to the dock, Vincent followed his partner across deck and silently thanked the spirits for dry land, even as they descended into the bustle. There was a duck waiting for them where the wooden planks became stone, and with it a-- Vincent very nearly halted where he was, and motion sickness be damned. An /elf/. Lizards, ducks, and now /elves/. "Oi, Maslowe!" Whoopie -- no, Shimon, as he would have to be called now -- shouted, spreading his arms and bowing in a Chishan-style greeting. Vincent had no choice but to follow suit. He was dressed like a Chishan, after all. "Long time no see!" Vincent hung back a few steps, as was polite, and smiled. Outwardly there was no fault with his behavior. Inwardly, he prayed their meetings would be short. If Amanda was on time with the rest of the caravan and waiting at the inn as planned, his time in this godforsaken place would be blessedly short. "Hey, Shimon! How ya doin'?" Maslowe shook the Chishan's hand. They caught up with the times briefly. "That lady there is my bodyguard in case bandits attack." Monica and Shimon shook hands. "So who's the other guy? Seems unusually stiff and distant for a Chishan," Monica raised her eyebrow, regarding Vincent. "He's a trade partner. He's not feeling well right now because he has sea sickness, and he refused every remedy I offered." "Hah!" Maslowe quacked. "Your home remedies make the phrase 'the cure is worse than the disease' a reality!" Monica laughed along with him. "Heey! Shouldn't we book a room for tonight right now?" Shimon waved his hands. "All right, all right. Let's go," Maslowe said, and they walked through the dusty hamlet until they reached a small inn. It was unusually chilly inside, since lizards preferred cooler temperatures. Monica shivered: her attire was more suitable for mild to warmer temperatures, but in the trading business, beggars couldn't be choosers. Maslowe and Shimon made the proper arrangements while Monica sat at the small bar in the inn's tavern. "Barkeep, gimme a Kanakan. Wait, make it two. Gotta get to sleep early tonight," Monica ordered the lizard bartender. "Monica, don't drink too much! You're impossible to wake up when you have a hangover!" Maslowe exclaimed. "Don't worry, I won't be mad at you if you have to drag me around tomorrow!" Her two wines arrived and she took her time enjoying them. "Cheers! To profitability!" "Uh. right." Vincent tilted his head toward the bar when Shimon and Maslowe finished their arrangements. "I'll be here for a bit," he said softly. Inwardly, he steeled himself. Whatever his feelings, he would have to get along with this elf as long as they were here; he might as well start now. "Perhaps the bartender can come up with something to cure this misery." Shimon guffawed and clapped him on the back, while the duck quacked his annoying laugh. "Sure thing, Dali," the man grinned, calling him by the psuedonym he'd chosen before going to Chisha. Vincent still wasn't quite used to it. "Just be sure to get an early night's sleep. Day travel is better in these parts." He nodded weakly and made his excuses to Maslowe before backing away and striding to the bar. Amanda wasn't due to meet him for a bit. There was time to kill. Vincent had to supress another scowl. A shame he couldn't get rid of the elf too. He took a seat close to her, but still at a suitable distance, nodding politely. "Sorry for the chilly welcome," he said quietly. "Still a bit mucked up from that boat, is all." He swallowed, and it wasn't all show. He could still taste it, that sick feeling. "Barkeep," he called. "Peppermint soda, if you please." Even lizards knew how to mix a drink like that. Now, if only they could adjust their climate conditions, it would be just wonderful. Vincent was no stranger to cool temperature, but this was ridiculous. "Bah, think nothing of it. I've had worse welcomes," Monica sipped her Kanakan. "I'm not too hot with ship travel either." She stretched and let out a yawn. "Hey Barkeep. Y'hear anything interesting about that mess in the east?" "Nothing spectacular," the lizard replied. "Have you heard of the charity caravan from the capital?" "Charity caravan?" "Yeah, the Church is extending its hand to help the victims by sending food and clothing. Apparently, it's headed for Barrinhill's western edge, and traveling east as it goes along." "Yeah?" Monica scratched her head. "And who are the victims?" "Eh? Well, I didn't hear anything specific, but the guy just said 'victims'. Maybe the Church is ignoring the Republican/Monarchist factions in favor of sending aid," the lizard raised a scaly eyebrow. "Yeah right. Humans always have ulterior motives," Monica scoffed, then stopped herself. She completely forgot that Vincent was in the room with her. /Shit. Me and my big mouth./ "Well... Humans in the government, of course. Always thinking about themselves... it's the same, no matter which country you go to. Zexen, Magridal, Harmonia, Tinto... the government only cares about themselves. Maybe the Church is just sending aid to the Monarchists and ignoring the Republicans, or maybe the Church really IS practising their 'equal rights' doctrines for a change, I don't know." Monica sighed. /There I go, flapping my gums. That guy will probabaly think I'm crazy just because I'm an elf./ Although truth be told, Vincent was inclined to believe elves were insane to begin with - or at the very least disrespectful, ignorant, and generally undesirable. He chuckled somewhat grimly. "The church isn't very good about that, I've noticed. That's what we hear on the outside." He glanced at the lizard. "They've been trying to supress the clans for ages, haven't they?" Okay, so he's probably making more trouble for himself by shooting /his/ mouth off, but it isn't at all strange that someone who appears to be Chishan would say such a thing. They grumble too - they just do it under their breath, when no one is looking. The lizard just grunted. "They let us conduct business. Good enough." He lumbered over to their part of the counter and thumped a tall glass down in front of him. "There's your soda." It smelled strongly of mint - so strongly that Vincent was nearly sick again right there. Melon would be his first choice if he could stand it, but peppermint was a fairly well-known remedy, even amongst the nobles in Harmonia. "Thanks," he said with some effort. His tongue was curdling already, but he lifted the glass and braced himself for the taste, then took a sip. //Ugh.// It was just as bad as he thought it'd be. "This had better work," he muttered. That bit about the charity caravan was interesting, however. Magridal was known for talking big and doing nothing, so to speak, at least in Harmonia. That the church had bothered to send anybody was notable. Was it a political maneuver of some kind, or a genuine concern for Barrinhill citizens? It would depend on who sent it. There was certainly an overabundance of idealistic saps in the /lower/ ranks of the church, but he'd be damned before believing the higher-ups cared what happened in that place as long as the chips fell in a way that would let them walk in and pick up the pieces for themselves. Something must be going on. Maybe something that Amanda would be interested in. "Hmph," Monica's eyebrow twitched. The lizard, like Maslowe, was also content with the clans' suppression. She couldn't believe how meek these Magridal clans were in comparison to the Grasslands or her native Neutral Zone. Did the Church smother them just as badly as the Harmonians did? Monica didn't want to know how that happened. "Hey Barkeep, what do you think of that caravan business? Think Magridal's changing its way?" she asked him. "Like hell. If the best we clans people can get are work permits and houses, only the Runes know what would happen if someone challenged them, Human or not. I personally think that caravan's just a cover-up, and it's actually a cart of soldiers being sent to help the Monarchists destroy the Republicans." "Good point." "It's just a guess." "Still, it fits the Church's ugly image. I can't believe that Magridal has managed to survive based upon corruption and some fairy tale about a god or whatever. It's becoming another Harmonia, but change the worshipped deity to some non-existant Human giving imaginary orders," Monica scoffed. She glanced at Vincent. "You know what I mean, right? The Chishans would've become another Le Buque if the Grasslands and Zexens didn't come together. Then you guys would've had to wear collars and beg to live for tomorrow like we do." Vincent snorted. Damned Zexens - that part of the sentence they'd be able to agree on, if she felt that way about humans. His brother wouldn't have been in the Grasslands if not for their betrayal. "They're lucky it happened, if what I heard is true. Le Buque isn't as bad off as others, but it's not a lot Chisha would want to share." He shook his head. "No idea why they didn't go further and try to get the territory /back/, though." The Grasslanders had Lord Sasarai at their fingertips, and they hadn't done a thing. Harmonia would have taken advantage of such an opportunity. It wasn't fair, either, that the Bishop had so little to say when he returned. He'd bargained how many lives, those of the Hecht clan included, and come back with nothing? And he didn't say a word, except to assure everyone the danger had passed! Only an official letter had marked Jonathan's passing. Expression suitably sobered, Vincent asked, "When did this caravan leave, Barkeep? Was it recent, or is this old news?" "Few days ago," was the gravelly answer. "Maybe a week." He nodded, as it was the polite thing to do, and took another sip of his soda. Throwing up would taste better, in his estimation. It might very well be more effective than trying to have a conversation with a lizard that didn't want to talk, as well. It seemed even Chishans didn't rate an open conversation, despite being of clan origin. Monica sighed, annoyed at how complicated things were. That, and she was tired from all the traveling with Maslowe. He and Shimon were still working on their deal, and she didn't have any more interest in bar chatting, especially when a human was nearby to hear her habitually bad remarks. /I'm surprised he took my lapse in speech well. Tough sucker,/ she thought. "Old man, I'm gonna hit the hay." She slapped down a few potch for her drinks. By chance, she sniffed near Vincent's direction, enticing an odd reaction from the lizard. "Old man, that mint is enough to destroy a True Rune! If you want more scale-less customers, try making a lighter version next time!" she exclaimed before walking to her room. "Heh. I'll take that as a compliment!" ** Monica sat down in front of a simple mirror and began brushing her cinnamon red hair of any knots it may have accumulated during the trip. /I don't like that whole caravan business. Why would the Church send people to a war that THEY initiated? Hell, even if I did ask, no one would take me seriously because I'm an elf./ She set the brush aside and laid down in her bed. /I really want to look more into that.../ ** Vincent had relaxed a little when the elf finally relieved him of her presence, but with no other reputable humans within reach, he quickly slipped into his own thoughts and huddled over his drink. The smell alone was strong enough to settle his stomach, he suspected, and wondered it he would be sick later for drinking so much of it. He didn't know how much time passed while he sat there; guests came and went, every one of them noisy, and the tavern grew steadily louder as night fell and the townsmen filtered in for their nightly drinks. It wasn't so bad on the scale of inns he'd stayed at so far, if one managed to forget that it was lizards sharing the bar and filling the room with rowdy cheer. It was better than Tinto. /Anything/ was better than Tinto. "Barkeep," a familiar voice called over the din. "Snowdrop, if you please. Double shot." Vincent looked up. "Amanda." He nodded, letting out a heavy sigh. The windows had darkened, and the lamps were long since lit. She was late. "Sorry about the wait." Her attention was diverted when the bartender thunked her drink down in front of them, and she busied herself with removing her gauntlets. "Slight delay upriver with a bunch of bandits. The cargo came out okay. Lost a man. Nothing important, really." Her face was smudged with dust, and her dark curls looked tangled and dirty, as if she'd taken a fall, maybe during the fight. She didn't appear to be injured, so Vincent turned back to his own drink. "Which one?" "Lysel," she said sourly. "Had to be one of ours, but them's the breaks." He snorted. Harmonian troops were supposed to be better than that. The kid deserved what he'd gotten. "And did you hear anything interesting on the way in?" She shook her head, visible in his peripheral vision. "There was word of a charity caravan, but it seems to be old news. I assume you heard it?" He nodded, and Amanda went on. "Same old rumors, other than that. It's like hunting for ghost stories. Everything changes with the region." "I assume," he said after a pause, lip twisted, "that you'll know the right thing when you hear it." There must have been some reason Gabriev assigned her to the mission, after all. He hadn't seen much in the way of amazing skill from her on the trip so far, so she'd better have a good head on her shoulders. "So kind of you," she snapped back. Vincent bit back a retort and hunched over his drink again so he wouldn't be tempted to glare at her. Damned slaves. Just because they had left Harmonia didn't mean she had a right to let her tongue flap like that. It must have been some kind of sick joke, their assignment together. Everyone knew the best training went to people of his own class. She was only a Second at best, and probably lower than that. The dark hair marked her as clearly as a tatoo. Her eyes, on the other hand, were a bit too pure a blue, and her skin just a tad too pale. Vincent tried not to look at her long enough to get a good idea of her features, but he wondered: was she of mixed blood, perhaps? His lips twitched up, this time in an approximation of a smile. He'd wondered about Gabriev a few times... "Do we have rooms?" His head snapped up, smile slipping. "What? Rooms? Yeah." He scrubbed a hand through his hair and waved in the general direction of the stairs. "Shimon made the arrangements. Third floor, I think, at the end of the hall. Just ask the innkeep." Amanda nodded and left without so much as a 'good night,' leaving Vincent to his thoughts again. Mixed blood. Would that be better or worse than being low-born? At least she wasn't subhuman - there were quite enough of those in their party already, and it seemed there would be more to come, if Maslowe's caravan was anything like their own. After another half-hearted sip, Vincent decided Amanda had the right idea, and left the counter to head for the stairs. He'd had enough of lizards for one night. ~~~~~ |