((A series of stories about C'rhisi's travels))
She tossed and turned, the rain drumming hard on the slats of the cart above her head. Â The desert storm left the night pitch black and her eyes could not pierce the dark, though the Hall was a few feet away, a looming in the darkness that she could hear rather than see.
Lightning flashed and thunder cracked in a boom that shook the earth under her and the cart above her and made the fountain shudder and creak and she was far, far away.
----------
She walked out of the bar with the small lute swung over her back. Â The smell of ceruleum and the stench of burning bomb fingers and hot steel turned her stomach but she kept her face carefully schooled into empty politeness. Â If a patroling security force caught her acting strangely, there could be questions, and though she could blame it on drink (coming out of a bar) it was just easier to hide her expression and avoid the questions altogether.
Quietly, she slipped down the cermet streets, her hat pulled down low, her tail wrapped tightly around her waist and her ears hidden under a bandanna under her hat. Â She side-stepped a leg-less beggar on a streetcorner, the man too tired to even lift the cup where a few coppers were collected. Â The patrols would sweep him up soon unless he had a permit for that corner and he would be whipped. Â Her own back and ribs were striped from the first time she had been caught- she had been starving because no bar would let her play without the proper paperwork and she had gotten sick scrounging in garbage. Â They'd given her twenty lashes and a stern warning. Â She had gotten more clever after that, learned where the patrols did not go, where the other downtrodden and destitute would look out for each other. Â Eventually, she managed to find Resistance members and forged paperwork. Â In return, she occasionally sang songs that held hidden messages as she made her way across the Empire. Â It was a good trade.
As she slipped through alleyways, the buildings grew meaner, dirtier, the scents grew thicker until she had to wrap a cloth around her mouth and nose. Â Walking through nearly tangible clouds of fog, she made her way into the broken down part of the city, slipping into a door and up a set of creaking stairs until she found herself in a bolthole that she'd been given the use of while she sang in this part of Garlemald. Â A simple mat on the floor, a bomb finger in an iron stove, her bulging travelling pack, and a pot for waste took up the entire space and she was grateful. Â Curling around her pack gratefully, Rhisi slipped her lute off her pack and tied it carefully to the knapsack so it would not be left behind if she had to run in a hurry.
An oily rain streaked the small window set high in the wall as she settled down on the bed, the burning stove the only illumination. Â The buildings around her settled and she fell asleep to the shifting, cracking, creaking sounds and the distant crack of thunder.
------
The memory hit hard and fast, they way they did now. Â Rhisi was driven out of her bedroll and into the rain, walking in the clean desert storm until the shuddering stopped and her mind was free from the clutches of too many experiences. Â When she curled up in the bedroll again, she was soaked to the bone but her mind was empty...and the storm had stopped.
She tossed and turned, the rain drumming hard on the slats of the cart above her head. Â The desert storm left the night pitch black and her eyes could not pierce the dark, though the Hall was a few feet away, a looming in the darkness that she could hear rather than see.
Lightning flashed and thunder cracked in a boom that shook the earth under her and the cart above her and made the fountain shudder and creak and she was far, far away.
----------
She walked out of the bar with the small lute swung over her back. Â The smell of ceruleum and the stench of burning bomb fingers and hot steel turned her stomach but she kept her face carefully schooled into empty politeness. Â If a patroling security force caught her acting strangely, there could be questions, and though she could blame it on drink (coming out of a bar) it was just easier to hide her expression and avoid the questions altogether.
Quietly, she slipped down the cermet streets, her hat pulled down low, her tail wrapped tightly around her waist and her ears hidden under a bandanna under her hat. Â She side-stepped a leg-less beggar on a streetcorner, the man too tired to even lift the cup where a few coppers were collected. Â The patrols would sweep him up soon unless he had a permit for that corner and he would be whipped. Â Her own back and ribs were striped from the first time she had been caught- she had been starving because no bar would let her play without the proper paperwork and she had gotten sick scrounging in garbage. Â They'd given her twenty lashes and a stern warning. Â She had gotten more clever after that, learned where the patrols did not go, where the other downtrodden and destitute would look out for each other. Â Eventually, she managed to find Resistance members and forged paperwork. Â In return, she occasionally sang songs that held hidden messages as she made her way across the Empire. Â It was a good trade.
As she slipped through alleyways, the buildings grew meaner, dirtier, the scents grew thicker until she had to wrap a cloth around her mouth and nose. Â Walking through nearly tangible clouds of fog, she made her way into the broken down part of the city, slipping into a door and up a set of creaking stairs until she found herself in a bolthole that she'd been given the use of while she sang in this part of Garlemald. Â A simple mat on the floor, a bomb finger in an iron stove, her bulging travelling pack, and a pot for waste took up the entire space and she was grateful. Â Curling around her pack gratefully, Rhisi slipped her lute off her pack and tied it carefully to the knapsack so it would not be left behind if she had to run in a hurry.
An oily rain streaked the small window set high in the wall as she settled down on the bed, the burning stove the only illumination. Â The buildings around her settled and she fell asleep to the shifting, cracking, creaking sounds and the distant crack of thunder.
------
The memory hit hard and fast, they way they did now. Â Rhisi was driven out of her bedroll and into the rain, walking in the clean desert storm until the shuddering stopped and her mind was free from the clutches of too many experiences. Â When she curled up in the bedroll again, she was soaked to the bone but her mind was empty...and the storm had stopped.
