The gil pouch jingled in her hand.
Roen shook it a bit, hearing the quiet rustle of coin from within the fabric. What am I supposed to do with this? She glanced toward the wagon then the two miners attending to it. Convince them to just lend me the wagon? Bribe them? The paladin considered her options, her brow furrowing. She even considered smiling and coyly turning side to side as she had seen so many other women do to charm others into getting what they wanted.
It was a brief thought. A very brief thought.
No. Definitely not that.
Roen watched Nero with a sidelong glance until he disappeared into the large building, before she exhaled through puffed out cheeks. Ducking her head, she strode toward the wagon, determined to get it any way possible.
It went well, all things considered.
Nothing talks like gil in Thalanan, and the mines were no exception. She had approached the two men, unarmed and without armor, and the response was merely a raised, curious brow. She tried the truth first, but entreating them to borrow the wagon in order to deliver the needed supplies to the refugees fell on deaf ears. But their unfriendly scowls soon brightened when she held up the pouch of gil that Nero had given her. And the miners were a greedy sort--or just poor, she reminded herself--that they accepted nothing less than the full pouch to discreetly relinquish the wagon to her.
Roen reminded herself to learn how to play cards and bluff someone in the near future; she was pretty sure she had been taken advantage of in that deal. Perhaps they saw that she was too eager to get the wagon--that or their discretion simply cost more.
Either way, they left her with a wagon that was without a mount to pull it. The paladin padded her own coin purse on her belt and glanced towards Black Brush’s stable. She guessed that she might just have enough to rent a chocobo for the trip to the refugee camps and back.
Roen was counting the gil when a gravelly voice greeted her from behind. “Well, what do we have here?â€
It was the Highlander Brass Blade she had watched heading down into the mines earlier. And from the odd way he grinned at her when she turned--bearing his teeth with his brows drawn downward--she guessed he recognized her.
And not in a good way.
“Deneith, right?†The crimson chainmail of the Brass Blade rattled he approached her. He looked her up and down. “I see yer out of the gaols.†He nodded appreciatively. “It’s been awhile.â€
The paladin eyed the man as she tucked her coin purse away, squinting in an attempt to recognize him. It took her only a moment. “Ah. Louvel Burn, aye?†Hers was not a friendly greeting. She remembered the Highlander; he was in the same unit as the Brass Blade that brought her to meet with Captain Anduron--the one so appropriately named Stank Balls. She knew they got along famously.
Louvel nodded, and as if reading her thoughts, he grinned at her hair. “The hair’s growin’ back nice.†His tone and gaze held a hint of lechery she did not appreciate. “I remember the day after Stank was done wit’ ye," he continued, "ye were bald as a babe’s bottom!†He laughed and reached for her hair.
Roen’s eyes narrowed instantly and she knocked his hand away with her forearm. “Do not do that,†she warned him quietly.
The Highlander’s brows shot up. “Oh ho ho! Got a little fight in ye now, eh? ‘s not what I heard from Stank. He said ye just stood there while Captain Anduron dished out one of his lessons. Then Stank took yer hair tae wear it for himself. That ugly gobshite, ye know he still wears that ridiculous wig around?†He did not seem discouraged by her cautionary arch of the brow as he leaned in again, his tone turning a bit more insistent. “Come now, Deneith. I just want tae see why he likes it so much.â€
The Highlander’s hand reached no closer than a fulm from her head. It got no closer. The paladin caught him at the wrist abruptly. Roen brought her other hand on his fingers, and quickly yanked his middle finger back toward the top of his wrist. There was a sickening crack, followed by a large howl from the Brass Blade.
“Ye bitch!†The Highlander crumpled to the ground, grasping at his hand; the middle finger was now bent back in a rather unnatural way. His expression was twisted in shock and anger as he stared back at the paladin who still stood calmly over him, her arms crossed.
“I told you not to do that.†Roen said evenly. She eyed the man’s hand; it was his sword hand finger she broke. At least I don't have to worry about him reaching for his blade, she thought. The paladin canted her head, and spoke slowly but firmly. “Now, I can heal that, if you just behave.â€
Louvel’s face had already turned crimson from shame (and probably more than a pinch of resentment), and by the look in his eyes she could tell there were an array of insults he wanted to hurl her way. But all he did was stare back down at his deformed hand and whimper. Boastful and arrogant Highlander, but still unable to handle pain very well, she mused. Louvel had always been the sort to duck out of Amalj’aa patrols, weaseling his way to desk jobs and gate taxation duties.
“What’s going on here?†Another voice called out from behind her as she heard approaching footsteps.
Roen winced inwardly, and turned to see the Midlander Blade trotting up to them. He had been the one standing guard at the door in front of the building that Nero had gone into, but the cries of the Highlander had clearly caught his attention. His brows were arched in surprise, one hand going to rest atop the hilt of the scimitar on his hip.
“Raffe! The bitch of a coeurl broke my finger!†Louvel wailed, spittle flying. “I am gonna cut ye good…†he snarled at her. But no sooner than the words had left his mouth, he cringed again, looking to his trembling hand. Pain seemed to easily distract the man.
Raffe stared Roen, then back at the Highlander, who was now rocking back and forth on the ground. After a long pause, he threw his head back in a derisive laugh. “Ya got beat by a girl! She ain’t even armed!†The Midlander bent forward, slapping his knee. “Aaaah, wait ‘til the unit hears about this. Get up, ya baby.â€
Roen licked her lips, brow knit warily as she watched the Midlander approach Louvel, who was still rolling on the ground. Muttering something about an inspector, the Midlander hauled Louvel to his feet. Roen stole one sidelong glance at the large building, before returning her attention back to the two Brass Blades. Since Louvel already recognized her, she needed to keep them here, and their attention away from whatever Nero was doing.
Raffe did not seem threatened by her; perhaps he was more confident in his skills. Roen did note that his one hand still rested on the hilt of his sword. The Midlander Blade looked to her expectantly. “Now then. What are you doing here?â€
The paladin pressed her lips in a thin line and stared back at the man. Her mind raced to come up with a story that would not be a lie.
Roen shook it a bit, hearing the quiet rustle of coin from within the fabric. What am I supposed to do with this? She glanced toward the wagon then the two miners attending to it. Convince them to just lend me the wagon? Bribe them? The paladin considered her options, her brow furrowing. She even considered smiling and coyly turning side to side as she had seen so many other women do to charm others into getting what they wanted.
It was a brief thought. A very brief thought.
No. Definitely not that.
Roen watched Nero with a sidelong glance until he disappeared into the large building, before she exhaled through puffed out cheeks. Ducking her head, she strode toward the wagon, determined to get it any way possible.
It went well, all things considered.
Nothing talks like gil in Thalanan, and the mines were no exception. She had approached the two men, unarmed and without armor, and the response was merely a raised, curious brow. She tried the truth first, but entreating them to borrow the wagon in order to deliver the needed supplies to the refugees fell on deaf ears. But their unfriendly scowls soon brightened when she held up the pouch of gil that Nero had given her. And the miners were a greedy sort--or just poor, she reminded herself--that they accepted nothing less than the full pouch to discreetly relinquish the wagon to her.
Roen reminded herself to learn how to play cards and bluff someone in the near future; she was pretty sure she had been taken advantage of in that deal. Perhaps they saw that she was too eager to get the wagon--that or their discretion simply cost more.
Either way, they left her with a wagon that was without a mount to pull it. The paladin padded her own coin purse on her belt and glanced towards Black Brush’s stable. She guessed that she might just have enough to rent a chocobo for the trip to the refugee camps and back.
Roen was counting the gil when a gravelly voice greeted her from behind. “Well, what do we have here?â€
It was the Highlander Brass Blade she had watched heading down into the mines earlier. And from the odd way he grinned at her when she turned--bearing his teeth with his brows drawn downward--she guessed he recognized her.
And not in a good way.
“Deneith, right?†The crimson chainmail of the Brass Blade rattled he approached her. He looked her up and down. “I see yer out of the gaols.†He nodded appreciatively. “It’s been awhile.â€
The paladin eyed the man as she tucked her coin purse away, squinting in an attempt to recognize him. It took her only a moment. “Ah. Louvel Burn, aye?†Hers was not a friendly greeting. She remembered the Highlander; he was in the same unit as the Brass Blade that brought her to meet with Captain Anduron--the one so appropriately named Stank Balls. She knew they got along famously.
Louvel nodded, and as if reading her thoughts, he grinned at her hair. “The hair’s growin’ back nice.†His tone and gaze held a hint of lechery she did not appreciate. “I remember the day after Stank was done wit’ ye," he continued, "ye were bald as a babe’s bottom!†He laughed and reached for her hair.
Roen’s eyes narrowed instantly and she knocked his hand away with her forearm. “Do not do that,†she warned him quietly.
The Highlander’s brows shot up. “Oh ho ho! Got a little fight in ye now, eh? ‘s not what I heard from Stank. He said ye just stood there while Captain Anduron dished out one of his lessons. Then Stank took yer hair tae wear it for himself. That ugly gobshite, ye know he still wears that ridiculous wig around?†He did not seem discouraged by her cautionary arch of the brow as he leaned in again, his tone turning a bit more insistent. “Come now, Deneith. I just want tae see why he likes it so much.â€
The Highlander’s hand reached no closer than a fulm from her head. It got no closer. The paladin caught him at the wrist abruptly. Roen brought her other hand on his fingers, and quickly yanked his middle finger back toward the top of his wrist. There was a sickening crack, followed by a large howl from the Brass Blade.
“Ye bitch!†The Highlander crumpled to the ground, grasping at his hand; the middle finger was now bent back in a rather unnatural way. His expression was twisted in shock and anger as he stared back at the paladin who still stood calmly over him, her arms crossed.
“I told you not to do that.†Roen said evenly. She eyed the man’s hand; it was his sword hand finger she broke. At least I don't have to worry about him reaching for his blade, she thought. The paladin canted her head, and spoke slowly but firmly. “Now, I can heal that, if you just behave.â€
Louvel’s face had already turned crimson from shame (and probably more than a pinch of resentment), and by the look in his eyes she could tell there were an array of insults he wanted to hurl her way. But all he did was stare back down at his deformed hand and whimper. Boastful and arrogant Highlander, but still unable to handle pain very well, she mused. Louvel had always been the sort to duck out of Amalj’aa patrols, weaseling his way to desk jobs and gate taxation duties.
“What’s going on here?†Another voice called out from behind her as she heard approaching footsteps.
Roen winced inwardly, and turned to see the Midlander Blade trotting up to them. He had been the one standing guard at the door in front of the building that Nero had gone into, but the cries of the Highlander had clearly caught his attention. His brows were arched in surprise, one hand going to rest atop the hilt of the scimitar on his hip.
“Raffe! The bitch of a coeurl broke my finger!†Louvel wailed, spittle flying. “I am gonna cut ye good…†he snarled at her. But no sooner than the words had left his mouth, he cringed again, looking to his trembling hand. Pain seemed to easily distract the man.
Raffe stared Roen, then back at the Highlander, who was now rocking back and forth on the ground. After a long pause, he threw his head back in a derisive laugh. “Ya got beat by a girl! She ain’t even armed!†The Midlander bent forward, slapping his knee. “Aaaah, wait ‘til the unit hears about this. Get up, ya baby.â€
Roen licked her lips, brow knit warily as she watched the Midlander approach Louvel, who was still rolling on the ground. Muttering something about an inspector, the Midlander hauled Louvel to his feet. Roen stole one sidelong glance at the large building, before returning her attention back to the two Brass Blades. Since Louvel already recognized her, she needed to keep them here, and their attention away from whatever Nero was doing.
Raffe did not seem threatened by her; perhaps he was more confident in his skills. Roen did note that his one hand still rested on the hilt of his sword. The Midlander Blade looked to her expectantly. “Now then. What are you doing here?â€
The paladin pressed her lips in a thin line and stared back at the man. Her mind raced to come up with a story that would not be a lie.
