Skandra Tyullis (roll_the_bones) wrote in adusta, @ 2010-03-02 18:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | ithacles, skandra tyullis, vedette uthral |
initiative (vedette, ithacles)
There was always one. A table, a corner of the common area. Maybe leaning on the wall by the tap, peering into the relative darkness from beneath your hat. Skandra was used to taking up such a position to get a feel for the room, but this time it was even more important. You could see glimmers of a man's true nature in the things he didn't control. The way he casually threw his cards on the table could tell you that he had a bad hand, or that he was a bad actor. If you'd seen his face in the same tavern more than a few times you knew he didn't throw his cards down that honestly - so you knew it was a lie. That was the pulse of the room. A feeling, or even four or five feelings, or a thousand of them strung together making a chain of sensations you could feel and see and explore. It was not an easy thing to learn how to do, but for him it began as instinct. Survival as a thief was based on knowing the strength of your target, and one of the fastest ways to do that was to be able to size a fellow up just by looking at him. Standing a post by the tap was not the least conspicuous way of doing it, but having a view of the whole room was important. And if no one could see you turning your head they couldn't tell who you were looking at.
It was a skill that Cavras, Vedette and Ithacles had not yet perfected.
She was a nuisance. Even when she wasn't in her uniform she looked as though she should be. Offering to pay for her bow had gotten him nowhere. Which was fine, of course - it looked to be fairly cheap if he could cut it in two with one swipe, but she would have asked a prince's ransom if she'd agreed. Skandra didn't happen to walk around with princes' ransoms hanging from his belt like some of the tourists did. That, and he didn't feel that he owed her money at all. She should have brought some steel if she wanted to dance for true, or put an arrow in his back while he was still running. But it did beg the question - how did a captain in the service of the king find so much time to spend with Ithacles, the rapscallion son and not even an heir to the throne? He never would have thought he'd consort with princes and captains and kings when he was a younger man - not unless he was engaged in a theft. So trying to figure out how that sort of thing worked was like reading a strange language for the first time. Of course, they were all people, so motivations were not diffficult to suss out.
Just more complicated.
"What are you looking for?" Cavras whispered.
"Don't whisper," Skandra replied in a normal voice. "It makes you look suspicious."
"What are you looking for?" Cavras asked in a normal voice.
"Don't say that so loud," Skandra whispered. "It makes you look suspicious."
While the good second tried to determine what Skandra was telling him it gave the Immortal another opportunity to look around the room, his eyes swiveling from one target to the next with no discernible pattern. What was he looking for? A man doing business. Not playing cards or dicing, but doing business. He would be the one who played a hand only when the dice cup came to his hand, maybe squatting in one of the circles around the outer edge of the tavern. They were far enough away that he had a hard time who was wagering on their off-rolls, but usually the tilt of a man's head could give you a sign. If he was speaking while staring straight ahead then he was just stupid. That was the easiest for men in the circle to spot, and they didn't like feeling as though someone was watching them or maybe even reporting on their actions. Skandra didn't think it was so simple as two men whispering together in a dicing circle. Something else was at work here that he hadn't spotted yet. And until he did, it was going to be a long and boring night. Long because he had nowhere to go - sleeping at a damned castle was out of the question, as was sleeping in this slum of a city - and boring because he could not drink or gamble.
A red coat announced a fellow's arrival. His shoulders as wide as an axe handle long, curving upward until it seemed as though he had no neck at all, with hideously scarred knuckles and a similarly scarred face. Skandra knew he'd seen that son of a bitch somewhere before - but where? The fellow stripped off his coat to reveal a collection of military tattoos, giving the jacket a casual toss into the arms of one of his attendants. There were three of those. Judging from the tattoos he'd been in the navy, a bosun's mate at first and then finally a duelist. He was the one who sought out the best sword on an enemy vessel and put them in the dirt. It was a high-profile job, and usually one that was admired for the specialization it required. It was also not as relative as it first sounded. The fellow might not know how to use that excellent curved sabre on his hip. He might have used a different weapon. And you could sign up for the post no matter what your actual skill was. Surviving a post like that, on the other hand, was much more difficult. You would need to be very good with your weapon of choice to do it.
This was the most interesting find so far. And Skiandra had no idea what it meant.
The fellow could have been meeting here for a discussion with someone. A man in brown robes. But it would be easy to find thirty men in brown robes tonight and still not see the one face he was looking for. A puckered scar, Skandra thought, running from eyebrow to chin. It crossed one eye. That was all he could remember about the fellow. This would've been easier if he'd been drinking. Yet Cavras made him swear that he would not let a drop of ale pass his lips, to keep his confrontational nature at bay. Skandra thought of that as a ridiculous request for many reasons, not the least of which was actually very simple - it wasn't alcohol that made him confrontational, it was annoying lieutenants that didn't know when to shut the hell up.
That was not why he was angry.
No one else who was coming in was noteworthy. Some of them he'd even gambled with before. Tonight they all had a different look about them. Unprepared. Skandra wasn't sure what was going on in this room to change the look of the place, but it was evidently big. Big enough that some of those men, upon walking in, walked right back out. That was the component that was currently driving his head around in circles. What was happening here, tonight, that was driving off the regulars? The barkeep's brow was furrowed as he straightened what he could. Men were flashing knives at each other, but all of them were drunk, and soon enough knives were replaced with flagons. And laughter. Skandra could not feel that pulse of the room just then. He couldn't get a handle on what was happening. And unless he did, they were putting themselves in one hell of a situation. Not one that Skandra would have wanted to put himself into normally.
And certainly not one that he would have dragged a prince into.
"I'm sorry," Skandra finally told Vedette. "For the chair."
Cavras coughed into his closed fist.
"And the bow."
Another cough.
"And... calling you names."
Cavras' scowl could have melted diamonds.