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Post by moralhazard on Mar 31, 2019 11:11:24 GMT
It was a bright spring day, sunny and warm with wispy clouds too slight to threaten rain. The road from Red Larch to Waterdeep was a new one for Kara too. The scenery was rather different than the forests and mountains around Everlund and the rest of what had been the Silver Marches. But – not so different. Roads were roads, and walking them never changed that much.
Kara’s half-plate armor was only slightly dulled by the dust of the road; even after days of travel, the sun glinted off the metal edged with bronze paint, and any mud had been scrupulously removed from the boots and copper-colored leather pants. The copper sigil of the Freewolves painted neatly on the center of the half-plate’s chest was visible from a distance, not only for her but for the other seven guards ringing the merchant’s wagons. Two stationed at the front, one sitting at the front of the first wagon and one walking, two on each side, and two at the back, one sitting in the rear wagon and one of foot. Kara was, as always, on the side, using her glaive like a walking staff, the heavy butt thumping solidly against the ground. One spare, plus the commander, riding in the treasure wagon.
Two days out, before a few days leave in Waterdeep then a long slog back with whatever the merchant earned from selling his treasures. Kara could walk almost without thinking, eyes shifting reflexively over trees and hills to check for movement, but – it was a busy road, and the threat of banditry was low. There was no need for more than minimal attention, especially not this close to Waterdeep.
The campfire that night was loud and boisterous. Kara sat off to the side, refusing an offer of rotgut whisky – again – and polishing her armor with slow, even strokes. They had ringed up with two other caravans, sharing fire and fare alike. That was all right with Kara; watching the other groups was more fun than ignoring the other mercenaries. This was the second night they’d camped with the larger of the caravans, including a little fatherless family. The youngest of them was a chubby-cheeked little girl, dressed in threadbare but neat clothes, with gleaming blonde hair that her mother was brushing out before the fire. The toddler was playing with a little worn doll, attentively combing its yellow yarn hair. There were another three of them, two messy boys neither of whom could have been more than tent, wrestling over the last bite of camp meat, and an older girl of perhaps fourteen in a simple blue dress, nearly as solemn as her mother. The five of them sat around their own campfire, a little off to the side from the rest of their group.
Kara was coming back from the woods when she heard Horund’s voice, pitched low and with a cruel edge of laughter. Darlith’s laughter joined his, drowning out a soft, girlish voice, and Kara felt a long shiver run up her spine. Bullies, the both of them: Darlith was a drunk and an angry one at that, but Horund was just nasty.
Kara grabbed a large stick from the ground, kicking off two of the bigger branches sticking out from it, and gripped it firmly in both hands, wading through the underbrush.
It was the older girl from the campsite, currently crying and trying to wrench her arm away from Horund, who was laughing and holding her firm. Branches – what looked like kindling – lay strewn at their feet.
Darlith was leaning in, swaying on his feet. “Jus’ a kiss, then,” he slurred, voice thick with drink.
“Let her go,” Kara planted the branch firmly on the ground, looking at the three of them.
The girl looked up, eyes wide and wet, glistening with terror in the moonlight.
Horund laughed. “She’s been giving me and Darlith the eye all evening, Ringer. You wouldn’t understand what it’s like for a man to know a juicy little thing like this wants him. The three of us are just enjoying ourselves.”
“Let her go.” Kara repeated, calm and even, face utterly blank.
“Hey,” Darlith swayed, turning back from the girl and approaching Kara, slowly, hands clenching into fists. “Get – get lost, Ringer. We’re all enj- enj- havin’ fun here.”
Kara twirled the makeshift staff, once, twice, getting a feel for the weight of it. She took one slow, deliberate step forward. “Let. Her. Go.”
The next morning found Horund nursing broken fingers and Darlith with a heavy knot on his head to complement his hangover. Kara could more or less see out of her black eye. The girl had spent the rest of the night close to her mother’s campfire, silent and pale; Kara wasn’t sure what had possessed her to leave it in the first place. Marly, their captain, didn’t ask, and none of them volunteered any answers.
That night, things were quiet. Kara patrolled through the woods twice to make sure; this time she took her glaive.
The last day, Kara spotted a glimpse of soft yellow yarn on the edge of the road, and stepped away to grab it, tucking the floppy doll into the waistband of her armor. They caught the family when the caravan stopped at the Northgate, and Kara could see the chubby-cheeked toddler shrieking helplessly for her doll in the middle of the road, her mother and siblings rushing around trying to gather their things.
Kara walked to her, slowly, ignoring Marly’s command to get back to the merchant’s wagons, and knelt, extending the doll.
The little girl stared at her, wide-eyed, sobs halted but not taking the toy. She whimpered, gaze sweeping over Kara’s armor and the blue-purple bruise around her eye.
Kara grabbed one tiny hand in her gloved one, ignoring the girl’s frightened shriek, and thrust the doll into it, then stood and walked away, leaving the toddler wailing again behind her until her mother swooped in, scolding her.
“Shape up or you’re out, Ringer,” It was a few hours later that Marly gathered them in Golden Harp, in the makeshift room the Freewolves used as an office in Waterdeep. He was leaning back in a heavy wooden chair, dirty boots crossed on the desk. The other guards were sitting here and there, but everyone snapped to attention when he spoke.
“Shape up, sir?” Kara stood in front of the desk, arms crossed over her chest.
“You’re a troublemaker,” Marly scowled. “I don’t know what happened in the woods with you, Horund and Darlith,” a low chuckle and a burst of laughter came from several of the guards against the wall, “but I won’t have any more of it. No more breaking rank either.” He set down the paper he’d been reading, looking at her. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes sir.” Kara said. “I’m out.”
“You’re – “ Marly twisted, feet hitting the floor, and was halfway to his feet before he thought better of it, sinking back into the chair. “Fine. Good riddance. Ranth’ll pay you what you’re owed for this leg of the trip.”
Kara turned, ignoring them all, making her way towards the door.
“Ringer!” Marly’s voice was sharp behind her.
Kara stopped, looking back over her shoulder.
“The armor,” Marly’s smile was a nasty one. Horund chuckled. “It’s not yours, is it? Nor those pants,” He gestured at the copper-colored leather that completed the Freewolves uniform. “You may be going, but they stay right here.”
Kara slowly turned back to look at him. She fixed her eyes on his and stripped off the pieces of the half-plate one by one, dropping them each with a clank into a pile in the center of the room. There was talk and laughter from the other members of the company, even a wolf whistle, but Kara never moved, never looked around, never blushed, never acknowledged that there was anything to be embarrassed about – just looked directly at Marly, cold fury burning behind her eyes. She stripped off the Freewolves’ boots, and didn’t look away even as she took the leather pants off and dropped them on the pile, standing before them in a tight black short-sleeved shirt, strips of black cloth wrapped around her arms, undergarments, and nothing else besides.
“Absolutely no ass to speak of,” Kara could hear Silas laughing to Horund. “You sure she’s a woman? I guess no man’s so short.” She could all but feel Horund’s smirk burning a brand into her skin.
Kara turned and walked out of the room, chin as high as if she’d still been wearing the half-plate.
Half an hour later, she found herself on the streets of Waterdeep, glaive in hand, a leather sheath tied to the top to fit Waterdeep’s regulations on drawn weapons. Everything else she owned was strapped to her back. She’d at least had time to put on a pair of black leggings and a black tunic, even if she hadn’t had replacement boots; the cobblestones were cool and dusty against her small, bare feet.
As she walked south from the gate, bruised eye throbbing, Kara could see the little father-less family from the road; the little girl was shrieking with laughter as a large, sturdy man tossed her into the air and the two boys ran circles around him. The mother was crying soft tears of what Kara guessed to be relief, the little floppy doll with its yellow yarn hair tucked under her arm. Even the oldest girl was beaming, a long way from the scared-rabbit look on her face two nights earlier. Kara took a deep breath, and, for the first time in weeks, smiled.
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Post by orby on Mar 31, 2019 13:14:47 GMT
Between robberies and bar brawls, Caim's first evening in Waterdeep had been an illuminating experience in the most unpleasant, stressful sort of way. Such callous violence and crime had only ever been the stuff of fiction to him, conflict for stories that seemed far-off and intangible beyond the stone walls of the temple. Real, certainly, but not truly fathomable from his extremely restricted point of view.
(It did strike him, again, that perhaps he'd been wrong to leave. It was all for his own good, they'd said, he'd been cared for and sheltered and safe. Surely there were plenty of people out there who could only have dreamed of such security. Surely only an ungrateful spoiled child could fail to appreciate that.)
Perhaps the few negative experiences would have taught a wiser soul to be more cautious. Wandering aimlessly in unfamiliar territory was an invitation for trouble, and he'd been lucky so far to escape it without much consequence.
Still, Caim ended up doing just that, wandering aimlessly up and down the tangle of Waterdeep's many streets and alleys. For all that there was undeniable unpleasantness here, it was still somehow enthralling. The scope of it remained awe-inspiring, the loud crowds vibrant and lively, every storefront exciting in their stock of intriguing baubles or lovely fabrics or more books than he could have begged off the clergy in a year (he'd already worked up the courage to buy one and spent a night curled up in his inn room buried in it). The mountain looming overhead and the castle built into its base seemed the stuff of storybooks. The stretch of ocean out past the docks was even more breath-stealing in the daylight, seemingly endless and full of promise.
If he still felt compelled to keep his cloak on and hood low, it was a fair trade. He'd been more covered up around the public during sermons and had less freedom to interact with anyone.
The northern side of the city seemed less wild anyway. The buildings here were more built up and in better condition, the locals dressed in finer clothes. There was still an enticing energy in it all, but it seemed to lack a certain hardness characteristic of the lower wards. Perhaps that was at least somewhat do to the heavier city guard presence. They were much more plentiful up here, and more attentive. He could feel the wary lingering stares on his hooded figure, but evidently he did a decent job at seeming otherwise unobtrusive as he was left alone.
And as unending as Waterdeep seemed, the wall came closer and closer until he eventually come upon it. He followed it back to the main road, a clawed hand lightly trailing over the stone as he went. Back south some and then down onto some other side street, maybe? It wasn't like he had anything else to do here. He was without obligations, no goals other than staying alive and free.
Just a bit south of the gate, his attention was caught by the delighted shrieking of a child. He glanced up to what looked like a family on the opposite side of the street, children playing around the heels of their parents, a giggling little girl being squeezed tight to her father's chest and arching away from the tickle of his beard on her face.
Caim's steps slowed slightly. It was a warm, pleasant scene. He couldn't imagine anyone not being happy for them, so clearly joyful in this gathering or reunion or whatever it was. He was happy for them, truly and deeply and he prayed they held onto that palpable warmth for the rest of their years.
And yet...
There was a part of him, something deep in his gut, that twisted uncomfortably to watch it. A pang of bitter in the sweetness, subtle but just sharp enough that he couldn't quite ignore it, like the bite of a needle into soft flesh.
He looked away again, not letting his gaze linger too long.
That moment of distractedness, however, was apparently just enough to not notice the person in front of him also pausing. Just as he looked forward again, he only just caught the dark shape at the bottom edge of his vision before he walked straight into it. Or, them, rather. He nearly stumbled over the small figure and instinctively steadied himself against them, warm hands on solid shoulders.
"Ah...I'm sorry!" he automatically apologized, pulling back and raising his empty palms in that universal gesture of I am unarmed and harmless. "I didn't see you..." Y'know, down there, like a foot below his eye level.
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Post by moralhazard on Mar 31, 2019 14:31:31 GMT
Kara’s smile didn’t last long.
Kara had no sooner turned back to the road – and all the tasks ahead of her that day – when a much larger figure walked straight into her, full-bodied. She jerked her head back just in time to avoid smacking her chin and nose into his chest; his knee caught her in the thigh, and his torso smacked solidly into the rest of her. It was a solid hit, the kind of force that came from someone striding solidly forward without even an attempt to check their stride but – Kara thought – there had been no deliberateness to it. It wasn’t anywhere near enough to knock her off her feet, even with the weight of her pack, not with her balance. It didn’t feel like a threat either, more an accident, albeit a forceful one.
But then - Kara felt two large hands against her shoulders, landing and squeezing. That set of alarm bells all through her, and a rising need to do something in response, to get him off of her. One hand twisted on the staff of her glaive and Kara tensed, gritting her teeth, fully prepared to swing the staff straight up between his legs – the quickest and easiest way she could think of to push him back.
The – tiefling? – who’d walked into her pulled back, wide-eyed, apologizing immediately, empty palms spread. The feeling of threat faded away as quickly as it had come, leaving Kara feeling more than a little off-balance. The glaive had never actually moved, and she was a little glad she hadn’t reacted more quickly.
None of that showed on her face; Kara scowled up at him, utterly heedless of the foot of height he had on her. She paid considerably more attention to the dozens of pounds difference between them.
“Get off,” Kara said, firmly. There was an awkward pause, just a moment, and then the rounded butt of her glaive nudged very firmly against his foot – the one currently on top of her bare one. “Off.” Kara repeated.
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Post by orby on Mar 31, 2019 22:47:16 GMT
It probably helped that despite his height, even largely hidden under his cloak, it was clear he wasn't very solidly built. It was a lanky sort of largeness, his spread hands thin and uncalloused. The clawlike nails were the only bit of him that seemed remotely dangerous, but he was quick to curl those back against his palms, either self-conscious or being very mindful to be nonthreatening.
"Mindful" didn't really seem the right word either, though. When she prodded rather pointedly at his foot, his solid-color eyes widened with guileless realization as he hastily moved it from her -- gods, from her bare foot. The wince that crossed his face was all guilt and sympathy, and he had an airy kind of distractedness as he glanced between her sour face and the foot he'd stepped on and the random passerby.
"I'm sorry!" It was quickly becoming his most-used phrase. "Are you--"
He'd been looking down at her foot, concern clear on his face, and some part of his mind caught on the bare part -- he was a poor judge of "normal", but that wasn't normal, was it? -- but when he looked back up he interrupted himself as he belatedly registered the blackened eye on the young woman's scowling face. His expression slipped uncontrolled into surprise and worry, and his hands made a slight aborted movement like his immediate instinct had been to touch and he'd restrained himself in a rare moment of wisdom.
"Are you alright? You're hurt."
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Post by moralhazard on Apr 1, 2019 4:15:11 GMT
Kara let out a little exhale of breath when – finally – his foot came off of hers. Carefully, she curled her toes against the ground, checking mostly that she still could. Her foot throbbed, but she thought it would be a bruise at worse; the pain of curling it was a dull one, not sharp, which was promising. She flattened her foot out, slowly, and shifted her weight to rest on it. Still no sharp pains, nothing except an aching sort of throb. She would need to get boots; it could have been much worse. No sense in tempting fate a second time.
The tiefling apologized. Again. He stopped mid-sentence, staring at her face, and Kara blinked, once. The stare reminded her of the little girl with her doll; it caught just as solidly as the girl’s had on the bruise ringing her eye. There was something guileless about it too, just like the little girl. Maybe more guileless; children were usually good at getting their way. At least the tiefling didn’t burst into tears.
“I’m fine,” Kara replied, shortly. She did her best to make it absolutely clear, between tone and expression, that it was none of his business whether she was fine or not, words curt and clipped, tone not exactly unfriendly but – somewhat impatient, and distinctly not warm.
He was still standing very close, closer than Kara felt comfortable with. That was easy enough to fix. She took a half-step back, starting to head left around him, planning to pass him by and continue down the street.
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Post by orby on Apr 1, 2019 4:54:09 GMT
Caim couldn't help but watch the way she flexed her foot as if testing for injury, and his shoulders drooped guiltily. Of course he would step on the one person in this posh district without shoes on, and someone so small. She didn't look delicate by any means, hard in body and expression both, but that hardly meant she couldn't be hurt by his carelessness.
It was probably his own fault that she was looking at him like that, honestly, closed-off and civil at best. He really was screwing up every step of the way since coming here, wasn't he?
It was with that sense of having erred, and some instinct to do something, to fix it somehow, that he blinked and gaped wordlessly for a moment as she pulled away and moved to step around him.
"Wait," he blurted out as he found his words again, and this time when he grabbed at her he didn't stop himself. He caught at her solid upper arm. It wasn't a terribly strong grip, but he sidestepped in the same motion to block her like she couldn't probably just run him down, height difference be damned. Already his other hand was coming up towards her face, a faint glow in his fingertips as he tapped them briefly to her cheekbone under the bruising. The subsequent sensation was warm, certainly not unpleasant, as that small bit of healing magic quickly patched up popped blood vessels and soothed swollen skin and muscle until the damaged spot was unmarred again.
"If your foot is hurt, I can...?" His mouth twitched like he wasn't sure what to do with it, if it was alright to try smiling while she'd been giving him such a cold look. He lifted his free hand again, copper-skinned fingers curling and uncurling again as if that somehow cleared anything up. "I can help."
Recompense for his own inattentiveness, maybe. It certainly helped his own feelings of guilt somewhat. But he imagined he'd have offered regardless even if he hadn't caused have the hurt himself, if he'd just seen someone in passing that was injured. What was the point of having such magic if he didn't use it?
(He tried not to think that it was a different kind of guilt motivating him. That he'd abandoned those he was supposed to help elsewhere and simply doing what he could here to make himself feel better about it.)
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Post by moralhazard on Apr 1, 2019 5:06:52 GMT
The tiefling reached out and grabbed her – just grabbed her arm. There was no strength to the grip, just more or less enough force to be noticeable, not more than that. Kara clenched her hand into a fist, bicep swelling beneath his fingers to force them open, and jerked her arm back out of his grasp.
Kara flinched away at the touch to her face, taking a step back. It took nearly all of her strength not to shove the tiefling back; the urge was nearly overwhelming, but she resisted. He hadn’t hurt her yet, and her control was better than that, at least most of the time. Her stance had shifted a little all the same. Instead of being evenly balanced on both feet for walking, one foot slid back slightly, her weight lowering a little into a much more fighting-ready stance.
“Don’t touch me,” Kara scowled, a faint edge of threat in her voice. She relaxed, after a moment, arms untensing again, although she didn’t exactly lose the more aggressive stance. One hand came up to probe her eye; the sudden lack of throbbing had been a surprise, and she pressed her fingers against the socket, tracing the edge of it. A healing, Kara realized. The tiefling had healed her eye. From the lack of pain even under her probing fingers, he’d healed it nearly entirely.
The last of the tension in her deflated completely, and Kara rose back up a little – back to normal readiness, rather than extra readiness. “It’s fine,” she shook her head at the question of healing her foot. “Just a bruise.” She paused, feeling awkward and uncomfortable, but – she wouldn’t back down from any challenge, anything that she knew to be right. “Thank you, for – ” Kara’s fingers twitched towards her eye. “Don’t touch me again.”
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Post by orby on Apr 1, 2019 6:12:09 GMT
He knew he'd messed up the moment the young woman tensed under his hand, but she was yanking herself away before he could think better of it. His hand dropped and his hint of a smile shrank back down to nothing, and he'd already averted his gaze uncertainly to the ground by the time she seemed convinced he meant no harm and relaxed.
It was strange, how the same things he'd done all his life seemed so much less acceptable out here. Smiles to strangers were received with suspicion more than ease, as was any healing or other generosity he could give. The polite curiosity treated with patience by the clergy seemed an annoyance to everyone else he met. Maybe he'd just been tolerated all along and left to think that was the same thing as being liked. Maybe the temple's flock had only seemed so warm because they'd never had to see him or listen to him speak.
It was a depressing thought.
"Sorry," Caim said, again, more abashed this time, and withdrew his hands back under his cloak where he was less tempted to be handsy. He busied them with idle fussing at the hem of his sleeves instead. No touching. Understood.
After an awkward pause, he stepped back again out of her way. It was another beat before he spoke up again, lowered eyes catching once more on her bare feet.
"Do you have shoes, at least?" For all that he had the manner of a shamed puppy, there was still a concerned note in his tone, and he peeked back up with eyebrows knitted together thoughtfully. "This doesn't seem like the safest place to go barefoot..."
Even without awkward, inattentive tieflings, there were still plenty of other people around that could accidentally misstep, especially in some of the more crowded areas. And the streets could be dangerous too, full of uneven stone or random hazards -- Caim was immediately reminded of a drunk he'd seen tossing a near-empty bottle at his friend(?) down near the docks, and the way the glass had shattered across the cobblestones.
He frowned uneasily, fingers tangling together under his cloak like he needed to distract them lest they started digging through his purse for coin to give her. Being too free with such things had been his first mistake in Waterdeep. And somehow, he had the feeling that sort of generosity wouldn't be appreciated here.
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Post by moralhazard on Apr 1, 2019 6:36:41 GMT
Kara felt a faint stirring of… she wasn’t sure how to name it. Maybe it was the way the uncertain smile on the tiefling’s face had flickered and finally died. Maybe it was the way he’d looked down at the ground, his shoulders slumping. Maybe it was the – yet another – apology, or the way he drew his hands in close, or the fact that he finally – finally – stepped back. The closest Kara could think to describe it was that he looked like a kicked puppy and, she thought, it was her fault. It was guilt; guilt was the gnawing feeling worming in her stomach.
He looked down at her feet, and so did Kara. They were tough feet, knobby and callused, but still small and bare against the cobblestones. “I’ll be fine,” Kara said. Her tone was – well, warm would have been rather an overstatement. It was less harsh, at least, as if she were consciously trying to soften it.
He’d given her enough space to go, now, and Kara meant to go. Tieflings with faces like sad puppies weren’t any of her business. He’d bumped into her, then healed her eye; as far as Kara was concerned, they were close enough to even as made no difference.
“Coming through!” A loud, heavy voice roared from the street. Two men were carrying an enormous crate, one walking backwards and the one behind him walking forwards; it was wider than they were, and it would be obvious that neither could see around it. Kara took a step off to the side, glad to be further out of the way.
And they both would have been – if the man in front, walking backwards, hadn’t caught the heel of his shoe on an uneven cobblestone and pitched sideways. His momentum rippled through the create, and sent his companion stumbling sideways, knocking into Caim with more than enough force to send them both to the ground.
The crate clattered to the ground with a very loud crack, followed by a clatter as it settled onto the stones. The man in front hissed in pain, grabbing at his leg where the crate had smacked it.
The man who’d tumbled into Caim shoved him back against the ground before either was even halfway to their feet, roughly. “Watch it, you little horned – ”
“Hey!” If Caim had thought Kara’s voice was sharp before, he would quickly learn that he was wrong. The butt of her glaive rested, gently, under the man’s chin, providing just a faint pressure against the adam’s apple visible through a heavy coat of stubble. She pressed, ever so slightly, and he scrambled back off and away from Caim.
Kara followed with an even step, keeping pace. “Your mistake,” she said, simply. “Your apology.” The glaive jerked slightly. “Understood?”
The man stared at her. He had another half foot of height on even Caim, putting him a foot and a half taller than Kara – if he’d been standing. As it was, kneeling on the ground, she towered over him. He swallowed, hard enough to make his throat brush the butt of heavy wood, and his eyes shifted to the tiefling. “Sorry,” he said.
Kara lowered the butt of the glaive and stepped back, reaching a hand out to the side to help Caim up without looking. If he took it, her grip would be firm and strong, and she would easily be able to apply enough pressure to lever him up without any apparent effort. “Back to your errand,” she told the man, voice still icy-cold.
He let out a grunt, and evidently decided discretion was the better part of valor; he and his companion picked up the box again and kept walking. Kara watched them go.
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Post by orby on Apr 1, 2019 8:13:22 GMT
Even looking so downtrodden, Caim had the sense at least to step aside for the passing workers. His luck, however, seemed a different matter entirely. He was mid-step when the pair carrying the crate suddenly stagger and spill sideways into him, and already in the middle of moving (and having the sturdiness of a reed besides that) he was easily toppled under the weight of the man who'd stumbled into him. Caim yelped, dropping rather ungracefully, and he winced at the impact of his hipbone against the cobblestones and the man's bulk against him.
Stunned where he was sprawled on the ground, he had no mind for the way his hood had slipped off or the demeanor of the man who'd knocked him over. He propped himself back up and was halfway to sitting up where he could ask after the man's status when said man abruptly shoved him back down.
"Wha--" he'd barely begun, but the words died in his throat. He didn't have the presence of mind to even flinch at the roughness, simply blinking, bewildered, as he steadied himself with an elbow against the ground.
Horned--
He had no time to dwell on it beyond that as the young woman suddenly stepped in, her tone sharp and the weapon steady in her hand. Caim could only watch for those few seconds as she cowed the man into apologizing to him. He made surprised, awkward eye contact as the man muttered his sorry.
"It's...it's fine," Caim responded, taken aback by the whole display -- the uncalled for shoving and insult and the woman's unsubtle threat in return. He was prone to blaming himself before others, but surely nothing he'd done justified the man's attitude. Conversely, he'd had a sense that he'd erred horribly in his brief interaction with the young woman, and yet she jumped so quick to his defense. He could hardly follow it all.
And then there was a hand in his face, calloused and dotted with scarring and held out expectantly like he was meant to take it.
Caim hesitated. Hadn't she just told him not to touch only moments before? There was a beat or two in which he just stared at her hand, as if judging whether he was misreading the way she was holding it out to him, before he finally took and and found himself tugged all too easily back to his feet. He stumbled a little as he found his footing again, but her grip was firm and strong and he had to lean into it for support only briefly before he was properly upright again. His own hand was soft compared to hers, and almost too warm with some internal heat, and he had no idea what to think of any of this but still squeezed her hand gently in gratitude.
Of course, he wasn't one to leave such things unspoken. Caim watched the workers carry on their way with her for a moment, still feeling rather dazed by the whole encounter, but as they turned down a side alley with their cargo he looked back to her through disheveled bangs.
"...Thank you," he said, soft but all too sincere. "You didn't have to do that..."
Stepping in like that, he meant. But also maybe stepping in so intensely and jumping straight to implied threat of violence. That was maybe...a bit much, however much he appreciated the gesture.
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Post by moralhazard on Apr 1, 2019 8:27:23 GMT
Kara released Caim’s hand the moment she felt him regain his balance. She didn’t begrudge him that faint squeeze, but she didn’t return it either.
Kara kept her eyes on the workmen until the two of them turned off the street onto the alley; only then did she relax back to her former (not very relaxed) posture, shoulders softening a little. She gave the glaive a flick, putting it upright away, so the leather-covered top was upright and away from the cobblestones once more, resting it solidly back down like a walking stick once more. She hadn’t liked what she’d seen in that man’s eyes; only a weak and cowardly man would blame another creature for their own mistake, nor react so immediately and violently. His was the type who mistook his size for strength, and the ability to push others around for the right to do so. Perhaps he would think twice next time, but Kara thought probably not; this lesson would likely be forgotten by the time the errand was finished.
The tiefling thanked her, and Kara shifted, looking back at him for the first time since the crate had come crashing down to the ground. She took a half-step back, practiced gaze flicking over him, as if checking for damage. Mud and muck from the street on his hip and elbow, possibly a bit more on the back of his clothes where she couldn’t see. He was standing evenly, not favoring either leg or clutching at his elbow as if that hurt either. He was, she decided, fine; no sign of any blood, or even more than a little damage. That was good; he could easily have cracked his head on the stones. Kara ignored the voice in her head reminding her that she had absolutely no reason to care, or to think that someone his size couldn’t look after themselves. Except, well – look at him. It was obvious.
Kara just shrugged in response to his thanks, qualified by a somewhat hesitant point that she hadn’t had to intervene. She didn’t see much point in responding. Of course, she didn’t have to intervene; she could easily have stood back and let the bully shove him, or worse. Or, well, she couldn’t have. But he had no way of knowing that.
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Post by orby on Apr 1, 2019 12:02:54 GMT
She looked him over in a manner he could only read as critically and said nothing, and what spark of hope had bloomed in his chest died down again. Right, then that was all just...what any decent person would do, he supposed. He should be satisfied enough with that.
Under her sharp eyes, though, Caim felt more self-conscious than ever. All too aware of how out of place he looked. A cool breeze, pleasant at this time of year, reminded him that his hood had fallen when he felt it against his ears and neck, ruffling the ends of his hair against his nape. He grimaced faintly, eyes dropping again, and fiddled with the edges of the hood around his neck like he was tempted to tug it back up again.
But down below where his gaze fell were still her feet, bare on the dirty street, and he could only think of the cracking sound of the wooden crate hitting the ground and wonder fretfully if any of it had splintered.
"Ah..." He tried for words again a bit awkwardly, and peeled one hand from its fussing at his hood to point past her towards the opposite side of the street. "I saw a shop that looked like it sold shoes the next street over. You should really find something to wear before you step on something."
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Post by moralhazard on Apr 1, 2019 12:42:46 GMT
He had looked cheerful for a moment, and it faded again, leaving behind that same puppy-ish look that made Kara feel so guilty. She tried to figure out what she’d done wrong. She hadn’t said anything rude; she hadn’t said anything at all, in fact. So why did he look like he was the one she’d nearly hit with her glaive?
Kara shifted a little. Did he want her to… say something? Why was it that he looked happy after being shoved to the ground twice by some thug, but miserable while standing and looking at Kara? She didn’t understand and she didn’t like it. Maybe she shouldn’t care; that was always easiest. But it did bother her when children cried at the sight of her, and it did bother her that she seemed to have nearly the same effect on this tiefling.
Luckily he started speaking again; Kara wasn’t sure at all how to break the awkward silence that had settled on them. She followed his gesture across the street with her gaze. A shop that sold shoes, not far away. Kara glanced down at her feet. It was a good idea; a stronger step than his could break her foot. She currently had all her toenails; she’d be happy to keep it that way.
“… Thank you,” Kara tried, awkwardly, hoping against all odds that this wouldn’t worsen the discomfort so obvious on his face that even she could see it. “That’s helpful.”
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Post by orby on Apr 2, 2019 3:56:05 GMT
It felt like a miracle that she'd answered at all, and fairly positive at that. Helpful. Gods, it was probably a bit ridiculous to put so much stock in such a little thing, but it was such a balm to the raw wound of his ego.
Caim smiled at that, tentative but warm. Some hint of tension eased out of his shoulders and the way his hand curled in the fabric of his cloak seemed somehow more satisfied than anxious. He bit at his lip, thoughtful, and glanced back in the direction he was pointing, indicating instead a side street a block down.
"It'd be...to the left, I think, if you went down that way." He was...decently sure of that, at least. He certainly hoped he was right. Sending her off the wrong way would be the worst, and if she thought he was doing it intentionally or something... He backtracked his own path in his head, trying to build a mental map of at least just this small part of the city. Directions were admittedly not his strong suit -- as much as he really did enjoy the exploring, his aimless wandering might have been as much about simply being lost.
Glancing back to the young woman, an additional urge struck him rather suddenly.
"And I'm Caim," he added, almost in a rush, like she might take off if given more than a moment more and he'd be left regretting his own indecision. "If...I mean, if you ever do need anything I can help with. I'm staying down near the docks, at the Sailor's Corner."
Was that too much? Too forward? He had some vague sense, at least, that he tended to come on too strong, but where was the line between "normal" and "strange"? And more importantly, how much did he really care? Not standing out too much would be nice, but there was only so much he could do about that looking the way he did. If he could somehow help someone by just being straightforward, then did it really matter if he seemed a bit weird?
He wasn't really sure either way. But if nothing else, what was already said was said. He couldn't take it back now, even if the uncertain tinge to his smile made it look like he wished he could ask for a do-over.
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Post by moralhazard on Apr 2, 2019 4:11:39 GMT
The tiefling smiled again. A faint suggestion of tension drained from Kara as well, a slight softening of her shoulders and the grip she had on the staff of her glaive. She didn’t smile or anything like that, but she felt relieved. At least she hadn’t made things worse. Again. Kara followed the gesture with her eyes and nodded once at the attempt at directions. She wouldn’t necessarily buy shoes from the first place she looked, but it would be good to have a starting place. It was helpful of the tiefling, even if Kara didn't need the help. Kara looked back at the tiefling. Caim. The Sailor’s Corner. Kara paused, looking him over. If she ever needed anything he could help with…? She thought of how easily he’d healed her eye and decided to remember it. It had caught her off guard – she wasn’t sure about surprise healings – but it was always good to have a healer you could trust. Hard to know, in Waterdeep, if you’d get someone who knew what they were doing or a drunk. Especially what she could afford. One botched healing in a lifetime was more than enough, although that hadn’t been from drink. Kara shut the memories off. “Kara Bellringer,” she replied. There was an awkward pause; it wasn’t exactly like she had an address. Even Kara was aware that it wasn’t exactly – sufficient. She had at least managed to make him smile once, even if it was fading again. Maybe – maybe she could…? Kara took a breath and did her best. “I’ll remember.” After a moment, deciding that had to be enough and if it wasn’t there wasn’t more she could do, Kara gave Caim a slight nod, lifted the butt of her glaive off the ground, and walked away, bare feet plodding without any thought across the street, and towards the side street he’d indicated. Shoes first; then she would figure out how to tackle the rest of Waterdeep.
((Word count: 4,096))
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