|
Post by Ronna on Feb 6, 2019 8:25:20 GMT
Ronna had never seen so many non-humans before. No, scratch that, Ronna had never seen so many people before!
The journey to Waterdeep had been a long one, at least for her. Though she’d always known Waterdeep was comparatively close when put against some of the other famous cities in the world, and that there were so many people out there who would have scoffed at the idea of a week’s worth of travel being a long time, Ronna had never even left the bounds of Wellholm before. A full week on the road had been a startling revelation, sleeping under the stars, building fires and wondering if she was going to run into one of the dangers that travellers always spoke of.
In fact, the journey had proved mostly relaxed, and now here she was. Standing inside the gates of the Southern Ward with the wide-eyed and obvious gawping of someone who was completely new to the City of Splendors. She’d thought that she’d be lonely; that she’d miss her mother and the villagers who now saw her as more than just a potentially-dangerous reprobate. She had been surprised to find that she’d enjoyed her own company, and now she was here, the idea that she could be lonely seemed utterly absurd.
“Oi! Girly, get out the way! What’s wrong with ye?”
The grouchy voice of an infuriated dwarf merchant caused Ronna to jump, and she turned, blinking, to find the bearded man huffing and grousing. She stepped to the side quickly, “Ah, sorry, I didn’t-“ She started, but soon trailed off as the dwarf shoved his way on past her with a grumble about ‘backwoods hicks’.
A hot blush rose up Ronna’s cheeks, and she gave a nervous laugh, looking around to see if anyone else had noted the interaction. But… nobody was paying any attention to her at all. That, too, was completely new, and it was wonderful. The girl had become so used to the whispered attention of her community that the fact nobody seemed to be paying even the slightest attention to her tattooed face was itself a joy.
The more she looked at the crowd, though, the more she realised that she… fit in. Sure, the studded leather armour she wore, along with the sword at her hip, the bulging backpack, and the irregularly-hammered pot-lid shield she wore over that all marked her out as an adventuring sort, but there were plenty of faces in the hustle and bustle of the City gate that looked as though they were following a similar path!
Ronna put on her best smile, her hands on her hips, and straightened herself up to her full height for the first time in a long time. She was miles from home, but it felt as though she’d finally found somewhere she might belong.
“Well!” She declared to the City as a whole, “I guess the first thing to do is find some honest work, right? So here I come!”
A massive Goliath gave her a dismissive glance as she lumbered past, and blew a heavy breath through her nostrils, shaking her head in dismay at the girl’s apparent desire to address a city full of people who didn’t know, or care, the first thing about her. There was just one word to sum up the disdain:
“Tourists.”
(Wordcount: 557)
|
|
Arikarka
Approved
Linked Characters: Citrine, Gigi, and Rhia
Posts: 316
|
Post by Arikarka on Feb 6, 2019 21:25:19 GMT
It was her turn this week to be on the lookout as an Owl, spotting any potential recruits that would be worth pursuing and bringing into the nest. Targets usually included single mothers, abandoned children, forgotten once-soldiers, and other such people who were ignored and forgotten by society at large. There were enough of them in the city, that was for sure.
Even with her hood down, half shaven head with the other long pink, Gigi mixed in well with the crowds. She walked with purpose, never hesitating as to where she was going. It was like she always knew where she was going and there was nothing that was going to stop her. Both hands were hooked into the band of her cargo pants and her leather jacket was unzipped. Walking around as she was? It built up enough body heat to keep her warm vs just standing on street corners. Her tattoos were like any other heavily tattoos person - all henna brown and spiraling over her skin in the shape of vines and runic symbols. Nothing special Nothing eye-catching.
She was making her rounds to the city's main gates. Beggars and those in need often stuck to the city's mouths in hopes of tempting tourists and new visitors into helping them out - whether or not they were truly beggars or not besides the point. It's not like she hadn't been one to pan-handle before, so who was she to judge someone's intentions or not? Some years were worse than others on the streets. At least she had a family of her choosing to go home too.
Finally reaching her desired point, the fence gate in between O'Gunards trading post and Corral's 'fine' waterskins (neither of which ever got the gang's patronage - that was for fucking sure, cheats the lot of 'em) the outlaw side-straddled the wood to take a gander on today's offering of fresh meat in the entrance plaza.
A few caught her eye, but none held onto it for very long. She wasn't the best eye at judging what she saw, putting little stock into appearances equaling true quality, but she was up there in the higher tiers of the flock. Some joked and said it was because she had divine intervention helping her see who really needed help, letting her cut through bullshit. She just laughed. She'd leave divinity to the real clerics. She just got lucky.
The scene involving a little girl talking to the city at large eventually drew her eye - how couldn't it? Laughing to herself she pulled out a cigarette, lit it with a burst of radiant green fire, and began to enjoy the show. Really now, what sort of sheltered life did one have if that was how you went about your day? Of course she had no idea the kid's real life or background. Or hell, anything about her. But people-watching and making up extravagant lives was a good enough way to pass the time. If she ever spoke to the girl she'd leave assumptions at the door, but until then?
With a passive nonchalant eye Gigi watched the girl get trampled by a city's welcome. At first? It was fun, enough to get a chuckle or two outta the healer. But then? It just… got…. Pathetic. A tiefling on her shoulder told her to leave it alone. An aasimar suggested otherwise.
…Sigh… She was going to regret this. She just knew it.
Sliding off with a bit of a hop-thrust off the gate Gigi rolled her own eyes at herself for entering something she knew better than to just leave well enough alone. But there was something about the girl that made her think of Gwen - the spoiled brat of a little sister - and she just couldn't shake it.
"Hey kid." Gigi said as she wove her way through the crowd to walk up beside the blond girl…. Maybe make that fellow woman? She was taller than it seemed now that she was closer. A good near half foot taller - good thing Gigi had on her boots. "You'll do yourself a favor if you set your sights a little lower. Just 'work' might be a better place to start." She was going to berate herself later for putting her business into someone else's. Waterdeep was a 'sink or swim' sort of place, no helicopter parents here. But… even she'd been a lost kid on the streets once and needed someone to turn to. Maybe this could be part of paying back the Fates for their fortune.
|
|
|
Post by Ronna on Feb 6, 2019 21:56:35 GMT
It had been a long time since Ronna was called ‘kid’; she was in her twenties! Her mother had been hassling her to find a husband and start having babies for years. Not that such things had really interested her much. It would have been nice to find a man who could not stare at her facial tattoo and actually hold a conversation with her for more than a minute or two without blurting out some ridiculous question about her rumoured demonic parentage or the ‘strange rites’ she was supposed to be performing in the woods.
How the hell that one had even started was beyond her. She never left the house after dark!
Bringing herself back into the present, Ronna stares at Gigi just like the villagers back home had stared at her. The woman was a little shorter than her, even in those awesome boots, but she was drop-dead amazing-looking. More tattoos than she’d ever seen in one place; though hers weren’t the brilliant, crystal-clear blue of Ronna’s own facial marking. Some kind of incredible metal arm, and a sense of style which clearly far outshone Ronna’s own ‘hick with her first set of adventuring gear’ look. Even her hair was incredible. She’d shaved half of it, but only half! And the other part was bright pink?! Ronna had struggled for weeks to figure out how to get even the vague and patchy dye-job she’d managed on a few of her locks.
The accessory that Ronna was proudest of was her shield; refashioned from a cast-iron pot lid, the heavy chunk of metal could take a beating, and had! But how could she even begin to compare a hefty, dreary hunk of iron like that with the work of fine art that was Gigi’s prosthetic arm? As though the overwhelming number of people wasn’t enough, she’d had it underscored immediately just how unrefined she was by the City’s standards.
“Uhm. Wh-what?”
She blinked, stupefied and caught completely off balance for a few moments, until realisation dawned on her, and she let out a laugh.
Ronna’s laugh was… not dignified. It was loud, honest, and completely without even the faintest shred of guile. It was the laugh of a woman who laughed often and always meant it, and the bright smile as she beamed at Gigi showed a complete lack of self-consciousness about it. After spending so much of her life being judged for things outside her control, Ronna had long since decided that it was best to just be completely open and honest – and she understood, immediately, how she must appear.
“I get it! You’re saying honest work might be too much. Hah! Well, I don’t know. I’ve scrubbed my fair share of floors and beaten out enough horseshoes in my time. I didn’t come here to keep doing that, that’s for sure! But, I figure, even in Waterdeep, someone’s got to make the pots and pans, right? And someone’s got to clean ‘em.”
She thrust her right hand out to Gigi, offering it in a shake which – whilst not overly strong, definitely has all the wonderful callouses and scars of a life lived in hard work and thankless toil. Oh. And would just so happen to put her shaking the left hand. Definitely not deliberate in the least, that, no siree.
“My name’s Ronna, by the way. Fresh in out of Wellholm. Terrible little place you’ve probably never heard of, ‘cuz why would you?”
She winked, and continued on, pressing forward with her barrage of words – perhaps just, a little desperate to keep the conversation flowing now that she’s found someone willing to talk to her in something other than aggravated cussing.
“I love your tattoos, by the way, and your hair, and your—everything, really! Heck, I’m sorry, guess I’m being a bit of a bumpkin. Pink hair is probably the fashion in the big city right now, huh? Is it something you see someone about, or did you do it yourself?”
(Wordcount: 1,223)
|
|
Arikarka
Approved
Linked Characters: Citrine, Gigi, and Rhia
Posts: 316
|
Post by Arikarka on Feb 7, 2019 1:50:13 GMT
She was accustomed to being stared at, the pink haired healer letting the taller ki… woman stare her fill until she coughed to get her to move on to other things. It worked out too, Gigi was able to look at the blonde's bit of blue (now what dyes did she use?) as well as the facial tattoo. She'd yet to have any of her vines and chakra symbols be placed on her feet, hand, and face yet - but she'd probably get to it eventually. For now the piercings and bit of metal would have to do.
This close she spotted the pot lid, and there was a hot second of curiosity from one metalworker to another as to the thought that'd gone into it before snapping out of it and taking another puff of her cigarette - which turned into a tilt of the head back paired with an eye roll. Oh for goodness sake - she was one of those kinds of people. The laughter, while not nails on a chalkboard, was one that would never come out of her own mouth. The tiefling on her shoulder stomped it's foot and gestured rudely - she just knew she'd regret leaving her fence post.
Rudely, Gigi ignored the offered handshake and didn't comment too much more on the job prospects. Instead she crossed her arms, mindful of the lit cigarette - which let off a blue grey smoke and smelled like cacao and brown sugar. "Yeahhhh…." She drawled in her deep jazz smooth voice. "Sup. I'm Pixie." As if she'd use her real name here, meeting someone new. She had zero responsibility, zero group mechanic in keeping an eye on her, and zero motivation to use her real name in this large of a public setting.
At the running stream of conscious style of complements and wordy sentences the healer just let the new tourist in the city run her mouth and waste her breath. A bumpkin? Seriously - where did this kid come from? She'd changed back to thinking of the blonde, Ronna, as a kid. She sure talked like one - height and physical maturity be damned.
The tug of a topic coming up that she actually cared to speak about though came up - to the tune of her tattoos and hair. "Look around kid, ya see many with hair like mine?" She gestured around with the cig holding hand (the metal one) to the sea of others going about their day in standard red, black, blonde, brown, and in-between. "There's some of us sure, other races are known for their more colorful looks - the gnomes especially. Rare in humans though." Why was she engaging in conversation again? Gigi looked up briefly back at Ronna. Oh yeah, she reminded her of Gwen…. Joy.
"It's beet juice." She gave up the secret in hopes she'd fixate on that and nothing else. "Hair's naturally blonde, so the pink of the beets shows up nicely." Gigi could have kept going, but didn't see the need to. Instead she began walking forward, not looking to see if the kid would keep up. Either she would or she wouldn't. She'd found herself a tagalong though, and felt somewhat responsible, and called over her shoulder. "You're standing there like an idiot, keep moving. Bet you have nothing in your pockets already." There was dual reason to why her pants had multiple fastenings - to keep them closed and tight and secure against wandering fingers.
|
|
|
Post by Ronna on Feb 7, 2019 9:17:48 GMT
Again, there was a brief burst of amused, hearty laughter from Ronna as she fell into step with Gigi. She might not be a worldly person, but she was surprisingly light on her feet, and she didn’t seem to take the lack of handshake at all personally; heck, for all she knew, Gigi’s metal arm wasn’t something she had that much control over. She might have declined the handshake out of concern for Ronna’s safety. She had just enough tact not to brazenly start braying questions at her about it directly, even though she really, really wanted to.
Instead, she was happy to admit, “Yup. My pockets were empty before I got here. I didn’t have too much money before the journey, y’know? And if someone wants to steal the horse jerky out of my backpack, they’re welcome to it. After a week on the road, I am done with eating boot leather.”
That’s one of the joys of coming from such a rural community. In the city, there was still poverty of course, but there was so much more money that it was easy to forget that – out there in the more secluded regions – dirt poor meant dirt poor. Ronna had made everything of value she had with her own two hands, and much of the metal she’d used to do it had been reclaimed, reworked and reforged a dozen times over. Her expectations were incredibly low when it came to such things; material goods were just, not something that had ever seemed realistic to covet. When the traders came through Wellholm, they plied a brisk trade, but they knew their markets. It wasn’t a place where the magical and luxurious would find much purchase. Salt, spice, steel, and if you were lucky maybe some silk that was hard to come by in the isolated farmstead. Those were pretty much the limits of Ronna’s experience with the world of trading.
“You’re real clever to think of using beets like that.” She continued, cheerfully. “Only thing I’ve ever made with beets was soup, and not good soup neither.”
She shrugged her shoulders in an expansive gesture, “They call this place the City of Splendors, right? I figure once I’ve earned some coin I’ll have to get myself some fancy clothes to fit in proper. My old homespun and this stuff ain’t gonna cut it forever. I don’t know if I could pull off those boots, though. They’re crazy.”
And, indeed, compared to the flat-soled, well-worn leather of Ronna’s own leather boots, Gigi’s were an impressive contrast. The studded leather that covered the rest of Ronna’s body actually looked pretty new by comparison; the leather was still a rich, deep brown, hardly starting to crack, and the rivets she’d hammered into the material were bright and shiny. It’d taken weeks before she was happy with it, and even then the best that could be said about the design was that it was… functional. It didn’t flatter her in any way. She was a smith, not a seamstress, and whilst she had wild ideas and tons of dreams… when it came to putting them into physical reality, she’d had to give up on the intricate designs she’d pictured and settle for something she could actually hammer out without ruining the precious material.
(Wordcount: 1773)
|
|
Arikarka
Approved
Linked Characters: Citrine, Gigi, and Rhia
Posts: 316
|
Post by Arikarka on Feb 8, 2019 17:09:27 GMT
((I'm posting with my DM account, as I can't create posts as my new Citrine/Gigi accounts. Is there something on your end you need to do as a board owner to allow the posting ability?))
Hmrmph. Clever. Not many would use that word to describe her. She wouldn’t at the very least. Nine might, just to be a bitch to get under her skin. 'Sisters', was she right? Walking through the main courtyard Gig steered her tagalong to one of the lesser walked streets. It wouldn’t do the kid good to have her backpack straps cut and snatched - she’d probably act like a drowning puppy… But there was that cheerful fucking laugh again… Maybe she’d actually enjoy it, excusing the act as a desperate bid from someone else less fortunate and be fine with it.
“There’s nothing there worth fitting into in the upper levels of the city.” She snapped, harsher than anything she’d said to date. It was jagged, sharp, and even venomous. “You’re fine as you are.” The dream of this girl wanting to scale the circles and find a way to fit in ‘nice and proper’? It bristled the back of her neck worse than anything else she’d experienced in her thirty some odd years. In fact, the earworm had sunk in like a rouge’s dagger and wouldn’t let go.
Pivoting sharping on one thick-soled boot Gigi stopped moving – there was a good chance Ronna would walk right into her if she wasn’t careful. “You don’t need shit to be successful. City of Splendors? Sure. City of Survival might be more apt.” She looked up at the height difference as if she herself was taller, her posture one oozing of ‘I belong here’. A dragon could tell her to stand down, and Gigi would stubbornly say ‘F you’ just to spite it. “You work on your own armor, I can tell, the rivets in commonly sold patterns don’t follow the design you have.” It was an easy assumption, plus… who would carry a pot lid if they didn’t work with metal? “Make the city want what you can do, not the other way around.” She lifted her cigarette and took a deep drag as if needing to catch her breath for talking as much as she had. “As I said.” She finally added. “You’re fine as you are.”
It wasn’t someone who’d fit into the Birds, that was clear from the moment she had decided to step up behind her. Too cheerful – they already had Mango for that – but it went beyond the attitude too. There was something about the blonde that just seemed to… not match the outlaw life. There was an aura of something, perseverance or whatnot, that only the most stupid of adventurers seemed to have. She’d healed enough of them over the years to kinda pick up on it. Ronna wanted to be a hero. The Birds didn’t need heroes. If anything? They were the targets of self-righteous heroes.
Yeah, better to let this one fly than to try and bring her into the flock.
But that was fine. An Owl wasn’t required to bring home anyone each and every time they went out. It was a selective process, not everyone fit in. Besides personality they had to fit with the group overall, have similar viewpoints, similar values. And just because she wouldn’t fit in? Didn’t mean Gigi was just going to dump her ass… at least yet. For a moment it looked like the healer was going to add more onto what she said, but the pink-haired punk kept her mouth shut and turned back around. “You’ll want to search the stable areas for a place to bunker down at. Most inns around there are accustomed to letting brand new, would-be hopeful residence, stay a night or two in exchange for labor.”
Despite her attitude of indifference and nonchalant caring, rough exterior, and even bitchier personality there seemed to be a part of the outlaw that did care, even a little bit. Perhaps it was just one down on their luck scamp helping out another stuck in a rut fellow. Must be. Anything beyond that could be potentially considered as caring. How putrid. She exhaled a bit of smoke behind her shoulder as she kept walking, taking a turn here and there that might not have been obvious as pathways.
|
|
|
Post by Ronna on Feb 8, 2019 20:44:43 GMT
It was nice to feel like she’d made a friend. Sad as it was, Gigi’s brand of tough love was nevertheless, by far, the most pleasant first conversation she’d ever had with anyone. Perhaps it was just the fact that the baggage had left her far behind. Nobody in this City had so much as given her a second glance. Nobody knew the dark rumours which had swirled about her parentage. Nobody cared about the facial tattoo. It was as though she’d shrugged a heavy weight from her shoulders; one which she hadn’t even known had really been there. It felt like she was walking on air, and even the harsh snapping tone of Gigi’s opinion about the upper echelons couldn’t’ bring her all the way back down to earth.
Ronna was just all smiles, happy to let herself be led by a perfect stranger into a more secluded part of Waterdeep’s myriad, completely unfamiliar, tangle of streets and alleyways. The constant background noise of the city was still there, but it was muted by distance as they travelled paths that few reputable traders and citizens had a reason to travel.
“City of Survival.” She repeated, musing idly, “I like that. I mean, life is all about surviving, when you get right down to it, and this place just feels so… alive, compared to home.”
At least she wasn’t guffawing away like a halfwit any more, turning a touch more introspective, perhaps, as she thought about the real reason she’d come here.
“I mean, you’re right.” She says, “I made my armour. My shield, too, and my sword. That took… a long time, but with enough time and the right metal, I can make near anything I put my mind too.”
She doesn’t look like the stereotypical smith. She’s athletic, but she doesn’t have the bulging biceps so common to those who hammer metal into shape all day every day. Hers had always been a more cerebral approach. She knew where her strengths laid, and she played to those, rather than relying on brute force and ignorance to see her through.
“But I didn’t really come here to keep doing that. I guess I’m looking for … something more.”
She shrugs her shoulders, fully aware of how utterly vague and inadequate that sounded. “But work for a roof is a good idea. Do you think you can show-.”
And from an alleyway they were passing in their casual pace, there came the unmistakable sound of a fist slamming, heavily, into a gut. A choked cry, and the sound of knees hitting cobblestones.
Ronna’s foot hovered above the ground, and then came down more firmly than before. She turned, pivoting smoothly on her heel, regardless of whether Gigi came with her or not. She faced the alleyway, and her eyes narrowed at what she saw.
The merchant was a man who had clearly been down on his luck for some time. His clothing was threadbare, and no longer fit close around his frame, showing the loss of weight along with his fortune. He was on the ground, wheezing, tears streaking his face. The three other men, two humans and one halfling, looked as though they had walked straight out of the pages of a morality play in dealing with criminals.
The humans were hired thugs, exactly as thickly-muscled and brutish as Ronna wasn’t. They didn’t have anything so polished or refined as Ronna’s sword; instead equipped with rusty, ill-kept chainmail and thick clubs of oak banded with iron. They hadn’t felt the need to actually draw their cudgels yet, both looming over the unfortunate victim with nothing – and no need for anything – but knuckles which had seen a great deal of use on these mean streets.
The halfling wore a doublet of red velvet, his dark hair slicked back and a pencil moustache under his pointed nose so sharp it was hard to believe he wasn’t doing it to make himself look more deliberately villainous.
“I warned you, Roysten, didn’t I? What’d happen if I didn’t get my cut.”
What was going on here was – clearly – exactly the business of ‘survival’ to which Gigi had been intimating. This poor soul had made some poorer bargains and was now in over his head. At best, he was going to take a beating and crawl away. At worst, they’d be sending a more permanent message to others who owed more than they could pay.
It wasn’t any of Ronna’s business. It certainly wasn’t any of Gigi’s.
And yet.
Ronna’s whole bearing changed in an instant. She wasn’t calm and relaxed and cheerful any more. She moved with purpose, positioning herself so that her shadow fell over the halfling and his goons. Her feet were planted solidly, but her shoulders were relaxed, and her back was ramrod straight. She stared down the alleyway, and those warm grey eyes of hers were the sudden storm; a flash of lightning from the clear and misty blue.
It was true that Ronna’s clothing and shield were… not the best. Functional, yes, but not beautiful, and certainly not items that artisans would clamour over.
With a flex of her fingers, however, her sword was no longer in her sheathe. It was in her hand. The tattoo on her face glowed a soft, gentle blue; and the sword? Oh that sword was beautiful.
It was exactly 43 inches in length. A shining length of functional steel which caught the light from her tattoo and splashed it in blue blaze across the edge. It was simple in form; a classical double edge with a cruciform hilt wrapped in tight, black leather. But the care and attention to every razor-sharp inch elevated the material.
Gigi was right. Ronna wanted to be a hero. And this was a sword that a hero should carry.
“I think.” She said, her voice loud, clear, and utterly unafraid, as she stepped forth into a situation she couldn’t even begin to understand and addressed the halfling at the centre of it brazenly. “That he’s learned his lesson. You should go, now.”
(Wordcount: 2788)
|
|
Gigi
Approved
5 Cleric of Graves
Posts: 109
|
Post by Gigi on Feb 8, 2019 21:15:55 GMT
At first Gigi had no idea what had drawn the attention of the smiling bag of kittens and sunshine. They were just the usual alleyway sounds. Rats, cats, and assholes. She took this path because it was less crowded, not because it was safer. The gruff sound of a fist hitting gut was no more different than the squeak of a rat being chased by a cat. One moment Gigi was half-listening to her prattle on about how yes, she had made her armor - and her weapons! And was about to ask something. And the next?
Her metal hand reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose. Really, she should have expected this. The moment the sounds registered as a heist in one of the small alcoves of the alley they were in? She knew, she just knew Ronna wouldn't be able to help herself. And sure as shit? The smith was turned, sword drawn, and facing the scuffle.
"Oh my god… seriously?" Gigi groaned out. Letting her hand pull down her face she turned so she too could look at the scene. A few men, and a halfling, were surrounding a merchant. She might have recognized him, if she cared. But she didn't. Gigi did however recognize the branding the three had on their shoulders. A rough sewn patch showing the sigil of a diamond shape over a dog's paw. The Diamond Dogs - complete an utter assholes the lot of them. It was gangs like theirs that gave all outlaws and gangs the bad rap they had. And itdiots too, for having their gang symbol out in the open like that. The Little Birds? They all had medallions tucked under their clothes and a small songbird tattooed somewhere secret, like an ankle or under the armpit. Hers? Engraved in the metal of her prothestic onthe inner bicep, masked by all the nicks and dings and other lines that carried her tattoo design into the metal.
She looked from Ronna, her defensive proud and non-flinching posture, to the Dog's, all scruff and bark, and almost walked away right then and there. She'd given the kid enough to go off on to survive the night, Momma would be proud to hear that. But Momma would also be proud to hear she insulted Nelson - the halfling. His red vest? It was as recognizable by her own pink hair and leather jackets. The tiefling held up a middle finger. The aasimar just cupped its head in its hands. There was only one outcome here. The Birds and the Dogs didn't get along. Never had. Never would.
"Hey asshole." She drawled sarcastically down towards Nelson and his thugs. "You know those boots won't fit you." He was rumored to have a chip on his shoulder about his halfling status - hence why he traveled with taller men. "You're just gonna draw yourself up short, no need to overcompensate for what no one is wanting." Her pinkie finger was held up, then drooped - a clear innuendo at both his height and his halflinghood. She then took a long leisurely draw of her cigarette, turned, and began to walk away. She wasn't no hero, and this was none of her business. If the kid wanted to prance around? Go for it. It was clear by the sheen of the sword she knew how to use it. The blue caught her eye though, not many had their tattoos glow when they surged with power. Perhaps she'd stick around for a bit to see how this would turn out. Curiosity had gotten a hold of her.
|
|
|
Post by Ronna on Feb 9, 2019 7:26:54 GMT
“Well, well, well. Look who it is. A little crippled bird with a broken wing and a new chick.”
Nelson’s tone was faux-cheerful, but there was no hiding the anger burning in his eyes as he was interrupted not only by someone he didn’t recognise, but by the pink-haired freak that ran with those goody-two-shoes birdbrains.
The merchant staggered up from the ground and attempted to sneak away, but one of the thugs grabbed his shoulder and slammed him hard up against the wall of the alleyway.
“You really want to do this, Gigi?” Nelson asked, spitting on the floor between himself and Ronna. He jerked his head to the advancing blonde dismissively, “What, you’re trying to show off to the new blood? This ain’t your territory. You want the Dogs and the Birds to go to war? How d’you think that’s going to end?”
Ronna didn’t know what he was talking about; and nor did she really care. Her attention had been focused, intently, on the thug who had grabbed the helpless man, and whose fist was now cocking back to deliver a second blow – apparently for the crime of daring to get back up to his feet after the last one had knocked him down.
Ronna whispered softly under her breath, words which twisted and ran against one another in a twirling, incomprehensible susurrus.
Ronna’s outline blurred and became indistinct. Wait, no, that wasn’t quite right. She wasn’t there anymore. She left a streak of herself behind; a mish-mash afterimage with a streaking trail of bright blue from her tattoo as she stepped light and easy to close the distance between herself and the violent thug in the span of time it took to take a sharp inhale.
The Diamond Dog threw his punch, packing all his weight and intent behind it, clearly desiring to knock out teeth and leave a permanent, painful reminder-
CLANG
The blow struck Ronna’s shield. Brutish knuckles smashed into unyielding iron, and the woman’s arm held firm, sheltering the merchant from the punishment.
The thug howled in pain and stumbled backwards, clutching his fist and red in the face. His expression was anger and pain, and raw animal hatred – but then he saw the tattoo, and the sword. They had weapons of their own, of course, but a half-second ago she’d been at the mouth of the alley, and now she was in amongst them with blade drawn. He backed up behind his stunned-looking buddy. That decision probably saved his life.
Meaningfully, she moved to position herself between the stunned victim and the three men who had been terrorising him.
Only after that, did she turn a questioning look towards Gigi. She didn’t know what history she had with these people, and she wasn’t going to just start laying about her with her sword; that didn’t seem necessary. But she was out of her depth here, all this talk of dogs and birds and insults being thrown back and forth.
Besides, they were clearly just… really bad at this.
(Wordcount: 3294)
|
|
Gigi
Approved
5 Cleric of Graves
Posts: 109
|
Post by Gigi on Feb 11, 2019 21:16:50 GMT
Gigi laughed sarcastically, the insults nothing new - nothing like being called broken would weasel through her thick skin. "As if I plan on doing shit. Carry on, do as you will. I'm not out and about on personal time." She looked over to the protective and gleaming stance of Ronna, and only rolled her eyes. "Kid might though, and just as much as I'm not doing shit for you? I'm not gonna stop her either. As you said." She gestured with a sarcastic spread of her arms. "These aren't my streets. It's a free citizen you're up against, not the Birds. You go after me? You bitches hit first, not the birds. An' Momma won't stand for that." She puffed another stream of smoke. "You want war, Nelson?" She asked back the question with a checkmate sort of smile.
It hadn't been planned, …. Really… honestly…, bringing the kid in through the Dog's territory. She didn't know, after all, when any of their members could just happen to stroll through the back alleys near the Gate. How could she have known? It's not like a little bird would have sent the news to be on the lookout for trouble, as spotted by one of their watchers. No one else would have been able to read the sign of the strangled old grey tomcat with a shave-scar over its right side of the chest, licking it's left paw, in distinct (to her) three licks pattern.
Noooo, she'd never do something like potentially sic' a blade wielding striving for justice kid onto a rival gang on purpose.
Never.
The internal smugness coursing through Gigi never went away as Ronna cleanly, expertly, and without hesitation threw her weight and skills around to stand between the merchant and the dogs. She'd barely gotten another inhale of her cig before the blazing blue tattooed woman turned to look at her.
"Hey, like I said, do what you want. I'll wait. They're shit at pretty much everything and anything, so you should be good to do whatever. Up to you - I'm not telling or suggesting you do anything at all." She was only waiting around to see how this would play out of course. Not because there was a chance the kid would get hurt. And especially not because her getting hurt would have been due to Gigi's inaction's to begin with…. A metalworker looked after their tools after all. She smoked another puff of cacao and brown sugar.
|
|
|
Post by Ronna on Feb 15, 2019 10:49:15 GMT
To say that Ronna was out of her depth would be an understatement. The intricacies of intra-gang conflict and politics was so far over her head she was closer to the moon. She got the impression, however, that there was a lot of bad blood between her new friend and the guys who had been beating the merchant. What she didn’t understand was all the talk about backing and war. What was she supposed to do here? She couldn’t let them continue to hurt the poor man, but she no longer felt quite so confident that she knew exactly what she was doing.
When Gigi just, gave her permission to do whatever she wanted, that only confused her further. Perhaps she hadn’t realised the extent to which she was relying on Gigi for her cues around the City. She’d known the woman all of five minutes, but she seemed so confident! She’d, perhaps, expected Gigi to either berate her, or jump in and help – leaving the decision up to Ronna was the one thing she hadn’t even considered a possibility.
Now that the thug was nursing his hand, though, the pair of musclebound oafs didn’t seem so inclined to fight back. The display of magical power was unnerving, and combined with the way she held that sword – as though she very much knew how to use it – well. This was Waterdeep. It brought in more magically gifted folk than almost anywhere else in Faerun. You’d have to be an idiot to keep pressing your luck when you were just a guy with muscle and a club.
And okay, these guys weren’t the brightest guys on the block, but they weren’t complete idiots, either.
Nelson ground his teeth through Gigi’s taunting, smug words, but the gnome hadn’t been such a continuous thorn in the Bird’s side because he was prone to rash action and couldn’t see the way the wind was blowing. If he had the full pack backing him up, that’d be different, but he only had the two mutts and the straight razor he kept strapped to the inside of his thigh. Nowhere near enough to feel confident taking on some crazed do-gooder, even if Gigi wasn’t there to, potentially, intervene.
The gnome’s eyes shifted from his backup to the newcomer, to Gigi. Finally, he spat to the side, and snapped his fingers.
“You got ten minutes to get out of our turf, Gi. If you or the brat are still here then, we won’t be so kind.”
He turned his gaze to the merchant, then, sweating and nervous as he was.
“And you, Roy. Looks like you get another day to find my money. Lucky break for you, huh?”
He snapped his fingers a second time, and turned on his heel. “C’mon, boys. Let’s go get the others.”
Ronna’s brow furrowed as the three men sauntered off, and Roysten got to his feet, blubbering his thanks – though she was still, mostly, paying attention to Gigi.
“I feel like maybe I’m missing something, here. Should we go talk to the Guard or something?”
(Wordcount: 3808)
|
|
Gigi
Approved
5 Cleric of Graves
Posts: 109
|
Post by Gigi on Feb 15, 2019 16:04:41 GMT
Having a pretty good guess as to what was going through his head, Gigi smirked through her cigarette. Saluting with a middle finger she accepted the compromise for what it was. Soon it was just her, the merchant, and Ronna standing there in a back alley. Even the cat had left, which Gigi took as a sign that it was, truly, all clear.
At the question asked? Gigi laughed, as honest a laugh as she was capable of. "Missing something? Not at all. You're fine." Ash knocked off of her stick as she shrugged her shoulders to loosen her jacket. No matter how short a confrontation could be, there was always a possibility of it escalating. Blood could be spilt. Lives lost. It didn't matter - the winds changed as Fate wanted.
"Let's get outta here. Only a few more turns and you'll be near the stables I recommend." Originally she was just going to ditch the kid near enough to the stables... but now? She'd take her right up to it. Maybe even introduce her to the proprietor the Birds had good relations with. It was the least she could so, after potentially setting Ronna up for being placed in a situation she could have gotten seriously wounded in - or dragged into something deeper and bigger than either of them wanted. Gigi began to continue to walk the way she'd originally been going, but paused to look over her shoulder when she didn't hear the sounds of following footsteps.
Right…
The comment about the guard.
"I won't be talking to any city guard, that's for damn sure. Ain't none of their business what happens back here in the streets." She turned around slowly, hand running through her hair, in a drawn out semi frustrated sort of way. Snitched got stitches after all. "But as I said earlier, do as you want, I won't stop you. City of Survival, like I told you. Do whatever you need to, to keep going."
It was clear Gigi lived by that motto, and perhaps a few more - and that those mottos did not sync with what Ronna felt was good or right. But the city threw strangers together all the time, of different backgrounds and mindsets. It was up to the individual how well they mixed and played well with others.
|
|
|
Post by Ronna on Feb 20, 2019 22:16:25 GMT
Ronna definitely didn’t understand this place. The rules were so very different. Back home, everyone might be a busybody and a snoop, and there wasn’t much in the way of organised militia, but everyone knew each other’s business. The rules were kept by mutual consent as much as anything else. If you stole, and you were found out, you’d catch a beating for it – and it was hard to keep much of anything secret in a small place like that. What was the point in stealing anything, when everyone knew what everyone else had? Crime still happened, of course, but in general it all balanced itself out.
Here? There were too many people for that, and apparently it wasn’t the guard’s job to help people on the streets? Which didn’t seem right to her at all. If the guard wouldn’t help people on the streets, where would they help people?
The shimmering buzz of energy which had suffused her form died down, and as she released that strange part inside her, that tension, which kept the magic flowing through her body, everything returned back to its normal state. She cracked her neck, and sheathed her sword with a single, definite motion. Her pot-lid shield slung back into place, and she fell into step next to Gigi. As she did, the glow to her tattoo died down as well, fading back to its usual sheen.
“I guess everyone walked away.” She said, uncomfortably. “Still, though. You shouldn’t just be able to beat people up in the street like that. That’s… not right.”
She seemed completely oblivious to the potential danger she’d wound up in; and in the fact that she’d likely made an eternal enemy of the Diamond Dogs. If they caught her on her own, or thought they could get away with it, no doubt they’d try to take revenge for the intervention, especially if they believed that she wasn’t part of any gang herself.
Then again, she’d already demonstrated that she had far more about her than the average farmgirl peasant from the middle of nowhere. Maybe she had nothing to worry about.
Maybe.
Wordcount: 4163
|
|
Gigi
Approved
5 Cleric of Graves
Posts: 109
|
Post by Gigi on Feb 21, 2019 15:06:19 GMT
Watching the blue glow fade from her skin, distracted, Gigi kept her focus on the tattoo - a sort of medical observation - eyes following the change of angle as Ronna walked up over to her. "That's just how these parts of the city work, kid. Lower merchants, the slums, people who've only got so much? No one gives a rat's ass. The rich? Even more so. If it doesn't affect them, and they don't have to see what's going on over here? They do nothing." She agitatedly huffed out of her nose, taking a drag of her cigarette to help calm herself.
The blue had fully faded now at this point and Gigi still hadn't really drawn her eyes away from the shift. The silence wouldn't be there for long, if the recent experience of walking with the walking chatterbox was a clue, so Gigi took a moment to interject before she could even start. "There's a lot not right with the world. Make peace with what you can, and ignore the rest." It's what I do was the unspoken but implied finisher.
From the rooftop the beatup greyed tomcat came back, and yawned, paired with a tail flick to the right.
"Come on, let's keep going. I wouldn't put it past them to come back… Nelson was right about it being the Dog's turf here, but we're about out." She turned, but at least waited this time around for Ronna to start walking so they'd be side by side instead of just walking ahead like she'd done before. They were coming back, with reinforcements, and at the end of the day? A scuffle of two against more never really ended well - and Gigi herself? She was a combat medic, could hold her own, sure, but her purpose in the flock wasn't to deal damage.
"The stables aren't too far from here, a few more twists and turns, and I'll see about helping you get at least one or two nights figured out." Generally Gigi wouldn't involve herself, but, she was intrigued by the glow of her tattoo. Plus? She still reminded her of Gwen. The tiefling on her shoulder was groaning, urging her to leave it alone, it wasn't her business what happened to the fresh meat of the city. But the aasimar was enjoying it's moment to shine and patted the healer on the side of the neck. Really - this could count as her 'good deed' for the week. She could slack off the rest of the time.
Her cigarette was nearly done, ashes tapped against the jacketed metal arm, and she threw down the last bit and crunched it under her boot. Both hands went to thumb through her beltloops as she directed them through the side streets. "Your facial tattoo - has it always glowed when you tap into your energy?" She finally asked, perhaps seeming out of the blue, though with how she'd been staring at it, it might not be that big of a surprise. "I've not met many people who have a tattoo that behaves like that."
|
|
|
Post by Ronna on Feb 21, 2019 18:52:53 GMT
Ronna clearly wasn’t convinced by Gigi’s words. Her brow furrowed a little bit, but she was too polite to just brazenly contradict someone who was trying to be helpful and friendly – even if she now half-suspected that she might have been used as a pawn in something she didn’t really understand.
“I’m sure it isn’t quite as bad as that…” Ronna mumbled, vaguely. Waterdeep had always been a magical place in her mind; somewhere that people came to in order to pursue fame and riches, somewhere that civilisation was strong and the Lords and Ladies ensured remained a bastion against the malign forces in the world. Waterdeep was supposed to be better than the gossipy backwater she called home.
If Gigi was to be believed, though, it was just terrible. Some horrible conflux of dangerous people busily spitting on each other and working to ensure that the weak were squeezed and the powerful remained strong. That wasn’t the City of Splendours she had dreamed of, not even a little bit. Surely Gigi was exaggerating; probably just trying to scare her off a bit, or encourage her to keep her wits about her.
She almost didn’t answer the question about the tattoo, lost in thought as she was, but when she realises that Gigi asked her about it, she perks up a bit. That, at least, was stronger ground for her – something she knew at least a little about, rather than the City, which increasingly felt like it was quicksand beneath her feet.
“Yeah.” She said, reaching up to touch the marking self-consciously. “I can’t really explain it. I just… know how to fight, and when I do, the tattoo helps. Sometimes it makes me move quicker. Sometimes it stops weapons from being able to touch me. That sort of thing.”
She gave a vague shrug.
“I don’t really know much about it. My dad gave it to me before he left, but I was only a baby, and I haven’t seen him since. He must have had a pretty good idea that I’d need it, though, and it is very useful!”
(Wordcount: 4514)
|
|