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Stranger in a Strange Land - Printable Version

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RE: Stranger in a Strange Land [Open!] - Aya - 11-03-2014

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Astroscope

She was walking with a quick step along the sun-burned stone streets.  Boot heels struck stone with the repeated hollow tone that seemed to announce her wherever she went, but today the hurry was nothing more than an attempt to keep her job. 

The offer had been worth being late for, hadn't it?  Raka, the Lalafel fellow ahead of her had been similarly struck: how often is one given the opportunity to see an Astroscope, let alone to peer through the lenses at the heavens above?

An Astroscope! She had not anticipated just how the sight of such a device, wondrous and devilish in the same instant, would effect her.  How long had the predictions made with the aid of the instrument, combined with the lusty tones of Halone's clerics, determined the fate of her, and everyone she had grown up knowing?  They had sealed the gates, and turned men and women into paupers all in the divine goal of securing the city as a fortress against the Dravinian Horde.

Of course, those most effected by the decisions wrought by the Astroscopes would never share the luxury of peering through the eyepiece and tracking the movement of the heavenly bodies that determined their fate.  Such liberties were the sole province of those who lived in the towers above.

There was little doubt that this Ul'dahn Astroscope was of Ishgardian origin, the lenses at least must have been cut by House craftsman.  What price had it fetched in export?  What luxuries had it been exchanged for?  Just how much food would it have purchased for people who have by now forgotten the taste of fresh meat?  

She had convinced herself that it had all been left behind her; that she had moved beyond it; that she would never end up like her parents clinging to the past, rather than seizing the future.  She clenched her fists, gesturing in the air with an impossible frustration.

She let out a breath, eyes glancing skyward once more just before she passed into one of the many tunnels that cut across the Jewel of the Desert.  The stars winked, and twinkled to her from their lofty places high above the sodden earth below.  

"So beautiful..."

It was beautiful.  So beautiful.  She loved star-filled nights beneath an otherwise dark sky, and to trace their movement and imagine the meaning of their unknowable light.  Each mile placed between her and the shuttered city was a liberation, a promise of the freedom to simply enjoy the beauty that had once seemed so sinister.

Only in the Jewel of the Desert could an Ishgardian gutter-snipe peer through an Astroscope.  Only in this land of gold, spice, and sand could a barmaid be given the opportunity to peruse the stars above, as if she were a princeling. 

She smiled.  It was delightful.

RE: Stranger in a Strange Land [Open!] - Aya - 11-14-2014

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A Limsan Sunrise

Her blue eyes looked out toward the horizon, savoring the orange, pink, and violet hues summoned across the distant sea by the rise of that day's sun.  Though the evening had been late, Aya never liked to miss a chance to catch a Limsan sunrise.  Eyes that could have strained with tired fatigue, instead reveled in the sight.

The balcony made for the perfect vantage point: high above the inner waters of the port, above a quay that hummed with activity below.  She glanced down at the sailors and longshoreman loading a trade ship for its next voyage.   For what distant shore was it bound?  The opportunities seemed endless.  A soft smile crept upon an expression both serious and reflective.  She took a moment to take the last sip of hot coffee, the aroma and taste of Ul'dah upon her lips.

As she set the cup back down she glanced upward again, the smile softening as she took in the sight of the distant sea.  She drew his pipe to her lips; with a couple of puffs she released the fragrant, wispy smoke into the air.  It was his balcony, afterall, where she lounged in the early morning.  His silk robe she wore, strained taut by a figure it was not designed to contain. It was his guest room in which she had spent the night, like most nights she found herself in the distant port city.

It was the Harbinger's Tavern night that so often drew her here.  Always a pleasure--she reveled in every eve she could make.  They were a moment away from Ul'dah, a moment of enjoyment, a moment of pleasure away from daily travails.  Lady Covington and Val, her beau, always offered far more hospitality than Aya had ever deserved.  She welcomed it without hesitation.

She drew from the pipe, pulling the long, dark, lipstick stained stem from her lips she released a ring of smoke, holding its form as it rose, before slowly dissipating.  "Things never stop changing..." she thought to herself.  The conversation of the evening before had only served to remind her: surrounded by old friends, and new friends, she could not help but notice how life seemed to change so quickly.  Raik had talked of one man's life lost, and another's in shambles, both acquaintances of hers who would never be the same as she had last seen them.  While the Dubious Duskwight's life had turned upside down over the past week.  Whatever the real source of his new found wealth, he had not put it to use for liberation, but instead double-downed on responsibilities that seemed to grow faster than he imagined they could.

She recalled the furrow of his brow, the look of tired, almost withdrawn concern.  How different it was from the look of the friendly, if eccentric, fellow she had first met moons ago.  Where destitution had made him jovial and pleasant, if desperate, success now made him seem worn, and frayed around the edges. 

She tapped the bowl of his pipe against the arm of his chair, checking for the sign of embers still burning.  "How long has it been?"  Every week she returned to the flat, hoping to find him, or at least some sign he had been there.  But every week it was obvious: no one had entered the rooms since she had last left.  It was disappointment; and left her with a certain sense of loneliness that she could not quite pin down.

The breath of sea-air transported her in time, reminding her of a a childhood touched by the city.  In that moment it all seemed so relevant, so close, as if she could reach out and live it again.  The very streets upon which she had first grown up, where family became loyalty, and friends, allies.

What of that pirate woman from the night before? Maybe it was the taste of Ishgardian vodka, but the conversation had only served to remind her of bitter memories.  The blithe manner in which she spoke of her "work", the notes of celebration of successful pillage--it was exactly what Aya disliked most about Limsa, and the people who called the city home.  They could always offer rationalization: "it is our way of life", "we only take from those who deserve it", "its just the way the world is", but each sounded more of an excuse than the last.  In the end, it was always the same: the strong take from the weak.  A vicious cycle she had seen repeated again, and again through her young life.

She drew in once more, shaping this time a pair of rings rising together.  Her breath productive, if exasperated.  The woman had been having such fun, and who was a silly barmaid to dampen it with a dose of reality?  She allowed her thoughts to escape again, crossing her legs as she set them upon the balcony's railing.  Lounging beneath the sun as it rose higher into the sky, feeling the warmth of its rays against her skin.

The evening's finale had been something to remember: out upon the beach, a bit of sparring between Berrod and Val.  It was not so much a contest, as if the highlander being something of a living statue weren't enough, his martial skill, and talent in channeling aether were to be put on full display not to pummel, but to test.  Val could not help but seem outmatched: the smaller Miqo'te was a man who could own the streets with fist and bottle, but it was was obvious who was schooling whom.

She smiled softly as she remembered the unfolding scene: there was a trepidation in Val's step, but a revelry in the opportunity.  Berrod had avoided his early attempts to connect, drawing on the very power of the elements, and daring Val to do the same.  He thrust the Miqo'te into a desperate position, moving fast, with a determination for victory if Val did not stop him.  But the opening in his defense was intentional: he would give the student the opportunity, but the student would have to seize it on his own.

When the ocean moved at Val's command, the sand-covered highlander went down in an undignified heap.  Val had been pushed to the edge, and had found the will.  For Berrod, it was success in defeat.  The thrill of that moment rushed through her as she recalled the almost child-like look that had come across the tough's features in that moment of success.  She had been so happy for him, and never more fond of both. 

She let out a soft laugh, the smile reappearing on her lips as she drew on the pipe one last time.  There was an airship ticket, waiting to bear her back to Ul'dah for another night's work in the hustle-and-bustle of the Jewel of the Desert.  She had to leave soon if she were to catch it.

Maybe next time he would be here.

RE: Stranger in a Strange Land [Open!] - Aya - 12-01-2014

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A Sunny Daydream

(Written on the occasion of my being away for a month on Holiday)

Her eyes were closed, but she felt the sensation of sun-heated sand beneath her feet, and wiggling between her toes.  A giggling-pleased expression snuck upon her lips, while luminous rays soaked her skin. She opened her eyes to the view of white sand beach extending before her, as far as the eye could see, lapped by lush green fields on one side, and the slow, steady roll of blue-green white-topped waves upon the other.  Breathing deep of the sea-air, she leaned forward drawing her feet along into quick, long strides, each finishing with a soft landing in the endless sand.  She took off with a motion as graceful as beautiful, leaving long golden locks trailing behind her, being tossed ever so gently in the breeze.  

In the distance she heard friends calling her name, "Ayaaaa!"  She closed her eyes again, never slowing her stride, embracing the moment of carefree fun beneath the sun's warmth.  Again she heard her name called, this time with the sound of shortness, "Aya!"

The third call was accompanied with the tap of a small foot upon tile, "Aya, you'd better stop day dreaming this instant."  Aya blinked, the warmth of the sun, and the feel of the beach instantly dispelled.  "Aya, are you listening to me?" came Momodi's clear, agitated voice.

Aya blinked again, turning her attention to the diminutive proprietress. "I...?" she blinked again as Momodi tapped her feet, furrowing her brow in frustration, "I am sorry, but you're going to have to stay on late tonight.  And tomorrow."

Still looking slightly befuddled, Aya stammered in reply, "But.. tomorrow's my day off...!" she implored, eyes widened with dissappointment.

"No buts!" stated Momodi, raising her index finger as flourish.  "You know we're short-handed, and I need you tomorrow night."

"I..." she stammered again, a sense of resignation coming over her, "Of course, madam." she gave her head a little, polite, bow.

The Lalafel turned and  withdrew back to her stool in the center of the bar, while Aya turned her attention back to the overhead rail into which she was sliding the glasses and cups she had just finished cleaning and drying.  As she pushed the next pint into place, golden strands of her bangs fell across her eyes. She blew them away, with an expression of frustration.  It had been just that sort of day, no week (or more).  Her hair was a mess. The straps of her top strained and stung her sensitive skin. The top had seemed like such a good idea earlier in the day: cute and flirty, perfect for the light evening she had expected. But long hours had a way of ruining many a terrific idea.  Her feet, accustomed as they were to heels, ached with tired soreness that begged, along with the rest of her body, for a warm bath.

She sighed softly, turning her attention back out to the bar, full of the usual suspects and patrons.  She smiled softly, with that pleasant and sweet look that usually made her attention so welcome.  Her bangs fell, covering her eye again.  A few watched and smiled in appreciation of the unintentional cuteness. Aya sighed softly under her breath, and turned her attention back to filling the racks. She closed her eyes.  She felt the sun's warmth upon her cheeks.  She sighed softly once more, feeling the sand beneath her feet, and she smiled happily to herself.

RE: Stranger in a Strange Land [Open!] - Aya - 01-12-2015

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A Blonde Tinker, a Toy, and a Smile

The table was small enough to almost seem overburdened by its bare load.  The only furnishing in the room beyond a single bed.  A tea pot had been set aside—its contents long ago ceasing to steam.  It was unlikely that any warmth yet lingered.  A small toolkit rest upon the table, unrolled to reveal slender pockets containing the long metal tools of a delicate trade.  Tools and kit rest upon bare ragged cloth: a worn cover to protect the rough, worn, table beneath.

The unlikely tinker sat precariously balanced upon a stool designed for Lalafel.  Hooked over her ears, probing between strands of long golden blonde hair, was a bare wire frame upon which were mounted loops to hold the inexpensive magnifying lenses she had once struggled to acquire.  A gentle puf fof air was expelled between carmine-moistened lips, before scattering the small accumulated shavings of her careful filing.

For the briefest moment her brow furrowed above focused blue eyes.  Their usual brightness had given way to a look of concentrated attentiveness rarely, if ever observed by others.  She pondered if she had been too careless with the shavings.  But as she withdrew the fine, tapered file she reminded herself that it was a toy, and not an instrument.

She straightened her body, balancing precariously still on the stool as she pushed her shoulders back, and arched the curve of her spine, stretching out muscles that felt cramped and idle.  A finger deftly flicked the lens away from her eye, as she looked upon the toy aldgoat with a soft, pleased smile.  She had laid open the access panel, revealing the little animal’s mechanical guts.  Now it lay as if on a miniature operating table surrounded by the tools that in proper hands could restore it to life (or likeness thereof).

It was a smile of contentment; of one making the world a slightly better place.  She tried to imagine the look on the boy’s face when his starlight toy had quit with a sudden grinding groan.  His mother had purchased it from a second-hand shop, thinking she had struck starlight gold: a real gift for her son, at a price she could afford on her dancer's income.  There was a double devastation of disappointment in the small family.  The tinker did not have to imagine, but could recall that look upon her friend’s face when she had offered to fix the son's broken toy.  Confusion and disbelief mixed with hope, what after all did she have to lose?

Of course she had doubt, what sort of dancer could fix the toy?  What sort of dancer knows how to do that?

It had been a quiet Starlight.  The few gifts she received were sweet nothings in the pleasant, crisp, winter air that bit playfully at exposed skin.  The chief, prized above all else, her own little aldgoat.  For a moment she had thought to replace the one, with the other, but she knew a child would know his own.  That provided by mother’s love, could not be as easily replaced as repaired.

Her eyes lingered upon her own little fellow, who sat silent and idle upon a slender shelf that ran along the bare, cracked wall of her own room.  It was a symbol of thoughtfulness, of friendship, and of welcome in this distant home.

She had found her usual pleasure in the season: descending upon the markets in the days that followed and enjoying the occasion to purchase whatever met her fancy as the merchants and traders sought to unload the last of their merchandise: perfumes, cosmetics, and baubles that still brought a flutter of excitement to her heart.  But none would be quite the same as the gift she hoped to give to a boy she has never met nor whose smile she expects to ever see.
 
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Another Day

Stylus lay as if absentmindedly left behind—slow-blotting the last of ink.  The door sounded shut a short distance away.  It was time for work: time once more to be the smiling, ever-cheerful blonde.  The parchment bore a different shade of reflection.


 
Cold spring gives way to colder summer.
The seasons having lost their way.
‘Twas not that sun chose to slumber,
But that the frost preferred to stay.
 
Whatever spell was cast upon it,
On that remembered fateful day,
Could not be fled, except by permit,
Sooner some escape, than to obey.
To find the world, than to submit.
 
I once was one that longed to see
To hear, to feel, to learn, and know,
What it meant to be a woman free.
To leave it all behind, and let it go.
 
Now I know, the taste and feel of sun.
Beach-hot white sand beneath my feet,
In salt-sweet air, and carefree fun,
And endless smiles for all I meet.
 
But I cannot forget, or cease to care,
From where I came, and who I am.
Embittered cold, that all must bear,
From where I came, and who I am.
The howling gale, hope, despair.
 
Where cold-capped snow peaks linger still,
Where frost strong-clings to all it sees.
Where hearth and home bring warm goodwill,
Where love exists beneath the freeze.

RE: Stranger in a Strange Land [Open!] - Aya - 02-13-2015

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[Once Upon a Curious Shoppe -The Curious Curio Part One]

"Only, the most dubious of goods, mademoiselle, I assure you." came the reply in its deep,  sonorous tone.  The Dukswight merchant stood back to his full height while pulling idly at the lapels of his coat with thumbs and forefingers.  For a moment the blonde's blue eyes focused upon the luxuriant threads of his apparel, Ul'dahn no doubt, spun of silk and embroidered linen.  Gone were the old threadbare garments of the itinerant.

She gasped softly as he beckoned for her attention with a nod of his high head, "Is everything well, my dear?  You seem a touch preoccupied." His voice lingered low upon the final syllable, drawing it out as if to tease a secret from her.  Aya's bright eyes looked upward to meet his, a cheerful smile spreading across her features, as sweet and disarming as ever.

Verad deftly maneuvered his fingers to press back into place the loose lock of his bangs that had sprung forth into just the sort of amusing curl that could set a charming young woman giggling.  He returned to the pitch, the tone of his voice one of exquisite pride.  "As I was saying, you have nothing to worry about, my dear.  You shall find only goods of that rigorous quality that attracts my keen eye.  Neither nefarious, nor pretentious; only, perfectly, flawlessly, dubious.."  Fingers and hands added a confident air-borne flourish to this climactic finish, before once more pulling upon his coat, now about mid-torso.

Behind demure eyes Aya's giggle intermingled with her voice, "I was hoping you might have some trinkets or baubles I could look through!  You know, things that are simple but pretty to look at."

With his deep knowledge and experience Verad was certain that he had already augured the purpose of Aya's visit.  His fingers had deftly drawn one of several misprinted copies of a certain volume of Val's self-authored tales of sensual adventure.  The stories had an, ahem, certain tone that appealed to a young woman of Aya's nature and age.  No doubt her curiosity had been piqued when she overheard the discussion Leanne's party the week before, and that had brought her...

Without change in expression Verad let the book fall from his hands.  He raised his index finger in an embellishment of inspiration, as if there were no sound of dropped-book striking ground. "Ah-hah, of course!  Mademoiselle, I have only the most dubious of baubles, trinkets, bibelots, ornaments, jewelry, and assorted objets d'art." 

He turned half-around, before raising his index finger once more begging her to wait.  He offered such pleased countenance, with a smile that hinted at barely suppressed excitement.  He turned, taking several steps toward the back of his stand to the open merchandise-bearing cart behind.  With the deftness of a man who knew exactly where everything was, he wasted no time in identifying the desired box on just the eighth effort.  He lifted it with great showmanship, before setting it down upon counter at the front of the stand, watched the entire way by Aya and the curious expectation of her eyes.

From the box he withdrew what had once been a fine wooden display case, now worn with the wear of years.  The hinges sang their high whining tune as he swung the doors open, beckoning Aya to draw open the drawers and peruse to her heart's content.  "Here we are, my dear Mademoiselle, dearest Aya.  The most dubious baubles, doodads, and curios to be found anywhere in Eorzea, or her five seas.  Indeed, you would have to search all Hydelaen far-and-wide to gather even a fraction of the bounty I present to you here."

Aya tried her best to resist the urge of grin and laugh of amusement that always seemed to lie just beneath her warm, smiling exterior.  Only partially successful, she covered her lips with the long, slender fingers of her hand.  "May I look?"  She cast glancing looks between her friendly merchant, and the box of wondrous dubiousness placed before her.

"Of course, of course, by all means, my dearest!  Look, peruse, and shop to your heart's content!  I am quite confident you shall find just what you are looking for"

She nodded, her smile now breaking out unbidden, and tamed only by the gentle bite of her front teeth into her lower lip.  She pulled at one drawer, taking in the sight of so many items and objects in one place.  There was jewelry with broken clasps, rings, earrings, and bracelets that were mere fixtures without benefit of gems, lockets bearing deep inscriptions that must once have bore the deepest meaning to loved ones and family long lost to the memories of time.  Some were lovely, others gave pause in their uncomeliness. 

Eying a particularly fine-appearing time piece, designed with a metal band to fit around wrist or arm, Aya lifted itfrom the drawer with an expression of wonder.  "Is this dubious?" she asked eyes fixed upon the Duskwight, her blonde eyebrows lifted in wide-eyed astonishment.

"Can't be fixed!" came his reply, quick and proud, as he slicked back his loose lock once more.  "Dubious, indeed!" he added, as if the affirmation were a necessity of duty, "Right twice a day, of course!  And if you look carefully you'll find that it also has a feature for tracking the moon phases.  Right..." he paused, suddenly unsure of just how often the moon phases were the same, "Some of the time!" he blurted out with the anxious surety of someone who has just stumbled upon the correct answer.

Aya laughed, flashing an amused grin, before returning the watch to its place in the drawer, and continuing her search through the second drawer and then the final.  Her fingers rummaged about looking through the curious collection that seemed to bring the value of precious metals into an unusually direct contact with the worthlessness of items no longer of use: an exercise of unique and distinct dubiousness.

Several times she paused, asking about one item or another.  After rummaging in the third drawer her eyes paused upon another locket, this one bearing the dark and smokey grime of tarnished silver.  The exterior was a fine filigree, intricate and subtly ornate.  With the careful attention of searching eyes the pattern revealed a deeper complexity, weaving themes that never seemed to repeat, but instead changed as if by phases as the eyes moved around the locket in clock-wise order. 

"Ah, yes... a fine piece is it not?" grinned Verad, in a delighted manner. "Here, let me show you the catch!" he reached across the railing of the kiosk, his fingers momentarily joining hers upon the locket.  With a gentle urging push he guided her finger along the edge of the locket until it pressed against the nearly hidden catch.  With a slight push the locket soundlessly unlocked.  She opened it with some trepidation, wondering what sort of ancient personal inscription she would find within... still, she thought, it was so lovely it might do as a gift anyway.

Yet, what her eyes found within was not a locket bearing an old engraving, picture, or inscription, but instead the face of a watch.  The face itself was simple, but around the edge it was as intricate within as it was without.  Divided into twelve sections, each bearing an inscription of the Twelve integrated with the ever-changing theme of the locket's filigree.  Along with the decoration was a special hand sliding through an almost hidden slot, it seemed to indicate the current moon by reference to its relevant god.

Aya stared, transfixed in astonishment at the locket-watch.  A quiet gasp followed a hard swallow, it was even better than what she had expected to find.  Verad beamed a grin that would more typically have followed a successful sale, "My dearest Aya, you should not worry so.  Broken, irreparably!  As dubious as everything else in the chest." He laughed and thumped his hand upon the chest for emphasis.

She continued to stare, astonished, at the watch.  Only slowly did her surprise become a smile, and she looked up to Verad excitedly, "How much for this?" she asked with the energetic enthusiasm that long ago endeared him to the girl. 

Of course, no merchant could afford to let his merchandise walk away without a price, even to a dearest friend.  Nonetheless, how could his Duskwight heart bear to squeeze the girl for her hard-earned tips?  "For you, dearest Mademoiselle, a mere trifling."  He furrowed his brow, as if struggling to think of just what he should ask, gesturing continuously with his hands as if the price were on the tip of his tongue.  "How... mmmm.." he stuttered, before stumbling upon a moment of inspiration.  "How much was that first drink you served me?  And perhaps a cookie too."  He loosed his broad, teeth-baring, showman's grin upon her as she let out another happy laugh.  "Ten gil shall we say?" he added as her laughter seemed to serve as a ready answer to his question.

She fished a 10 gil piece from her purse, setting it upon the counter.  "A pleasure doing business with you, as always, mademoiselle." he grinned, lifting the coin between two fingers.

[[A Thank you to Verad for allowing me to use his character Smile ]]

RE: Stranger in a Strange Land - Aya - 02-23-2015

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[A Disturbing Turn - The Scales Part One]

The evening air was pleasant, even warm—though the Quick Sand had been abuzz with the threat of a looming chill.  A thin sliver moon cast its pale silver across the sandblown landscape spread out before her.  The dark silhouettes of distant hills rose against the horizon.  Aya pursed her lips letting the breath of air escape slowly.  She wondered how long had it been since she had last been "climbing"? 

When she first arrived in Ul'dah the thought simply seemed too dangerous: a recently arrived immigrant, penniless and friendless, wouldn't survive a potential trespassing charge.  Fortunately, the passage of time had changed things.  Either the city had grown less strange, or she had grown less a stranger.  Maybe both.

It was an old diversion, one first inspired by the daring of her brothers who used it to avoid and escape trouble during their months in Limsa Lominsa.  In Ishgard it had become something of a lifeline: like most of the city's poorer denizens, Aya's neighborhood only saw the light of the sun and moon as indirectly filtered through the towering structure in the upper levels.  A prisoner, literally and figuratively, the young Aya resisted the bonds of her confinement by acrobatically climbing and leaping as high as she could upon the towers and parapets of the city skyline.  Sometimes she would move quietly through the interior walkways, dodging between guard patrols, or scale sheer exterior surfaces in her quest for an ever better vantage point from which to gaze upon the forbidden, open world.

When endless winter descended upon the city she refused to give up the game, even as her brothers grew up and moved on.  Following some night's performances, flush with energy and the biding anxiety that never seemed to leave her, she slipped away and made her way bit-by-bit to the roof of one of the higher towers.  There, robed in worn fur, and draped in a blanket she came to truly know the sound of howling wind, and the sight of snowstorm.  Every trip breathed fresh life into proscribed desires: to feel the sun's warmth, to be free amidst the world, and to be alone in solitude. 

Ul'dah presented little challenge by comparison.  The guards were unprofessional; the methods of construction presented plentiful opportunities for foot and finger holds.  At times it seemed it wasn't even worth the effort, but when the moment called for meditation and the warm comfort of nostalgia, nothing else would do.

As the slow exhale ended she opened her eyes once more, vision drifting aimlessly through the palely-lit expanse spreading from the city in every direction.  Her thoughts returned to the conversation the evening before.  Kiht never seemed to worry, and this had been no different.  The lissome and fearless Keeper Huntress was as unassuming as she was slight; an unmoved exterior hid the heart of a valiant hero.  So, her concern, no matter how coolly expressed, was far from trifling.

Dravanian artifacts are far from trifling: anyone raised in Ishgard is acutely aware of this.  The all-too-subtle danger of the Horde is drilled into their imaginations.  The mere possession of a trinket, a relic, or any object associated with dragon-kind could open someone to the pernicious effects of direct contact, and all the dangers that entails.  The slightest touch of such a relic could mean the loss of control and employment as an agent of destruction. 
   
While children whisper ridiculous rumors, parents, preachers, and headmasters frighten them with stories and warnings.  Not only is contact with such artifacts forbidden, but it can be easily detected by those specially trained in the Inquisitor's arts.  Punishment for heresy would follow swiftly.  As far from trifling as a child of Ishgard can imagine.

She turned idea over in her head: exporting such artifacts outside of Coerthas seemed such an obvious ploy, why had it not happened before?  Perhaps it had - the Holy See certainly would not have allowed word of such malfeasance to spread.  Not only did this ploy bring individuals entirely unaware of the danger of such objects into contact with them, but it posed the potential to spread Dravanian influence.  Of course, the Horde itself seemed to have no interest in any city but Ishgard: the dragons were ever devious, but never clever.  She was certain that heretics would be the ones responsible.

The matter seemed so much less academic when she considered her friends who were involved.  She squeezed her fists, lips held tight together as her eyes stared blankly at the crescent moon.  Why was Verad involved in this?  The Duskwight trader always seemed to be at the center of trouble he had no business in.  His lanky, perplexing manner was better suited to befuddling the unassuming, rather than dallying in matters of state and consequence.  She still couldn't help but see him as she had first met him: a drifting pauper, threadbare, with long shaggy hair and a beard that seemed disheveled despite his every attentiveness.  The sight of him wealthy, dapper, and kempt was both jarring and unsettling.  She had a nagging suspicion that no matter the status it had brought him, that the manner and nature of his wealth had left him unsatisfied.  Sometimes his trouble seemed just an effort to fill the hole left by his lost pursuit of the Dubious goods market.  If he could not sell material dubious, he could at least cast himself about in manner dubious.

Anyway, she comforted herself, how dangerous could it really be?  She had always felt the danger of the Horde was overblown: a useful excuse for the See's complete control of every aspect of life in Ishgard.  A husk of fabrication built around a kernel of truth for the purpose of power.  That was the Dravanian Crusade in its whole.  But, the kernel of truth was difficult to deny.  The power of Dravanian Relics could not be wholly fabricated, or else the chase for them would not consume the efforts of so many people.  Ul'dah was, and would be, entirely unprepared.  For all its faults, Ishgard's resistance against the Dravanians relied upon centuries of experience, and a firm resolve girded with a religious zealotry that inspired routine heroics. Ul'dah, wealthy beyond measure, would find no recourse to buy herself out of this particular threat.

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Aya and Kiht parting ways after tea


RE: Stranger in a Strange Land - Aya - 02-24-2015

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[Second Thoughts - The Scales Part Two]

As Aya sat beneath the warm moon-lit sky of late winter, her mind returned again and again to the memory of one evening earlier that season. The Quick Sand had been filled with its usual weeknight atmosphere: the heady scent of tea and herbs mixed with perfume, spice, and ale to create that particular fragrance both exotic and comforting.  The tones of a bard quietly performing his art lingered over the hum of numerous conversations within.  Aya was about her usual evening business, moving from table to table with her bright, cheerful demeanor, and the skirt that seemed to grow shorter with every ale consumed.  Her hands were ever-filled with ale, peanuts, and every assortment of libation as she move to-and-fro with her energetic, almost bouncing manner from group to group and patron to patron. 

The tips were good, and the work fun.  It had been a wonderful evening like many others - but one moment stuck in her memory, disturbing the pleasantness of it.  Amongst the patrons that evening, amongst the adventurers, regulars, professionals and a handful of successful traders, was a group of black marketeers paying a routine visit to the tavern.  Petty criminals at worst, and quasi-legal traders at best, they seemed to make a tidy living in contraband while staying just on the right side of the Syndicate. 

In the past she had overheard bits and pieces of their conversation, often smattered with rumors and gossip.  When they wandered in with a mood of celebration, and settled around their table, she let her paths through the tavern move near their table time-and-time again to better hear what it was they would discuss.  It was one of these topics that now seemed so crucial: Dravanian artifacts moving on the black market. 

Why had she not thought more of it at that moment?  Moons ago when such prescience could have proved valuable.  The very words had sent a shiver upon her spine then, and she felt another creeping along her now.  Perhaps she had just hoped they were mistaken: even forgeries could go for a fair amount to unfamiliar Ul'dahns.  Besides, who had ever heard of something so fantastic as Dravanian relics making the long journey to Ul'dah?  Who would have bothered with such a thing - nothing to worry about, she assured herself in that manner with which unwelcome news is so often met.  Why worry?

Until, of course, it becomes time to worry. 

Kiht had laid out the efforts of so many already on the search for the Relics: Brass Blades, Sultansworn, Knights from Ishgard.  None had the combination of knowledge, experience, and presence to find what they were looking for, nor had they the ability to combine their efforts.  Ishgard would act without regard for others, knowing full well the very real danger and threat posed by the relics.  Ishgard takes nothing Dravanian lightly, and that very intensity would be reflected in an unwillingness to cooperate or moderate.  The Brass Blades would draw a line in the sand where their authority began, and violently defend it against all transgression.  Ambitious and avaricious, the Blades always view Authority is a commodity: never to be relinquished without proper recompense.  They would be as feckless and oblivious in the pursuit of Dravanians as they were vigorous and tested in their defense of privilege.  The Sultan Sworn, Her Grace's Finest, would pursue every lead without any hope of unraveling the whole before it mattered.  Such is the way of the brave, conscientious, and plodding. 

She lay back atop the domed parapet, resting her head in folded hands as she stared up toward the sky, gazing at wisps of grey cloud faintly illuminated by pale moon-silver.  Her thoughts turned the question over and over again: can I? Should I?  While Verad tried to untangle the knot of competing interests, Kiht, Osric, and the Flames would look to cut through the fog and drive to the core of the problem.  Was it worth taking a risk if she might aid them in their cause?  It was just the sort of thing she always told herself to avoid. 

Avoid.  Avoid.  A fox must never allow herself to be caught in the open.

RE: Stranger in a Strange Land - Aya - 02-25-2015

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[Cause - The Scales Part Three]

The world was dark.  She could see nothing.  She could feel nothing.  Except—the heavy beat of her heart?  Its pace seemed to slowly increase.  Trepidation?  Then a subtle vibration.  All was the embrace of darkness: had she fallen asleep? 

Verad looked worried: the expression on his face, the furrowed brow, lips pulled tight with concern.  His eyes were tired and sullen, weary, perhaps exhausted.  His white hair was long, unkempt.   How long had it been since she'd last talked to him?  He looked right, and then left with a characteristic forlorn expectation.  "Does he see me?" she wondered; aloud she thought.  He looked back ahead at nothing in particular, eyes utterly unfocused and resigned.  His gaze seemed to pass right over her shoulder, as if she were invisible.  She felt another vibration: it seemed to well up beneath her feet before slowly working through the rest of her body.

"Verad!" she felt startled by a yell in the distance.  "Verad!" it repeated.  She looked to her left, Verad matching her curiosity.  Both seemed to spy a familiar figure in the distance, it was Kiht and she was coming this way. "Hold on Verad!" she yelled again.

Soon came more voices from the opposite direction, "Hold on!  We're coming for you!" more vibration.  More voices.  Now from above and below.  She could see them all at once, somehow: Ser Crofte of the Sworn, Flame Sergeant Melkire, among others she recognized.  Heroes of Ul'dah: Brass Blades, Sultansworn, and Immortal Flames approaching from every direction.

She watched as they worked closer, all seemed to struggle with all their might to fight their way to the pair with an expeditious hurry.  Yet the more they struggled the further away they seemed to be.  Their voices trailed off, growing fainter as they became more urgent.  Suddenly the look of resignation in Verad's eyes became one of fear: an expression of his she could not remember seeing before.  The steady vibration grew powerful.

Seconds must have passed in what seemed like long minutes. Her trepidation grew more potent, the steady crescendo of suspense rising to fear.  Strands of sinewy silk began to glimmer around Verad, and then all about her.  The web in which they had been caught became visible, the vibration the tell-tale approach of long, quick arachnid legs.  She turned over her shoulder in the direction that held Verad's gaze affixed in terror: the imagined spider vanished.  A large-winged drake swooped from above.

She whipped her head back toward her friend as quickly as she could: the entire city of Ishgard seemed to rise suddenly behind him, webbing suspended him to the sheer stonework of a high tower.  In her peripheral she could just see the drake as it began to dive.   He screamed voicelessly; silently. 

She shot up in bed, ripping the silk sleeping mask from her eyes.  She threw it forcefully across the quiet little room.  Her body glistened with sweat.  It was cold.  She caught her breath.  She caught her breath.

RE: Stranger in a Strange Land - Aya - 02-26-2015

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[The Trail - Part 1 - The Scales part Four]

Huzan had staked out his usual alley off of Pearl Lane.  This time of evening the Blades rarely made their presence known, even this close to the city center.  Regardless, he was a facilitator, a fixer: he rarely dealt with the immediate exchange of goods.  Instead he served as the front man of a fencing and smuggling machine that ran considerably deeper than a nondescript, lantern-lit alley in which the Blades would find nothing incriminating on the rare chance they might stop by.  He was one among the contacts that Aya had quietly enlisted over the past year.  The rumor-mill that was the Quick Sand provided ample opportunity to acquire names, descriptions, and methods of contact: a veritable who's who of Ul'dah from the highest towers, to the thugs just above the level of street scum. 

Despite appearances Aya often felt herself quite at home in the presence of such felonry.  Though she would gladly exchange the risks of street life for sweet comfort, she had been raised in the gutters of Ishgard, and a half dozen other stops on the route of a refugee.  She knew her way around dark streets and back alleys better than she dared admit.

"Its a lady, boss." announced the Roegadyn bruiser from his spot at the entrance of the alley.  "I think she wants to see you."  The Highlander opposite the entrance from him remained silent, eyes firmly affixed upon the partially cloaked figure with an undisguised oogle.  The sound of heels on cobblestone had announced her arrival, draped in a cloak with hood pulled over her head.  Red lips glistened in the street light, long, slightly curled blonde locks falling from her hood over the front of her shoulders.  She had opened the cloak enough to reveal bountiful décolletage, and as she had come to a stop she had pressed her weight back forcefully into her heels to generate the sort of captivating motion that seemed to hypnotize unfocused men.  The disarming nature of such distraction was difficult to overstate: what portion of her face was visible beneath her hood, was unlikely to be what stuck in either of the brutes' memories.

From further back in the alley the Hyur master of the operation looked up, unimpressed, before offering a wave for his sentries to allow her through.  The Roegadyn first turned to him, and then back to the feminine visitor, "Should we disarm her first?" he asked, with a hint of anticipation.  "I don't think she can take those off." came the leering reply of the happily gawking highlander.

"Will you.. Thal's balls!" came the irritated voice of Huzan.  "What the hells do I pay you two for?  Let her in, and let us be."

Red lips smiled.  Two grumbling guards parted and turned from the alley entrance. She stepped slowly, and confidently within.

"Evening, my lady" pronounced Huzan, with an impish tone and a bow of feigned respect.  "The boss want something?"

Moons ago she had first approached Huzan as if acting as an agent for a wealthy, and anonymous, employer.  It had proven a useful fiction.  The smile upon red lips became coy as she approached with care and purpose.  One foot stepping just before the other with proper, practiced, swaying gait—her mother's lessons had not gone entirely to waste.  Having drawn near enough she extended her left hand, gloved in black silk and leather.  "Not even a 'good evening'?" she asked with a wryness of her own.  Despite her light voice her tone was rich, cloaked with the velvet of her heavy Ishgardian accent.  Inflection that provided a lilting tone to her more playful mood, lent an air of intrigue when more serene.

Its what Huzan liked about her - she gave as good as she got.  Rarely did he find an attractive woman who enjoyed a little wit and repartee.  That they were in similar positions: both handling transactions for employers behind the scenes, added to a sense of rapport.  That her employer was wealthy and discerning didn't hurt.  

"Of course, my lady", the word again escaping with a satirical, but friendly intonation, "It is always a pleasant evening when you come to visit."

She pursed her lips as he gently grasped her hand and bowed his head to apply a kiss.  When he lifted his head once more she shifted her shoulders, subtly tugging at her cloak to ensure it displayed just the picture of provocation she desired.  Huzan seemed an honest broker, but any distraction played to her advantage.

"He is shopping for something in particular.  Something of which rumors have been flitting about so freely as of late." she gave an unimpressed shrug.

"And what would that be?" came the inquisitive reply, as if he did not already anticipate what was desired.

"The latest fad amongst collectors," came the dry answer, "Dravanian artifacts."

"Ah!", he replied with a mischievous grin, "And you would know all about those, I am sure.  A little taste of home, hmm?" he added suggestively.  She grinned with those slightly pursed lips, a look of composed amusement, "As sand and coin, for you my friend."

He gave a little laugh, "I'm afraid you're too late.  I'm surprised you've moved so slowly this time.  They were on the market for moons, and collectors swarmed around them as flies to fruit.  They're gone.  All, most probably.  I may be able to scrounge something for you, but it wouldn't be easy."

Her composure seemed threatened for a moment as a pout of disappointment crossed her lips.  "That is most unfortunate.  He will be... disappointed."

"What's he going to do if you come back empty handed?" asked Huzan, leaning toward her with his leading eye narrowed, prying and suspicious.  "Don't tell me..."

She huffed, arms pulling at her cloak outward and then back in, causing it to billow momentarily while she offered a slight and sudden shake of her head.  It fell upon Huzan as a rebuff, the first hint of vulnerability he had seen the woman express.

He stepped back up, drawing his hand behind his head as if stumped over a difficult question.  Aya's hidden eyes glanced around nervously, though her lips relaxed as she forced a calm back upon her expression.

"I'll tell you what: if anyone can find them now it would be Talamarito.  You can find him at the Pale Sands, on Black Smoke alley.  You know where its at?"

She nodded, masking the dread that particular address filled her with.  "Thank you.  So much." came her reply, smooth and gracious.  She bowed, his eyes followed.  Her right hand slipped within her cloak, drawing coins from a hidden belt purse.  As she proffered them Huzan drew up his left hand to refuse. "Not this time," he insisted, "Its on me."

Three sets of eyes followed her closely as she left the alley and turned toward the Sapphire exchange.  The markets were not but the silent dead of night at this hour, and beyond lay the long lonely walk through the ever worsening neighborhoods of the city.  Black Smoke alley was one of the last places she wanted to be going, especially beneath the suddenly perilous moonlight.

RE: Stranger in a Strange Land - Aya - 02-26-2015

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[A Curious Trinket - The Curious Curio Part Two]

Delicate, feminine fingers slid along the fine mithril filigree.  Aya's eye was amateur, but the craftsmanship of the piece was simply undeniable.  The room was cool in the early winter evening, warmed by a fire in the tiny fireplace along the adjacent wall.  Firelight contributed to several candles about the room, and a lantern sitting near the small table at which she sat perched upon her Lalafel sized stool.  It was far from a fine workspace, but its what she had available.

Her effort was dedicated to the search for the locket's catch, which Verad had so defly pointed out to her the day before.  It was hard to find, her fingers failed to take note of any edge or protrusion upon which to press. 

She drew up the flat bladed spatula from the set of delicate-looking tools.  Fingers were replaced by metal on the surface, accompanied with the sound of scraping as she continued the search with the more sensitive instrument.  She turned the locket in her hand, keeping the blade firmly pressed against the metal surface along the long circumference.  She moved slowly, waiting for her fingers to feel the slightest change of the blade's elevation.  Having nearly turned it the full 360 degrees she at last felt a slight fall and rise: an edge.  She turned the locket back and forth to manually confirm her find.  Turning the location so that she could view it through her lens, she found it invisible still, or near enough.

She reached for the spot, applying firm pressure with her finger.  The result was an  immediate "click" as the locking mechanism released.  She blinked for a moment, wide-eyed in surprise.  She wondered how Verad had ever found it, of course a man of his trade could not be without his own surprises.

She lifted the front surface of the locket with the spatula, separating the two halves as it folded open to reveal the watch face.  She studied again the intricate, ever-changing theme of the ornate filigree.  It wound its way the full circle around the clock face.  Each duodenary displayed a distinct theme, which shifted flawlessly from boundary to boundary.   Halone, Menphina, Thaliak and so on represented in turn.  The hand that pointed to the time-of-year looked simple compared to the ornateness surrounding it, but it was of obviously unusual material, though Aya could not place it.

She turned it over in her hand several more times, drawing the once inexpensive and now worn magnification lens over her eye once more.  She peered closely, searching for the means by which to remove the cover and glimpse the inner-workings of her dubious purchase.  She first removed the watch hands, a feat easier to accomplish than anticipated, and then took resort to other tools: carefully probing and gliding along the watch face identifying one by one the heads of miniature screw that secured the face to the bulk of the locket's body. 

They came out easily, as if they had been installed just the day before.  With careful, painstaking care she removed tiny screw after tiny screw, then carefully lifting a latch near the top, grasped the face with forceps and slid it out of place.  The fire was nothing more than embers.  The room grew cold. 

She gasped, holding the breath for the moment.  She had anticipated the sight of gearwork—the sort of intricate mechanical workings that she knew she would never be able to decipher, but the sight of them still struck her with disappointing shock.  Still, she leaned closer taking her time to let the sight of the inner workings sink in despite her misgivings.  The gearwork was intricate and miniature, the sort one expects to find in a timepiece. 

She probed carefully looking for the spring that would be the piece's source of tension-energy.  A spring to slowly drive the clockwork in its preset pattern, at its preset pace.  There was no sign.  She furrowed her brow, the search continued.

The two lit candles burned low.  The evening had worn on into night.  The howl of a chill wind blasted the exterior wall.  Lantern light still held strong, the room's occupant having long grown accustomed to its pungent perfume.  She continued to trace the gear work part by part, finding each individual piece making more sense when returned to on the second and third occasion. 

Yet, the spring, the coil, or tension bar that provided power was nowhere to be found.  She had her suspicions, held firmly beneath anticipatory breaths.  A glimmer of hope.  The watch was broken, it had no obvious mechanical problems.  Yet, would she dare to begin disassembly to test her hypothesis?  What if she could never reassemble it?  What if an actual watchsmith could have repaired it?

She bet not - and set to work.

Night became midnight, and midnight became small hours.  Piece by intricate piece the unlikely tinker continued to focus upon her prize.  Each piece and gear categorized and labelled by order and location within the watch where it was removed.  She wasn't working randomly, but searching for something hidden in the case behind the gearwork.  She knew it must be there, if her guess was true.

She held her breath.  She drew the blade across the area again.  Once more she felt the slightness of an edge in the flat.  She was tired.  She had wanted to stop, but curiosity had kept her alert and awake.  She tested the section again, finding with certainty the edge she was looking for.  Within a few moments of trial and error she had the small cover loose.  She held it in place for just a moment, catching her breath. 

She watched, riveted, as she pulled the smooth rectangular cover away, revealing the box-shaped cut out in the body of the watch beneath the clockwork.  There they were: crystal fragments.  In that moment she knew she had been right.

One by one she withdrew the fragments: broken shards of the crystal that had both powered the timepiece and kept it accurate.  With each piece removed the design of the receptacle and its connection to the gearwork became more clear.  It wasn't pure clockwork: a resonance power crystal lie at its heart.  Magitek.  Not quite as irreparable as Verad had thought.

RE: Stranger in a Strange Land - Aya - 02-27-2015

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[The Trail - Part 2 - The Scales Part Five]

She leaned her back against the rough cut stone wall.  She swallowed between heavy breaths.  The moon had crossed nearly half of the night sky, but still cast its perilous pale shine on the city below.  The air was chill, hanging heavy with the looming threat of frost.  She forced her breathing to slow.  She swallowed again.  Slow.. slow... calm..

The meditative practice took hold.  Her pulse steadied.  Her breathing slowed.  Her body began to relax as she stood up from the wall.  The walk had been harrowing: how much had been due to a furtive imagination she would never be sure.  She couldn't shake the sight of threatening shadows, muffled whispers, and the sensation of leering eyes -but she had made it.

Black Smoke alley had been named for the forges and furnaces that once kept it humming with industrial activity.  Housing has been inexpensive, and with the arrival of the Ala Mhigans it had been overrun with those unable to afford to live elsewhere.  One by one the forges were left extinguished, and the neighborhood descended into just the sort of idleness that allowed crime to thrive.  The Brass Blades rarely patrolled the streets during daylight, and those that ventured forth during the night were certainly under the payroll of one crime lord or another. 

She closed her eyes again, the imagined sight of a terrified and helpless Verad reminded her of just why she was here.  Sometimes nightmares crossed paths with the real thing.  She took one more deep calming breath before drawing a small pocket mirror from a pouch.  She took a moment to check her makeup and hair in the light of one of the few functional streetlights; showing up a disheveled mess would undermine her purpose. 

She had cloaked herself for the journey and now carefully loosed it around her waist.  As it hung more freely it exposed long, bare legs covered  only by a mini-skirt, and her heeled shoes which had begun to grow uncomfortable as the night grew late.  With a name like Talamarito he was a Lalafel no, doubt, and they always seemed to appreciate the view afforded by such a skirt.

She stepped back into the avenue, and then down Black Smoke alley.  She was watched from both sides as she went, though she successfully fought the urge to look side-to-side for any sign of potential danger.  The sound of whispering voices encouraged her feet to move more quickly, eyes boring straight ahead toward her goal.  In the near distance, just a few blocks ahead, she could make out the sight of what appeared to be a busy tavern. 

Before she knew what was happening she had turned and barged through the door of the Pale Sands, barely having taken in the sign above the door: an hourglass filled with pale granular sand.  It gave off the distinct impression of bone dust. 

Dozens of eyes turned upon her immediately.  More followed as others became aware of the strange sight at the door.  The place was not altogether unfamiliar, filled to the brim with Highlanders: laborers, criminals, beggars, and ne'er-do-wells with nothing better to do.  Barmaids went about their rounds, and an altogether genial raucous saturated the establishment.

Aya stood there for a moment, transfixed by the sudden realization that she had exited the alley.  The very real sense of danger had not yet passed.  She scanned the place, resisting the temptation to remove her hood amidst the sudden rush of warm air that flushed her skin.  She finally laid eyes upon the barkeeper.  She remembered her purpose; found her composure.  She approached him with steps slow and confident.  The dozens of eyes, pair by pair, turned back to what they had been doing, casting only curious glances toward the newcomer.

She leaned across the bar, sliding a 10 gil coin beneath her palm.  "Talamarito." she said, in her soft, light voice.  The barkeeper, a mustachioed middle aged Hyur gave her a suspicious look up and down, before reaching under her hand to retrieve the coin. With a second glance he nodded, and motioned her toward a doorway off to the side of the bar.

She nodded, with a smile of appreciation, and with another deep, but quiet breath for courage, she pushed the door open and stepped through. She found herself in a smoke-filled room, with four figures seated around a round table littered with coin, glasses and mugs both empty and full.  Two men, a Lalafel fellow, and a woman were playing at a game of cards.  One of the men looked up at once, "Whadda you want?" he asked curtly.

"Talamarito." she replied.

"Oh yeah?  Who says he'd talk to you?"

She tilted her head slightly, a smile spreading over her lips.  "Huzan sent me."

"Harumph!" grunted the other Hyur as the Lalafel glanced over his cards at her, brandishing a grin.  "You had better make it worth his time, if you know what I mean girly.

The first Hyur nodded to his cohorts, before standing with a resigned shrug.  He took a moment to collect his coin from the table.  "Come with me."  He lead her into a hallway amidst jeering from the others.  As they walked down the hallway he added emphasis to what his companion had said, "You had better make it worth his time."

He managed the sort of quiet bellowing tone so useful in muscle, "Girl here to see you boss."  With this greeting she was ushered into the well appointed room: rich, heavy carpets adorned the floor, a fire roared comfortably in the fireplace.  The seated Lalafel within looked unassuming by comparison to his surroundings.  Dressed in the same style of practical and un-ostentatious clothing as his minions.  A carefully maintained mustache stretched from one side of his face to the other,  and seemed to balance precariously upon his upper lip.  It was grey, and his hair was greying: middle age often a sign of unusual success among criminals.

"What can I do for you?" he asked in a calm, pleasant voice. He canted his head slightly, his expression unexpectedly welcoming.

For the moment she had mastered the fear of the past hour.  A sense of foreboding trepidation still clung beneath the surface of her emotions, but her expression was one of confident calm.  Her voice steady,"Huzan sent me." she repeated with sensual Ishgardian tones.

He nodded, raising long thin eyebrows and offering a slight shrug of the shoulders.  "She can stay," he motioned to his guard, waving him off.  With a thunk the door closed behind her as the Hyur slipped back into the hallway.  Talamarito tilted his head toward her, without saying another word.  Fingers lay folded together, flat upon his desk.

She waited for a moment as his expression grew impatient.  She strode into the room, letting her long toned legs slide from her opened coat, tempting eyes to draw upon their full length.  She thought she could hear him taking in a quick breath, but his expression seemed unaffected.  She approached the desk, red lips smiled toward him.

"Yesssss?" intoned Talamarito, with a look now mixing inquisitiveness with impatience.

"I am looking for something that Huzan cannot provide.  He suggested that I try a man of greater resources, and so here I am." She held her smile as she spoke, cocking her hips to the side.

"Of course." he said, nearly purring with a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear.  He knew the sound of flattery, but who didn't appreciate a compliment from such a lovely young woman.  "Hozan is a good man, but he cannot acquire everything a woman may desire."  He folded his hands together upon his desk, tilting his head toward her with a raised eyebrow, "So... How may I be of service?"

"Dravanian artifacts." she smiled again.

He raised both eyebrows, not quite an expression of surprise, but one of recognition. He raised a finger, "You know, I have heard that you people have been about looking for these relics.  But I am afraid you're too late, what stock we had is long gone, by moons I'm afraid." he offered a carefree shrug. 

"You people?" she asked.

"Yes, Ishgadrians." he nodded, "You're not exactly quiet and subtle, you know.  I'm surprised the city hasn't thrown you a welcome parade by now."

She let out a soft, amused laugh.  "Just a coincidence, I fear.  My employer is most assuredly not Ishgardian."  She tilted her still hooded head toward him.

His expression was incredulous.  "Oh, of course, of course!  — Not that it matters to me." he said with bemusement and a dismissive wave of his hand. 

"I am quite serious.  It is just a coincidence."  She repeated, amusement still lingering in her voice.

He screwed up his lips, "Coincidence is not something I believe in!" he said, before looking her up and down once more, nearly standing up behind his desk to do so.  "Especially not when Ishgardians are involved!"

"Then again..." he hopped from his chair and walked around the edge of his desk with that infections grin that only Lalafel at their most disarming are capable of.  "None of those knights know how to show off their legs like that." he gestured with a nod.  Reaching up to his desk for a pipe, he used it to point toward her, "If you are with Ishgardians I at least approve of their change in messenger."

Pulling it to his lips he used an expensive-looking sparker to light the the bowl, while drawing through the stem.  "Of course, that doesn't change that I don't have the goods any more," he said, through half his mouth.  The pipe lit; a wisp of fragrant smoke rose from the bowl.

She nodded, "Maybe so.  But you could point me in the direction of the buyers?  Perhaps one of them would be willing to part with a piece for the right price?"

He furrowed his brow, taking a few puffs on his pipe as smoke as a thin cloud began to cling the ceiling.  "Perhaps I could." he said with an agreeable nod, "But I fail to see whats in it for me."

As he looked up to her she reached a gloved, feminine hand into her cloak.  Concern flashed across his features, the pipe suddenly lifting up, squeezed between tightened lips: had his men searched her? Was she drawing a weapon?  When she instead drew out a stack of  platinum coin the expression quickly faded, replaced with a look of self-assured smugness; it was as if he could dispel her memory of that moment of weakness with a sudden display of confidence.

He nodded, gesturing nonchalantly toward his desk as he smacked his lips and cleared his throat, "Ah, I remember now.  Besides the Ishgardians most of the relics we dealt with went to one particular buyer."  He began to amble about the room, casting long glances back toward her as if studying her from a number of angles.

"A Hyur with an eyepatch.  He wore all black."   Talamarito tapped the bowl of his pipe against his palm, as if thinking about how to describe the fellow.  "He acted like an adventure.  And I mean, acted.  Something about him never felt right.  He did not seem like someone capable of acquiring the vast sum of gil he was prepared to spend." the tone of his voice was vicious.  "I don't know who he was buying them for, but he had a very particular interest in a particular sort of relic."

He stopped, turning again toward her as he puffed on his pipe, drawing his eyes along her legs from her heels to the hem of her short skirt.

"He wanted those with a particular gem.  Yellow.  Sort of like an amber, but cloudy and hideous.  You could recognize these things a mile away.  He was willing to pay top gil for any we managed to come by."

"Were you just buying them to resell to him?"  She asked, as he looked up to her eye-to-eye.  "Business is business, my dear.  We have a vast array of methods to acquire just what our patrons are looking for."

His pleasant demeanor seemed to be broken by her question, and he turned his back toward her again, "Now .. I'm not sure that I can remember anything more."

She reached into her coat, withdrawing another stack of platinum coins, a sight he spied with a look back over his shoulder.  "You are not afraid of this man are you?  He did not sound dangerous."

"Hmph!" came the immediate reply.  He whipped his gaze back toward the wall, leaving his back to Aya indignantly.  "If you had met him you wouldn't say it like that.  foolish as he may seem, I wouldn't want to cross his ire.  Even an idiot can be dangerous if he's good with a blade."  As he spoke he drew the pipe from his mouth, fidgeting with it in his fingers.  "There's something about him."  He visibly shuddered, "You can just feel it."

She nodded silently, he glanced back, "There are -other- ways to convince me, by the way."  He grinned mischievously, as if trying to banish the uncomfortable topic of discussion.

She smiled slyly, reaching into her coat once more.  She paused her hand there, letting it slide slightly more open to reveal her low cut top, before she withdrew yet another stack of coin.

"He's not buying any more is he?  Your finders fee will make this worth the while."

The Lalafel nodded, "I don't think he was with the Ishgardians, but he refused to reveal his reasons, not that we're exactly in the business of prying.  But he took the time to warn us against the Dravanians.  He was fond of mentioning the danger of these relics, as if the importance of his cause would encourage our business."

He took a few more puffs on his pipe, moving about the room again and facing her as he spoke, "It doesn't make any sense to me, either.  Why buy so many of these relics if dragons aren't your thing?  But you can't argue with the man's success.  You could probably talk to a dozen of my competitors and they could tell you the same stories."

He stopped, throwing his hands into the air as if tired of the whole spectacle, "They're gone!  You're not going to find any now, at least not any of the real ones.  So good luck."

She nodded, adding another partial stack to the three sitting upon his desk.  She wanted to sigh: the sight of an accumulation of a moon's hard work handed over to a Lalafel who raked in more than that in a night's work.  And for the barest handful of information.   He glanced at it as well.

"Thank you." she said pleasantly, "I am satisfied, are you?"

He shook his head, "Not yet."

She offered him a shrug, and smiled as she walked across the room toward the exit.  He watched as she turned to open the door, hopping back onto his chair with an ear-to-ear grin.  "Now I am."

She closed the door behind her.  Another long walk in the cold night awaited.

RE: Stranger in a Strange Land - Aya - 02-28-2015

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[Laying a Trap - The Scales Part Six]

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It started with a note.  It was written in Aya's usual style: upon the same pink, heart-decorated stationary she had purchased in Limsa nearly a year prior, in her flowing and flowery script.


"There's something I want - and I know you can help.


I'll be by tonight.


~Foxy"


Aya did not bother with any form of disguise or distraction.  Dressed in the simple, rugged sweater-like knit top she so often slipped on for errand-running around the city.  Her bright blonde hair, highlighted with even lighter sections bleached by sun and chamomile, was tied back into a loose ponytail; her bangs were left partially hiding her right eye. 

She cast a carefree wave and smile toward Momodi, not only her employer but also the proprietress of her lodging.  Then following one after another she followed with ever more cheerful waves accompanied with grins to regular patrons she passed on her way toward the door.

Her stride was quick and insouciant.  For a moment she had worried that the note wouldn't be received, or that he wouldn't be able to free his evening on such short notice.  But, these things seemed to have a tendency to work out—nothing seemed to bother her.

The sun hung low in the sky, lending a red cast to the clustered stone buildings of  Ul'dah.  These were clumped and humped together, supporting each other and lending a little airiness to the otherwise oppressive cityscape in the form of courtyards, scattered like holes in the hard cheese the city was known for.  In one of these, following clasp way from the Gold Court, a Miqo'te sat at a little metal table and waited patiently.  A bottle of wine and two glasses rested on the painted mesh top of the table, along with a plate of sliced tomatoes and a bowl of fresh yogurt.  He was slim and dark, with a lean, athletic build and a pleasant face; clad in coarse white silk and soft soled boots, he read from a little book that he balanced on his knee.

Walking the avenue outside Aya nodded to herself, "This is it-" she thought, reminding herself that it was what he called his "casino", an office he had once offered to lease her provided she kept an eye upon it.  She stepped into the courtyard and offered a warm, friendly smile that betrayed her excitement the moment she spied the wine and hors d'oeuvres.  She raised her right hand part way up to offer a casual wave, accompanied with an energetic but even more casual greeting, "Hi!"

He looked up from his book and grinned at her, delight plain in his face.  He rose, ushering her to one of the metal chairs around the table, fussing over her as he settled her in with wine and a little plate. "It's wonderful to see you, Aya! It's always too long between our visits. How are you?"

She gladly took the offered seat, exhaling a deep and pleasant sigh.  She leaned toward him with a coy smile, one blonde eyebrow raised playfully, "Even better now!"  She raised her wineglass, "Cheers!"

He poured for himself, then sat back into his own chair, raising his wine glass to match hers. "Cheers", he purred,sipping. It was a fresh young wine, one picked to match the tomatoes as well as her own carefree manner, and she gladly joined him in the libation. He selected a slice of tomato, then smiled at the woman. "I'm glad you wrote me", he said in his usual manner of purring delight. "Shall we have business before pleasure? You said something about needing something found?"

His question caused an interruption of her sipping: she pursed her lips, blue eyes expressing a mischievous displeasure.  "Always trying to deny my fun, C'kayah?  I think I'll enjoy myself for a few minutes first!"  she added an authoritative nod: her moments of pleasure were nothing to be trifled with.  "I'd never suggest any such thing", came his purring objection.  He happened to agree: few took their pleasure as seriously as he did. Especially when the evening sun casts such a fetching red wash over her skin.  As she took another sip of wine, and savored the tomato and cheese as a delicacy, he crossed his legs and draped an arm over the chair to, like her, simply relax and enjoy the moment.

She lifted her chin as she enjoyed a second serving of the tomato, and grinning, sipped wine quickly as a memory came to her.  C'kayah knew the look of a story.  The emphatic expression of her eyes, accompanied with the gesturing of hands.  She always seemed to love to share stories, especially about work.  His expectation of the timing was perfect: "Have I told you about the bard who wanted me to mix his drink by strapping it to my hip?" she exclaimed with a grin, as if on queue.

That grin, how he loved it.  He could paint a mental picture of it, but every time the real thing struck it was as if a masterpiece all its own.  He couldn't help but laugh, "You have not!  But you should!" he grinned with a mischievousness all his own.  "I imagine people would pay quite a bit extra just to watch you do that."  She grinned, eyes narrowing as she let out a light giggle to accompany her nod. He popped the slice of tomato  into his mouth, enjoying the rough bite of salt and sharp flavor of the fruit before chasing it with wine.


"It made for quite the tip!" came her excited reply.  She swirled her wine, the playful grin upon her lips lingered, hinting that she had more to add.  "I wonder how he'd have tipped if I'd shook it up with a dance."  She raised her arms over her head, hands meeting at her wine glass, lips pursed, eyes closed in feign concentration as she lifted up just enough to for her hips to provide a vigorous swaying exhibition to the delight of the singular audience.

He grinned wickedly at her as she moved, admiring the grace of her athletic body. "Aiming to join the wealthiest Ul'dahns on the Syndicate, are we? Either that or give the bards of the city both something to sing about as well as a cautionary tale about the dangers of Hyur women..."

She lowered her arms as she adopted an air of bashfulness; a demurring smile filled with a soft sweetness and warmth.  Her eyes glanced away, carmined red lips glistening in the final rays of the setting sun. "Besides, how dangerous could I really be?"  She turned her eyes back upon him, nothing now but the cheerful blonde in her expression, save one barely raised eyebrow.

"Now that is a conversation we've had before", he purred over the rim of his glass, holding her in his gaze."I still maintain that the answer is, of course, 'very'..." he lent and silky fullness of tone to the answer, as if daring anyone to disagree. 

He watched as she held him transfixed with the unchanged sweetness of her smile.  The spell only broke when she slowly glanced back to her right, as if her eyes were hunting for one last glimmer of sunshine.  "Maybe so..." she answered at last, with a near laugh, still gazing into the distance.  "'A nightmare dressed as a daydream?'" she turned back to him with a beaming grin of self-assured amusement.  "Is that the lyric I once heard?"  His grin widened.

This is what he always missed in the days or weeks between seeing her.  Not her beauty, though she was exceptionally beautiful.  Not her grace, though she was perhaps the most graceful woman he knew.  It was her wit: not competitive, not sharp.  Playful.  Conversation with her was like a dance, and he always relished it. 

"I don't know if I'd go so far as to say the word 'nightmare' in any sort of connection with you," he murmured with another sip of wine.  "A jungle Coeurl isn't a nightmare, even though its dangerous.  It's..." he paused trying to gather the right phrase to refer to both his hypothetical jungle predator, and the very real urban one sitting before him. "Worthy of respect.  Not something to be taken lightly."  He rarely liked to gesture at his own flourish, and in this case the words themselves were more than sufficient on their own.

His way was that of gentle rebuff as compliment—she could not help herself but grin.  She leaned forward, resting her right elbow on the mesh tabletop, swirling the last remnant of her first glass of wine before taking the final sip.  "You just have a way of always finding the right thing to say..." she sung in her most vixenish tone, her rich accent indulging each syllable with the exotic air of Ishgardian intrigue.  "Which is why I am here~ beyond the simple pleasure of your company, of course." Her lips smiled; her eyes offered a hint of mystery.


"If I have to take on the burden of utility in order to earn your company", he purred, refilling her glass and topping up his own, "then that is a burden I carry willingly."  He paused, this was not simply flourish, but a statement of fact.  One he knew they both well understood.  His voice became serious, "What's on your mind,dear Aya?"

She barely slit her lips, drawing her tongue along to wet them despite the gloss of cosmetic.  It was a sign of trepidation, if not of nervousness, that her expression otherwise refused to yield.  "Sadly, its not a matter of personal interest," she began, knowing a quest for the perfect jeweled choker, or an immaculate mythril bracelet would have suited both their desires more perfectly, "but one of public."  She raised her eyebrows slightly, as if apologetic.  It was something of a misdirection, she knew it was a purely personal interest in her friends that had pushed her over the precipice of action.  "This is probably old news to you, but several moons ago shipments of..." she paused suddenly, as if the word stuck in her throat, "of artifacts, contraband, from Coerthas were found unexpectedly in a warehouse.  They, and perhaps other shipments, vanished into the black market where, although they could be of interest to curious collectors, they have mostly been purchased by one of two parties.  These artifacts..." she paused again before lowering her voice to an air of quiet seriousness he had only heard on the rarest of occasion in the past, "are dangerous.  Perhaps incredibly dangerous.  Both to those collectors who have stumbled upon them, and more worryingly in the collective hands of those intended harm."

"Artifacts from Coerthas?" he mused knowingly, pursing his lips thoughtfully.  "You mean Dravanian artifacts, don't you?"  She cringed.  He thought she might, watching her as she spoke he had sensed her concern.  Perhaps she was afraid.  Even if she hadn't been borne into the snowy highlands of Coerthas, she'd lived there long enough.  How long would it take, he wondered, before the watchful paranoia that every Ishgardian seemed to carry would infect her?  Their caution was justified after all: the dragons did threaten them, and had done so since the dawn of living memory.  Yet, their caution extended far past the living things, extending to even the most innocuous of Dravanian items which they treated with the horror: as if the mere work of the dragon's hand carried the same power as the dragons themselves.

She offered a slow, resigned nod.  "Yes."  She leaned forward, looking at him through the tops of narrowed eyes, "They need to be found."  It was stated so matter-of-factually it almost didn't sound like her.

"Why?" he found himself asking.  His thin eyebrows drew together.  He'd seen her worried before, but only rarely.  Yet it was clear that these things were causing her severe concern: "What are these artifacts?  Why are they so important?"

She let out a sharp, petulant breath.  She knew his mind was sharp and quick, and the line of thought was not difficult to discern.  She could sense his disappointment at her superstition, and for a moment she wondered herself just how much of it she had unquestioningly swallowed.   But, that was something she wanted to ask and answer herself, not something for others to ask.  He made a sour face, draining his glass and refilling it as she spoke.  "These artifacts can be anything from trinkets to true relics containing the flesh or blood of dragons living or dead.  Only a knowledgeable Inquisitor or Heretic could discern for you which are the most dangerous."  She turned her head away.  Her voice was cold, and her eyes colder still.  "We cannot have them loose in a place like Ul'dah.  There is no telling what end of harm they could cause."

"And there was an Inquisitor here making a nuisance of himself not a month ago," he replied, referring to Estrelaint.  "Do you think its a coincidence?"  She did not move her gaze, her voice becoming even more quiet.  "When it comes to Ishgardians, its often difficult to believe in coincidence..." she said, echoing what had become maxim.

He shook his head with a wry smile.  "Never mind that.  Tell me more about these things.  Why do you fear the people buying them?"

She took a deep breath, and offered a resigned shrug of her shoulders as she turned her eyes back toward him.  She lifted her wineglass with loosely gripping fingers.  "The way of Dravanian magic is crafty.  They specialize in mental influence, if not outright control, but are capable of much more."  She gave her head the slightest shake, her eyes looking distracted, and expressing no interest in the wine glass she holds.  "To bring oneself into contact with the body of one is to touch a lodestone.  To invite disaster.  Perhaps it is harmless, or perhaps it becomes the source of one's own destruction, or the destruction of the people one holds close."

She clicked her tongue between pursed lips, en lieu of a sigh.  "Someone is gathering them.  A particular variety, especially.  The sums he is spending must be immense—wouldn't that worry you?"  She cast an inquisitive glance his way, bearing a hint of accusation.

He had taken a bite of tomato, turning the things she'd told him over in his mind.  He gestured with his hand as she answered, feeling the boring nature of her gaze, "I'll freely admit I'd be the first to say you were overreacting..." he wagged his pointer finger at nothing in particular, "if it weren't for some of the things I've witnessed myself over the past few months."  She was Ishgardian, certainly; yet, of the many things she might be called 'needlessly fearful' was not among them.    There was relief in her expression.  A sense of having escaped inquisition, though she wondered at what cost.  Relying upon nothing but the trust and good intentions of a friend, even a dear one, rarely came without reservation.

"Alright." he said, adding a nod as he took another bite of tomato.  "There are a lot of these things here: some greater, and some lesser—I actually bought one myself, though I'm sure its one of the least of the collections—and some few individuals are busily gathering the most potent of them for purposes unknown.  Do you think they're acting under their own will, their own plans?  Or do you think they've already fallen under the influence of the dragons?"


He had carefully slipped the aside in amidst his questions, but the words struck that chord of ingrained suspicion that lie beneath the surface of any Ishgardian.  She drew a gasp between clinched teeth.  Her thoughts raced for a moment, unbidden and unconscious fears rushed as a torrent as she found herself unable to listen to the rest of his question.  She struggled with herself, the result an expression of controlled surprise.  She breathed more quickly, her eyes focused, sharpened and alert upon him.  "You had best hope so, dearest C'kayah." came a reply of obviously forced understatement.

The intensity of her reply unnerved him.  For a moment he even doubted the wisdom of his purchase.  The artifact he had bought was small-a little carved dragon, harmless looking but interesting, sitting on his shelf next to a pin used by devotees of a Dry Bone based cult of Nald.  His glance was furtive, and he decided it best to return to the core topic of their discussion, "But what of these purposes?  Or whose they could be?"

She turned her gaze away. "It is Ul'dah.  Its hard to say.  I think we can assume Heretics are involved, but their involvement may have ended at the point of sale in Coerthas.  I would say its difficult to imagine a Heretic selling a relic, but having never known one personally all I have to rely upon are the stories."

"But what would Dravanians want with Ul'dah?  Their concern has always been Ishgard.  Do you think they're trying to turn Ul'dah against Ishgard?"

She nodded, looking back toward him, appearing less angry, though there was something new in her eyes: worry and vulnerability.  "The Dravanians themselves?  I don't know.  They seem to prefer more direct methods.  But what of Heretics?  are they not Men like you and I?  Could they not be more clever?  Seeking other routes to expand their power?  If this magic were unleashed upon Ul'dah, unsuspecting and unprepared, how many could it snare?  How much wealth and influence could it acquire?  How many armies could it purchase and equip?  With even a fraction of the wealth of Ul'dah at their disposal, could Ishgard continue to resist?  Or Ul'dah itself should the Dragons choose?"  She shrugged, her head shaking as her mind spun with the myriad of endless-seeming threats that could be posed.  Never had childhood preaching seemed so close to reality.

"Or," she interjected amidst her own answer, "What if someone simply wished to profit from mass confusion in Ul'dah itself?  Without regard for the potential consequences?"

"I don't know if I know what a Heretic really is," he replied while leaning forward.  His interest, though, was piqued.  "It sounds like, at the very least, a new player is operating in Ul'dah.  And that could have all sorts of consequences.  With the Monetarists and Sultansworn caught up in ineffectual pursuit of some Limsan pirate, and the Blades busy making sure the refugees stay miserable, I can't think of a more fertile ground for someone to cause havoc."

She nodded along, her lips opening to show the white teeth behind them.  "You've heard the stories of Ifrit I am sure?  Of the 'Tempered' who mindlessly serve him?"

"I know about tempering," he replied bitterly.

"Imagine the Heretics, whether by their own will or by enchantment, as the Tempered of the Dravanians." She offered a slow, diagonal nod.

He was lifting his glass as she spoke.  He paused with it halfway to his lips, his eyes locked with hers. "And you suggest we deal with those who've bought these things the way we deal with the Tempered?"

She shook her head quickly, "No... I...There may be numerous artifacts out there, but its these ones in particular that are being so energetically sought by our unknown purchaser that I am worried about.  I think we need to find out who he is, and who he is working for."  There's a look of anticipation in her eyes as they meet his.

He sipped his wine, mulling her story in his mind while a new suspicion took hold.  [i]"You didn't come here just to warn me of this, did you?  You have a plan, don't you?  One that needs me help?  So... how do we go about it?" [/i] His voice had grown quiet, and the tension in his body became obvious as he leaned on his elbows.

She shifted back in her seat, but leaned closer to him as he did to her.  "They call him 'the man in black'.  He behaves as an adventurer of sorts." She wet her lips again, "I've heard people say that he just acts like an adventurer.  That he may not really be one, yet, he seems to be incredibly dangerous.  Everyone who's met him seems to be viscerally afraid of him.  He's specifically after relics containing a particular, yellow gem.  I've heard it described like a cloudy, ugly amber.  He's been offering top prices across the Black Market, finding as many suppliers as he can.  But the only thing I've found out from these people is that he seems to be on some crusade against the Dravanians.  A useful story, perhaps?"

She let out a breath.  She lifted her head, resting her chin upon her hand.  Slowly the look of concern and worry, which had grown so tired upon her usually cheerful face began to fade.  It was replaced with a broad smile that hinted at excitement.  The mischief in her eyes returned.  It was time to get to the crux of the matter.  C'kayah waited anxiously, hooked upon her story.

"I thought you might know where we might find a network that deals with contraband." His lips began to match her grin.  "One which might be prepared to have act as if it has stumbled upon an undiscovered shipment of artifacts of a certain origin."  She raised an eyebrow inquisitively as she shared the plot.

"Do you know?" he said with a grin, "that there have been moments where I thought you really believed I dealt in only legitimate wares?"

She lowered the eyebrow as she gave an amused smirking shake of the head.  "Maybe I still do~" she crooned playfully, "But I know you will know where to find one." 

She winked. 

He grinned wickedly.  

"I can't imagine a better way to lure our mark, can you?"

He delicately picked up a tomato slice between his fingers.  "It sounds like a good idea," he said.  "Besides, its been weeks since I've used myself as bait.  I'll do it!"

She gave off that sweet, pleased smile that rose irresistibly within her in such moments.  The little slide of her head back and forth, the playful lift of her eyebrows, C'kayah knew it well.  There could be no doubt about Aya's elation.  [i]"I can't tell you how good that is to hear!" She replied in a tone that would tell him she were smiling even if he couldn't have seen it.

He looked away, the color rising in his face as she smiled at him.  There was little he wouldn't do for her, and placing himself in danger from mysterious Heretics scarcely registered.  "We'll need something that at least looks the part," he said , his emerald eyes returning to meet her sky blue gaze.  "I know a counterfeiter who's got a subtle hand an an extensive knowledge of Dravanian style..."

For her sake, there were few things that Aya loved more than hearing a suggestion that waited upon the tip of her tongue, provided instead by its intended subject.  Her open-lipped smile grew broader, lips pressing together as she tilted her head slightly toward him with a conspiratorial expression of two minds working on the same level.  "I would make a number of them, its possible that our mark shall not be the first suitor.  Remember the gems.  There must be something like them available on the seconds market."

She nodded as much to herself as to him, "We won't have any trouble getting word out, at least.  Rumors take to this city like fish to the sea."

"Especially rumors from the carmined lips of Ul'dah's favorite barmaid?" he smirked at her, though his eyes sang of truth.

"We should try to enlist her,whoever she is." Aya flashed a bright, amused grin.

A moment later her expression became more subdued.  She lowered her tone, giving earnest voice to the plot: "Remember that we could have as many as four possible customers: undesired interest from a collector or supplier, the authorities themselves, the Ishgardians, or our mark.  We must be prepared for all to come knocking."

"How do you propose we tell our mark from the rest of the collectors?" He popped the tomato slice into his mouth and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers.  He was interested.  He always enjoyed the thrill that came with trying to piece together a complex sting.  It was like a new puzzle, or a new piece of yarn, he just couldn't keep his hands off it.

In the moment, her excitement was too piqued to bother with hors d'oeuvres, though she only allowed glimmers and hints of that energy to shine through her more focused expression.  "We have a good description: a midlander adventurer-looking sort, wearing mostly black.  They call him the 'No-Eyed-Man' on account of an eyepatch, and heavy scarring around his good eye.  He won't be pawned off by the cheap trinkets you offer, instead he'll express a particular interest in a specific sort of relic, one bearing a peculiar style of gem that few would normally find desirable.  He may preach about the dangers of Dravanians."

"Are you saying my counterfeit relics would be cut rate?" he grinned at her again, a mischievous flash in his eyes.  "That is a good idea though.  If we make a number of them, we could say we've purchased a sizable stash.  Your average collector would look for one or two.  Your Heretic would see it as it should be seen: the least of a much larger lot."

She slid her head just to the side, offering a nod with a knowing smile.  "I did say stumbled upon a shipment didn't I?  Enough to raise interest, and enough counterfeit baubles to keep the rumors swirling should the wrong prey find the trap first.  IF the Ishgardians bite, a faux relic or two will be enough to satisfy them, all the moreso when they realize they're not authentic.  Whatever means they use to detect the real ones won't work on our stash."

"You're wasted as a barmaid," he purred silkily.  "You clearly missed your calling as a crime lord..."[/i] She smiled coyly as he took a sip of wine, then winked conspiratorially at her.  "Of course, being a barmaid would be an excellent cover for a crime lord.  You'd tell me if you were, wouldn't you?"

She pursed her lips, eyes demurring playfully.  "Of course, dearest C'kayah.  But why go to all that effort when I can find one to do the hard work for me?"  Her eyes moved back to his with a sparkle, her lips opening to a delighted grin.  A delight he shared with a laugh, "I think the next present I buy you is going to be a cat's collar and a leash," he purred, "We could at least make things official."

She lifted her blonde eyebrows, flashing the full brilliance of her cheerfulness with a happy giggle.  As it settled she let out a happy sigh, casting an admiring look his way.  Sadly, there was still one more lingering doubt on her mind, and he could see it casting a slight cloud upon her sunniness.

His grin slowly faded as he watched her. "There's more, isn't there, Aya?"

She replied with a subtle nod, before reaching across the table to grasp his wrist.  "Whatever he is up to, he does not mean well.  His pockets are deep, and his reach in the underworld is far.  People are afraid of him.  We cannot take this lightly, and I fear we cannot trust anyone."  She looked at him straight faced and earnest.  "I don't think we can afford to reveal our plan, even to your organization.  I think as few people as possible should know they're counterfeits.  Your runners and fixers should think they're as real as the sun in the sky.  I am not going to tell anyone else, either.  I don't think we can trust that the Blades or Flames don't have anyone on the take.  You know where we are."

His eyes locked with hers as her hand gripped his wrist.  He could read the concern in the wide blue of her eyes, the set of her mouth.  He nodded, "What about Kenthy?  I never keep secrets from her, and she'd be a valuable ally for you in this,"  For a moment she looked like a startled animal, frozen in the moment before it bolted, "But that's your call, Aya.  If you're that concerned..."

We know we can trust Kenthy."  She nodded, knowing there was nothing more to say about that.  "Remember when we find him what we need is information.  Who he is, what he does, who he talks to.  How he corresponds.  I'll leave the details to you."  She smiled softly, adding another little nod before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

He nodded, considering her words.  "I wonder if he has allies who would miss him if we captured him.  I'm sure he does.  This will take a featherlight touch."  He smiled at her, the pleased and proud smile of a skilled craftsman faced with a problem requiring the full measure of his skill.  She nodded along with his concern, her expression softening.  "If he's a Heretic he would likely die before being captured, then we would lose everything we stand to gain."

"How involved do you want to be in this, Aya?  Do you want to be present when we meet buyers?"  This time she shook her head, "I stand out in a crowd, don't I?  I'm not sure that would be a good idea."
"Just a little," he agreed with a grin.  "I think we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way," he said.  "Use the counterfeits as bait to set the hook, and trail him without arousing his suspicion.  Do you know anything about him?  Tastes? Weaknesses?"

Her softening smile remained, growing in the admiration of watching a master at his work.  "I think so.  Lets not rush.  As for the mark... I'm afraid I don't know much.  I could try to find out more, but I do not wish to arouse suspicion.  I don't really know any more than what I have told you, though I 'll do the best to find what I can.  In terms of personal tastes, I don't have the faintest idea."  She glanced away, giving her head a shake as though distracted by thoughts about who, or what, the stranger may be.

"And you don't have a name," he guessed.  "So we'll just have to watch for him..."

She nodded, "No name.  But you'll know him when you meet him.  Of that I'm sure."

C'kayah gave another nod, glancing off across the little square.  It was growing dark, and the air was growing cool, offering the first bite of night.  "Are you hungry, Aya?  I've been marinating an aldgoat steak, and its easily big enough for two."

[Thank you C'kayah for the wonderful RP and for allowing me to post it!  It has been slightly modified to better for a story format Smile ]

RE: Stranger in a Strange Land - Aya - 03-08-2015

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[Eyes on the No-Eyed Man - The Scales Part Seven]

Aya had her eye on some particular jewelry.  Twice already she had visited the Goldsmiths to lay eyes upon them: a pair of golden loops, inlaid with series of tiny diamonds.  She could imagine the gasps as they twinkled upon her ears in the light of an early evening ball.  A gasp she expressed almost silently as she laid eyes upon them once more. 

The marketplace for jewelry she could actually afford was the Sapphire Exchange, or any of the number of smaller bazaars that operated periodically within the city walls.  There merchants and traders, sometimes operating booths with no more than a single display box of baubles, sold their cheaper, often used wares.  She loved most especially the body jewelry, the like of which one could find nowhere else in Eorzea: it was just the sort she and her sister dancers in Ishgard had longed for in dreams and fantasies in those wonderful years before her flight from the Tower City.

Her cheeks puffed out with the pressure of held breath.  Blue eyes sat firmly affixed upon the earrings.  They were of the sort of quality, and inlaid with valuable gems one could only find among the products of carefully groomed professionals in the Gold Smith's guild.  They were still there, the dream held on with a firm fixation.  She knew one of these visits they would be gone, and that no visit would reveal a price she could in fact afford.  She made barely a sound in their presence; the disappointed whimper welling within her chest countered by the sort of pointless hope human dreams are made of.

Turning back toward the outside world, she pulled her cap on tight over her braided pony-tail.  The suns rays were already becoming unbearably radiant in the desert's early spring, but a chill-bearing breeze still swept in from the north necessitating the trappings of the winter season. 

As she turned down Onyx Lane, met by the welcome rays of natural daylight in the early evening, the sun hanging higher in the sky than it had in weeks past, her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden sight of a large crowd gathered in the square of Milvaneth Sanctum.  For a moment she wondered what a crowd was doing in such an unlikely spot, at such an unlikely hour.  She took a few hesitant steps down the lane, her mind unconsciously considering all of the alternative routes she could take, before the reason dawned on her: the rumors of the mystery man's public appearances had made their way around.  The crowd was gathered to hear what he would have to say.

Her eyes opened slightly at the realization, and her pace increased.  Misgivings aside, it was an opportunity she couldn't let slip by.  The mystery man was none other than the Man-in-Black, also-known-as the No-Eyed-Man.  Just the shadowy figure she had been inquiring about, and conspiring to find.  His public appearances had been a topic of public conversation for some time, more-and-more he seemed intent to stoke public fears about the threat of Dravanian influence.  Maybe she could catch him in person.

Carefully she squeezed herself through the crowd. Her demeanor had changed since she had exited from the confines of Onyx Lane into the open square it abutted.  Gone was the look of anticipation and excitement, replaced instead by that of a disgruntled young woman just trying to squeeze her way through an unwelcome crowd.  On a better day she may have slid through with little trouble other than that of wandering hands, but today she took her time despite outward appearances.

What had been dull agitation rose slowly to a din of impatience.  The star was late.  One voice, in clear Ishgardian tones, called out lamenting his late appearance.  Aya glanced back.  She was far taller than she seemed, striding upon the three inch heels of her dress boots she stood over six feet, taller than most of the crowd, and spotting the even taller Elezen owner of that voice was no trouble: Lady Evangeline Primrose she called herself.  A regular at the Quick Sand, and an all-around trouble maker.  An Ishgardian refugee; one who left the city chasing dreams of being a political rabblerouser.  The two had shared conversation and even tea at one time, and although they would appear similar to an outsider, Aya allowed herself no comparison.  

For a moment Aya became worried: crowds were never her thing.  She knew what happened to unhappy crowds of refugees.  She knew what happened to the crowds of agitated commoners in Ishgard.  She knew what had happened to the crowds of Ala Mhigans in his very city not so long ago. She had been the subject of crowds herself on more than one occasion, and never did anything good seem to come of them.  What if the crowd became unruly? Worse, a riot?  She wanted nothing to do with that - she pushed a little harder, trying to work her way through to the alley ahead, leading as it did toward Pearl Lane and the welcoming route home. 

Her focus was interrupted by a loud bang, and a flash of smoke.  A figure leaped from a tall height above, directly into the square.  One could have thought the man a giant, but in reality he was of no more than average height.  Clad all-over in black leather, adorned with vastly more buckles than could have ever been practical.  His long white hair was haggard, loosely tied back in the style of a I-have-more-important-things-to-do adventurer.  He drew his hand over his lower face, revealing only his eyes: one covered in a leather eye path, its strap winding its way around his head, a heavy scar over the other, though his eye had seemed to escape the worse-of-wear: its steel-blue gaze fell piercing.  It was him: the No-Eyed-Man.

"You called?" he pronounced with a barely concealed laugh - the sort of a man who had just achieved exactly the entrance he desired.  He lowered his head to a humble bow.  Lifting his head once more, his hand dropped to reveal an amused smile.  He addressed the agitated crowd, "Ah! I see there are some who have already heard the good word!" 

"Truly!" he pronounced as he moved his hand to his hip, drawing himself up as if to give a speech. "Truly, I am glad that so many citizens recognize what those assigned to defend them have not!"

Aya stopped.  She stared, transfixed for a moment.  Something...

Evangeline's high, penetrating voice cut through the crowd's din, "What threat could you possibly mean?"

The No-Eyed-Man was not perturbed.  His right hand rose, index finger lifted with a flourish as he took a casual step, "What Threat?" he repeated the question, addressing his crowd as if a lecture hall.  "A fair question.  'Tis a subtle one, easily overlooked until the realm least expects it.  So concerned are we with the meddlings of Monetarists and the schemes of the Sultanate that we fail to recognize something more dangerous.  Something that may well have been in your own stalls.  I speak, of course, of the Dravanian threat.  Of the seeding of the city with the means to replenish their own ranks!"

The crowd grew deathly quiet for a moment.  It was just what they had expected to hear.  The rumors were true; and the authorities were doing nothing about it. 

Evangeline rose to the occasion once more, "But why, then, have you been gathering as many of the Drake Stones as possible?"

The No-Eyed-Man again showed no sign of hesitation, neither his manner nor speech perturbed in the slightest.  He pressed his hand to chest chest, extending the other outward in an expression of utter humility.  "I have done what I could.  Fortune put the nature of the plot in my ears, and it was my own fortune I spent gathering the relics to ensure they did not find themselves in unworthy hands. I did what I could to ensure the most dangerous of them were placed in safe care. The Thaumaturges, learned scholars, the guilds, among others I have placed the true threats among those who might best understand them, contain them." He shook his head. "All have failed. The meddlings of our own authorities have brought these actions to naught."

Aya pushed harder through the crowd.  She knew what it was she had recognized.  She recognized the man.  Not, exactly, she couldn't quite place him.  But the mystery was lessened, or was it deepened?  It was hard to say which, but one thing was certain: she did not care to see any more of the show.

Distracted, Aya could not quite make out Eva's works within the drowning crowd.  Yet, the No-Eyed-Man's voice rang loud and clear, reverberating throughout the public square.  "Calm?  I have attempted calm in the past. To remove the threat of these artifacts quietly. However, I have found that a third party was gathering them in my stead. Snapping them up when I thought they were in better hands."

"And so I must speak to you, dear citizens of Ul'dah - should you find someone with a certain stone of an ugly hue - a little yellow in amber - then take it upon yourself to bring the authorities to them in all due haste!"

"For to do otherwise invites the presence of a dragon in our very streets!"

His intent was obvious.  The crowd was growing louder: murmurings rising to grumblings.  There was a shift in the crowd, surging toward the Ishgardian Elezen as she continued to raise her voice.  The few words she could make out were startling: "...attacks by people turned to drakes.."  "We found these stones you are looking for..."  "Why are you doing it?"

Evangeline seemed to know everything Kiht had told Aya.  And she seemed intent to blurt it out in the least auspicious of manners.  Aya moved faster still, pushing against the tide and nearly fighting her way toward the alley.

The No-Eyed-Man's voice struck out louder yet, as he turned once more to address the crowd.  Aya could not help but turn and look over her shoulder once more.  Evangeline seemed to be protected by a fully clad and equipped Ishgardian Dragoon.  There could be no mistaking it: was he a bodyguard?

"You see what they do? I knew only what you knew, good people - that the thaumaturge's guild saw a voidsent escape in recent suns. And here they claim it was the doing of the artifacts? Mayhaps. But it is in the nature of the beast to turn your wills against those who seek to do naught but good and aid those who would do naught but harm."

The murmurings of the crowd grew violent, the No-Eyed-Man held up a hand. "Now, now, no need to get violent with them, you understand. But you see how they sow dissent. I tell you, Ishgard will not brook us involving ourselves in their affairs, even when they are hard pressed! They use their dragoons as agitators, send their own in to stop us from solving the problem of these relics! And so I cannot act alone. I turn now to you, good people, and offer you this - for every relic you find, these yellow stones especially, it is in your best interests to take them! I do not act alone in this, not anymore. One patron aids me, you see, for I have convinced at least one man of the threat, and he is of sufficient wealth that he will amply reward any such artifact handed in to the appropriate locations. A list will appear around the city, in time. Trust no one to handle these artifacts but those who would accept them here! They could be in league with these agitators."

The crowd now was yelling, and shaking their fists.  A wave of anti-Isghardian anger and frustration swept over them.  A chill went down Aya's spine.  Must.  Get.  Away.  Now! 

The crowd had no interest in her.  She broke free.  She turned around, back-peddling and slightly dazed.

Another voice struck out from the crowd, calm in tone and expression, "...Sir! You got me convinced. But still, one question ails me...why you didn't destroy the artifacts, instead of handing it to people? What stops you from breaking the darnable things? I admit. I'm someone investigating the issue. And I saw the horrors that it can bring to the world. Yet, as I recall! They are but a single stone! Why you didn't break it, when you had a ton of them?"

Aya watched as the No-Eyed-Man nodded, "A sensible question! But you see, I took the time to study the legends in great detail, the old sagas. These stones you speak of - they coalesce. Far enough away, they are hardly a threat to each other. But here, within the city? Why, when one is shattered, the others grow stronger still!"

"I daresay that I could shatter a dozen, but should there be a thirteenth? A risk I could not take."

"But I must be off. My patron is merely one among many, and the others are not to be trusted. Royalist, Monetarist - all answer to gil, and when that gil comes from Ishgard, they will answer to anything."

There were more murmurings, agitations. A thought occured to Aya as she glanced about, "Where are they Brass Blades?  They never let a crowd this size go unwatched..."

"Very well. Disperse, good people! The drop points will be ready on the morrow! Good gil for a good turn, and for doing the city a good service! 'Ware an Ishgardian accent!"

Aya turned and walked quickly away, pulling her coat tighter around her.  She did not hear the stones hitting pavement. She barely heard the surge of the crowd once more.  She did not see the No-Eyed-Man steer it once more, just as he desired—but she already knew it was just what he could have done, and what he would have done.

[And an apology to Eva, since I apparently didn't get copies of everything she said, and most of the quotes are based upon memory Smile ]

RE: Stranger in a Strange Land - Aya - 03-09-2015

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[Ramifications for a Working Girl -The Scales Part Eight]

That evening's shift was not so much like others - Aya usually found work pleasant, if not enjoyable.  She shared in the fun, sometimes commiserated with the sorrows, and just did her best to spread good cheer.  But tonight's cheerful smiles were met with an altogether less welcome response.  The regulars were as they usually were, to them she was not just staff but friend, but among the routine local customers things were not as well.

Leers were simply part of the job description, but they had never felt so malicious.  She could hear the murmurs as they conferred among themselves, casting averse glances.  It was a wonder with what rapidity and speed word and rumor spread through the Jewel of the Desert. 

Tips were light, at best - some customers declined service just to place their orders directly at the bar, bypassing the barmaid and her livelihood.  Others looked askance, "Better double-check your change..." suggested one to another.  Even merchants, with their regular contact with foreigners of all sorts, were not immune to the sudden air of anti-Ishgardian distrust and paranoia.

The worst came from a group of laborers—she approached their table with the same bright, cheerful smile she usually carried as she bounced between the bar and tables during her shift.  She hadn't let the energy in her step diminish, or the brightness of her smile fade: it was the only confrontation she could manage.  "Good evening, and welcome to the Quick Sand!  What can I get for you?" she asked in her light, Ishgardian tone.

One of them looked up to her, with displeased eyes.  "We know you; why don't you just hurry up and go back home?  Leave us alone—we don't want you and your dragons."  He shook his head with an air of great frustration, "Look, we want the Miqo'te lass.  Send her over."

The corners of Aya's smiling lips relaxed; the cheer in her eyes barley disguised the up swell of tears behind them.  She offered a quick, energetic little nod and turned on her heel.  She walked quickly back to the bar, leaning over it to draw closer to Momodi, "They'd like M'areesa to serve them, please."  

Momodi's little eyes flashed fierce.  She had watched all evening, and she knew what was happening.  Aya could almost see half-her-mind at work with the desire to send the offending patrons tumbling into the street, but the other-half knew only happy customers were good gil.  Aya seemed to be handling things well - Momodi nodded and waved toward the Miqo'te barmaid to hurry on up.

As the kitchen door swung shut, Aya threw her hips against the wall.  She was out of sight at last.  She pushed her head back.  She wanted to scream; instead she squirmed, fingers gripping inconsolately against the wooden texture.  The first few words of an Ishgardian curse slipped from her lips, but it was not in her to finish them.  For a moment she thought what a wonder it was how quickly poison of the mind took hold.

"Just go back home."

The words rung in her ears.  What, did they really think it was that easy?  Did they realize that Ishgard was a veritable prison city?  Passport required for exit was strictly controlled: those with military, political, or trade purposes could come and go under watchful eyes.  Those with influence could concoct a purpose.  The masses without simply suffered beneath towers of stone and ice so tall they blocked out the sun.  Within walls of stone and ice so thick they blocked out hope.  That was life in Ishgard.

That night had been the most frightful of her life; one filled with a full measure of them.  Cloak-clad, she carried almost nothing: but all that she would have to start a new life.  It was a new moon, the world was dark outside of torchlight.  At first the walls had seemed the most insurmountable obstacle, but once they had been scaled, the bridge looked more fearsome yet.  That bridge, that lone standing connection to the outside world, bore the fitting name: "The Steps of Faith".  Each and every step would require faith, but not of the sort intended.  To avoid the watchful gaze of patrolling guards she would soon find herself clinging to the sheer stone face, blasted by howling winter winds.  How many others had fallen through the unseeable distance of the Sea of Clouds to their death?  How long until she joined them?

Every patrol that approached was yet another occasion to stare death in the face.  Each time the calculation grew more difficult: face once more that desperate fear, to cling and hold for dear life just out-of-sight. To pray to whatever gods may be for solace, for strength, for life itself.  Or to surrender and pray for mercy.  A mercy she knew would not be delivered, but in desperate straits the mind could convince itself of anything just to avoid that return to terror.  Again, and again, she chose the struggle for freedom.  To prefer the risk of the frigid cold waste, over fear in a holding cell.  Better for her bones to succumb to frost amongst others who yearned to breath free, than within the walls of the city. 

Yet, crossing the bridge had not yet been the end - like the walls before, the danger of the bridge would fade as she faced that of Coerthas' frigid chill.  The manner of escape had not allowed for heavy winter travel gear, had she even been able to acquire it.  Settlements tempted with their beckoning firelight that teased at ever fainter memories of warmth.  She would never know from where she had summoned the perseverance.  Perhaps no one really knew in moments like those: frozen night upon frozen night.  Days of blowing snow so thick you could barely see the next tree before you, while watching desperately for the lights of settlement to guide the way south, and downward through the frigid highland locked under its permanent shell of frost.  A frost that drained warmth, life, and hope in equal measure.  Threatening each day, each hour, to end her escape, until the broken expanse of the Northern Shroud opened before her.  That sight she had spied so often from afar.  That distant clarion call of birdsong that sang of freedom and sunshine.  She remembered stumbling into Fallgourd Float.  She remembered having made it.  She remembered why her parents had so long thought her dead. 

"Just go back home."

In the kitchen, her cut-off curse still hung in the air.  The Ala Mhigan cook turned to look at her, a blade of lemon grass hanging loosely from his lips.  "Aya, you okay?" he asked with concern.  Aya opened her eyes and looked up, she hadn't even noticed him there, brushing marinade onto sets of Aldgoat ribs.  She summoned a faint, difficult smile.  "I'm alright Jericho, thank you."

"They giving you trouble out there?" he asked, eyes narrowing slightly as he gestured with his brush-holding hand toward the door.  She hesitated for a moment - she never liked to admit trouble, especially publicly.  She nodded.

"I'm sorry to hear that.  You're a good girl, you know?  They shouldn't hassle ya."  She smiled a little more, with a little less difficulty.  Suddenly she felt the tears that were wet upon her cheeks. 

"You know, I know you're not like them other Ishgardians.  You just keep doing your thing. Them slow ones will remember soon enough."

Her expression softened, but her heart wanted once more to cry.  The two of them had been born just several years, and just several miles apart.  But she was still the foreigner to him—what hope did she ever have?

"You just come back 'ere if they give you any more trouble.  We won't let 'em do not'in, we've got your back."  He gave a nod, lips pulled into a confident smirk.  that much, was true at least.  The kitchen was always refuge.  She nodded again, a quiet, "Thank you." escaping her lips.

She pushed the kitchen door open with her hips. Normally when she did so her hands were filled with drinks ready to serve: sweet water, juices, or Champion Chachans she had just mixed, all chilled in the ice-shard boxes in the kitchen.  But tonight her hands were filled with something entirely different: concerns and troubles no fruity, fizzy drink would easily dispel.

She slipped behind Momodi, "Madame..." she said so quietly.

Momodi looked back over her shoulder.  She was so difficult to gauge.  Those fierce little eyes, equally capable of warmth and rebuke.  "Aya." she said, a hint of tenderness in her tone.  "May I have a break?" she asked, very quietly. 
"Take as much time as you need." nodded the Lalafel.

Aya slipped back to the kitchen.  She put on her long coat, and then tucked her hair once more into her cap.  She exited through the back door in the kitchen to escape the patrons in front.  As she stepped into the alley that lead to Pearl Lane she wondered for a moment why Momodi had been so quick to let her go.  The Lalafel Patroness was ever-sharp for business.  Did she prefer her Ishgardian barmaid to disappear to avoid trouble?  How long could this last, really?  She had been kind to Aya too... she wouldn't let such business get between them would she?  Would she?

At least Aya knew where she was going: she had news to deliver to C'kayah.  She wondered if, perhaps, she should just throw herself upon him.  Forget everything for the evening.  It was a day worth forgetting...

RE: Stranger in a Strange Land - Aya - 03-09-2015

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[Suspicions and Disappointment - The Scales Part Nine]

The route to C'kayah's office apartment, his casino as he so fondly referred to it, was not a long one.  Aya used the short time to try to focus her mind, to push away the lingering frustration of the evening shift and remember what she had observed earlier in the day at Milvaneth Sanctum.  She had laid her own eyes upon the mysterious No-Eyed Man, and had seen, she thought, the truth behind façade.  She knew C'kayah had already begun to pull the levers, loosing wheels into motion across his city-spanning network.  Leaving him in the dark would serve no one's purpose.

Besides, given the trouble at the Quick Sand, his company seemed most welcome.  Momodi had given her leave, perhaps she would stay late...

She tried the front door; it was unlocked, a good sign.  "C'kayah!" she called as the door swung open.  There he was, standing in the entryway looking as debonair as ever.  Long hair brushed back, slightly loose with the perfect amount of carefree mess.  Loose richly embroidered tunic showing just enough of the taut form beneath.  She smiled—he was pouring wine from a bottle into two empty glasses sitting on the small table in the foyer.  "Now, you were saying something about having information fo... Aya?" his voice raised slightly in surprise; his eyes offered a confused blink as the Hyur dashed breathlessly into his room, interrupting he and his guest.

A lovely Miqo'te woman had quickly side-stepped away from the door.  Aya never could place Keeper and Seeker, and in the moment she really didn't care: plan B was off the table, and she was disappointed.  She turned her gaze back to C'kayah, blonde eyebrows raised in an expression of obviousness: just why wouldn't Aya be barging into his office at this hour?

"Busy?" a grin pulled playfully at her pursed lips as she glanced between the two.

C'kayah let out an amused laugh, despite the light blush rising in his cheeks: he was never one to be caught off guard for long.  With a quick flourish he produced a third wine glass, filling it from the bottle as he made introductions.  "Aya, this is an ally of mine, Vi of the Vipers.  And this is my very good friend Aya Foxheart.  Its sort of fortuitous that you came by, Aya, I was just talking to Vi about the artifacts.  And Vi, you can say almost anything in front of Aya, I trust her."

Aya gladly accepted the wine glass from his hand, raising it to her grinning lips for an anxious sip.  "Mmmm, oh that's just perfect~" she purred in her own pleased tone reflected in the smile that flashed across red lips, "I can only have a sip, though.  I'll have to go back on shift soon..."  One could never say Aya was incapable of making her own quick escapes, and providing her own useful fictions.

The look of Vi's expression had changed entirely since that first surprised instant of Aya's entry.  Her eyes were wide and bright, and she stared agape at Aya, watching as the blonde pulled her cap from her head, and shook her head to allow her ponytail fall free.  With an exhale of satisfaction Aya turned her gaze to Vi, her voice carrying in its pleasant, light, Ishgardian accented tones, "Its a pleasure to meet you Vi!"

C'kayah was distracted, a perturbed look on his face as he held his finger to his ear: link pearl, they'd both seen it before.  Vi took advantage of the break, "Sorry... sorry, did you say Aya, Aya Foxheart?"

Aya nodded in reply, with a soft laugh.  "They do call me Foxheart!  Aya it is!"

Vi's smile grew brighter yet, "I've been looking for you!  Its rather a wonderful coincidence that you turn up here."  She chuckled excitedly to accompany the bright, delighted note of her voice. 

Aya smiled sheepishly, there was a time when people had been excited to meet her, but that was long ago (or so it seemed to a woman of her youth) in a life that she barely recognized.  "Oh?  Should I be worried?"

The Miqo'te waved her hand dismissively, "Pish posh, don't be so ridiculous!" she took a sip of her wine, before seeming to interrupt herself in order to continue, "Not unless you are a pile of turmeric or a bit of coumerin!"  She stepped forward, offering her hand.  "Its quite a pleasure to meet you though, you oft work in the Sands, no?"

Aya looked thoughtful for a moment, "Mmmmm... no... I don't think I am either of those!"  She winked while grinning, "but I do work at the Quick Sand!  I'm on break right now, Madame will expect me back before too long though."

"That is, if the ruffians don't chase me out... you should see the grief I am getting, C'kayah!"

C'kayah's distraction ended rather suddenly, "Grief?  You?

Vi's anxious expression brightened once more, "Yes, yes, I knew I knew you!" A brief giggle passed her lips, "You are Ser Crofte's friend, if memory serves.  Oh... she is such a dear, dear woman.  That is... I seem to recall her mentioning you."  She covered her mouth, shaking her head as if frustrated, "Oh, but sometimes my poor little brain gets so scrambled!"

Aya nodded with a warm smile, "Oh yes, of course!  Ser Crofte and I are good friends!"

C'kayah listened, but seemed less interested in Ser Crofte.  He cast a curious glance to Vi before addressing Aya, "Anyway, what brings you here tonight?  Business or pleasure?"

Aya let out an exasperated breath as she nodded back toward C'kayah. "That 'Lady' Primrose," she said through clinched teeth, "You may know her as Evangeline.  She's gone and riled the whole city against Ishgardians.  I'm surprised you haven't seen it yourself."

Perhaps C'kayah had seen it, or at least heard of it, but he just rolled his eyes in shared exasperation, "That woman would ask for oil to put out a fire," he scowled.  "But I don't expect much more from one of Vann's girls," the tone was as askance as the annoyed look he offered.

"That's exactly what she did!  And that's why I'm here!" she waved her wineglass around a bit, showing signs of agitation before taking another, calming sip. 

Vi smiled silently, but began fidgeting almost immediately.  A terrible storm of fidgits, hopping from one foot to the other rather anxiously as if she had more to say, but not wanting to interrupt.  She went so far as to bite her lower lip, looking from Aya to C'kayah in agony.

Aya seemed to regain focus upon her original train of thought: "At the same event I witnessed your man.  He was addressing an entire crowd about the dangers of Dravanian influence." 

"You mean the man with half an eye?" asked C'kayah with a look of serious curiosity.

"That's the one." Aya added with a nod.

"If he did it once," C'kayah purred, the plot already spinning in his mind, "He'll likely do it again..."  He glanced to Vi, "That might be a good lead to approach him about my stash of artifacts, no?"

Aya glanced to Vi as well.  So that was her role, though she seemed intent upon obscuring it in Aya's presence.  Aya was of similar mind: their plan relied upon secrecy and discretion.  If Vi were helping sell the word of C'kayahs artifacts she could not realize their counterfeit origin, or who C'kayah's patroness was in the scheme.  It was an easy matter to turn things around—it was a role she was used to playing.   It would be another useful fiction.  "I'm sure he will again." she added, somewhat dryly with a nod and a smile, ready to play the information broker—sometimes it seemed that her entire life were a useful fiction.

"It didn't take long for Evangeline to decide to rile up the crowd.  It didn't go very well.  Honestly, I'm just glad that I made it out of there."

C'kayah quirked an eyebrow, "Did she make it out?"

Both, however, turned their sudden attention to Vi who was very nearly hurting herself with the forcefulness of her lip-bite.  She was squirming with an anxious excitement: her hands clasping and unclasping as she appeared as antsy and restless as a little school girl.

Aya blinked slowly, her eyes-widening.  "Is everything alright, Vi?"

The Miqo'te leaped at the opportunity, blurting out, "No!  I mean... er..." she seemed embarrassed at her own outburst; a blush spreading anxiously over her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.  She played with the hem of her tunic and looked up at Aya with an apologetic air, "I mean... it's just... I... I've heard so many rumors lately, and I...." she seemed more sheepish than ever.  "Well, I haven't been able to visit Crofte myself... you see.. I uh..." she dropped her voice as though she were ashamed to add any more.

"I heard she might have married her Beau and... and I wanted to wish her a congratulations but... Gods help me, I can't remember his bloody name, and if I send... send... send a gift with card... I mean, I'll look the fool if I don't know who to send it to!  What's his name again?"  She scratched her head, the question finally escaping.

Aya tilted her head, eyes-still wide as she blinked with some astonishment.  "Ser Crofte?  Taeros?" she blinked some more.

"Yes!  Jameson!  Thank you!" Vi smiled brightly and looked to C'kayah, "I am sorry for the interruption."

Aya shook her head with a quiet mutter, "I sure hope she didn't..."

Vi's sharp ears still took notice, "Oh? Well, that's a talk for another time!  And we will have to talk, I rather like you."

Aya grinned back to Vi, her body seeming to relax for a moment.  "It would be my pleasure!" came the pleasant and cheerful reply.  She took another sip of the deep red wine.

C'kayah looked back and forth between them, slowly coming to realize that he was presented with a rare opportunity: normally one did not get to see two masters playing senet with one another.

Vi smiled warmly as she took a seat in one of the waiting chairs, "O no, miss.  The pleasure is all mine, I assure you."  She retreated into the confines of the ghastly red velvet, "I'll leave you two to it..." she said with a quiet smile.

C'kayah turned back to Aya, his eyebrows raised and an amused grin still apparent on his features. "You spoke to the man?" he asked.

Aya gave her head a quick shake, "No, no.  I was just in the crowd while he was speaking.  But, well... I know you were interested in knowing more about him, so I took the opportunity to watch."

He replied with a nod, "I am.  Thank you.  I have something for you, by the way..." He grasped gently at her arm, and walked her toward a hallway that lead deeper into the apartment.  He turned  his most polite and graceful smile back toward Vi apologetically, "Please excuse us, this will take just a moment." 

Vi nodded, her smile still pleasant and soft, "No trouble."

C'kayah and Aya vanished down the hallway, the sound of her heels echoed through it as they entered one of the back chambers.  He lead her to a bookshelf, grasping something upon it with the rustle of paper.  Drawing it down he presented the parcel to her with a smile.  "I found this in Limsa last week.  I immediately thought you'd fine it interesting."

She lifted the parcel, grinning brightly as she turned it around in her hand.  "Should I open it now..?"

C'kayah merely nodded, beaming with a Cheshire-like grin.

Aya opened the parcel, careful not to rip or tear at the packaging.  Pulling back the edge of wrapping paper she laid eyes upon a necklace of exquisite sapphire: a hue that seemed to reflect the very blue of her eyes.  She gasped softly.  It was not the earrings she so dearly desired, but something so far out of her own reach she could not help but hold her breath.

As the Miqo'te watched, Aya's eyes lit up like a flash.  In that moment the sparkle of the gemstone was nothing compared to the bright blue of her eyes.  But, when lifting the necklace to look at it closer she revealed that it was there as a distraction - a rich gift though it was - to obscure an even more expensive bauble behind it.  A miniature aetheryte crystal letting off a low glow. Affixed to it was a small note in C'kayah's handwriting, "In case of danger."

"Oh... my..." the sight seemed to have stolen her voice.  "I...
C'kayah, you shouldn't have!"  She grinned back toward him, her eyes narrowing mischievously, "Or maybe you should have... Oh, but I can't keep you, you have company!"

He grinned with satisfaction, drawing his hands up to her shoulders.  "And you have to get back to work."  Useful fiction at work once more.

"Don't worry, I'll come bring you dinner sometime soon.  You and I have a lot to catch up about."

She smiled softly, letting out a happy breath, not quite a sigh, "That sounds just exquisite."  She let the pleasant note hang in the air for a moment, before she shifted her weight on her feet, and the tone of the conversation back toward the business that had brought her here.

"So... I remember you were trying to determine what his angle could be.  But.. I noticed something that may open up more possibilities."

He raised his eyebrows.

"I believe he is an actor," she said with a cool certainty that seemed to dispel doubt.  "An actor from Ishgard, specifically."

C'kayah pursed his lips, turning the thought of it over in his head.  "Now that is interesting." he said.  "I imagine he must be a very successful one..."

Aya shook her head, "Talented, perhaps, I am not so sure about successful.  That assumes that no one is backing him financially, which seems unlikely."  She leaned close, her voice soft, almost a whisper, "I can't place him, but there's something about his manner of speech that is so familiar.  It sounds like he belongs on the stage.  Besides that, everything just adds up:  Everyone who has dealt closely with him think she is acting the part of an adventurer, but something always seems off about it.  Consider his style: he made a flamboyant, flash powder entry.  His costume is like that of the stage: distinct, covered in buckles, all black leather.  There's nothing practical about it.  The way he draws up the crowd, speaking to drive them toward a desired end.  Its like a scene from a script.  His hair, his eyes.  All of it.  He's crafted a character to play on the grandest stage. He speaks as someone trained in Ishgardian oratory, that much I know for sure.  I am almost certain he is an actor, almost."  She nearly bit the final words off, she was far more certain than that.  To her, there was no doubt.

C'kayah mused, "Curious."  He wasn't sure what that would mean for their scheme, but he had rarely seen Aya so adamant about anything.  "That raises more questions than it answers, but I never thought this sort of foreign theater would be easy to grasp..."

She nodded along with him, "It could mean many things.  His tone was serious, he has the crowd convinced that he is trying to stop the Dravanian threat.  He has turned them against the authorities.  As far as I can tell there are three possibilities:"


"One: he is sincere, and backed by his own wealth and that of allies."


"Two: He is acting to seek some personal advantage, perhaps by sewing chaos in the city."


"Three: He is a Heretic seeking to empower his masters."

She drew herself up a bit, "sadly, I don't think we can draw any firm conclusions yet about who is behind him.  But I suspect he is the front for something deeper."

She let out a breath, "But, I suppose that is for you to figure out, isn't it..."

C'kayah nodded in agreement, "We don't know yet at least.  It gives me a lot to go off of, though.  Thank you, Aya."

She nodded, her warm smile returning.  "Thank you so much again.  I'll see you soon, maybe later tonight?" she asked with a hopeful innocence.

"I hope so!" he purred with a smile. "If not tonight, then in the next few days.  Its good picnic weather if the sun picks up a bit."

She beamed, "Perfect!  I can show myself out!"  She turned, tucking the parcel under her arm as she walked back out the way they had come, followed close behind by C'kayah.  "Any time, of course.  I can't wait to see how that necklace looks with those eyes of yours... Until next time, Menphina guide your steps."

Aya greeted Vi as she re-entered the foyer, "A pleasure meeting you Vi!  Take care of him tonight!"  She grinned, adding a playful wink before lifting her wine glass from the table to drain it with one more drink.

Vi looked slightly confused, "I doubt he needs any taking care of... be well, Aya!" 

Aya grinned as she set down the wine glass.  "Of course you don't..." she laughed to herself, while slipping her hair back into her cap before stepping into the night's chill. 

Any thought of escaping the Quick Sand for the evening stood dashed, but that was C'kayah.  He left her with a lovely, thoughtful, and luxurious gift-and the ephemeral promise of a picnic that would never happen.  As the door closed behind her she let out a quiet sigh, and walked back into the torch-lit darkness.

[A thank you to C'kayah and Vi! (L'vi Lyrre) for this RP, and allowing me to post it as a story Smile ]