==== February 15th, 2014
==== Reilan, Veresch
==== Veresch tracks Reilan down for a little errand of mercy. Occurs after this and this.

Who Reilan, Veresch
What Veresch tracks Reilan down for a little errand of mercy. Occurs after this and this.
When It is sunset of the twenty-second day of the first month of the first turn of the 12th pass.
Where Cantina Backalley

reilan_default.jpg veresch_default.jpg


Cantina Back Alley
A little too quiet, a little too dim. The alleyway behind the Dustbowl is not… unpleasant, exactly: the tavern staff have a little raised garden, and the brickwork of the ancient buildings all around offers a subtle beauty, with raised arches leading into little courtyards. And yet. There's something uncomfortable about the way the shadows linger here. Something distressing about the stink of the place, quite unrelated to the midden that lies at its end. Whatever else this alley might be, one thing is as certain as the goosebumps it gives: it's not a place for good little girls and boys.
It is the eighty-second day of Winter and 36 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day.

It's some time after the morning's bathing session and though the air had heated up a little bit, it's not much better. Around here, where the walls echo the stink of the midden and darker things between them, there's an unusual breathing chance from the press of the main bazaar, and it's here that Veresch manages to get close enough to the beautiful head of hair she's been following to take a few quick steps closer. "Hey," she calls to his back. "You. Um. Blondie. The pretty one." There's little else she can do to distinguish him, but the meaning should be clear enough. Should he look, it's most definitely not one of the usual habitues of Bazaar alleys; the girl is scrawny and only middling tail, with did-not-comb hair falling messily around her face. Whatever beauty there might be lies only in her bone structure and eyes; anything else will have to wait for a few turns.

Reilan's hair is still /damp/. He doesn't like it, but he did have to bolt out of the baths fairly quickly in the end. At least he managed to find the time to get rid of the knots in it. That certainly helped the drying process. He treks down the alley though, quite well intending on making a turn to avoid the horrible stink of the midden when there is..a calling. At least from behind him anyway. The teen stops short, peering back over his shoulder a moment before he tugs down the cloth veil kept over his nose and mouth, meant to keep out the Igen dust that's simply..everywhere. He does look at Veresch, that vague recollection from the baths causing the teen to turn fully. It's the girl Thierry /dove/ to escape the sight of! "Yes..?"

There's a flick of fingers as she tosses him something, a disc-like object that twinkles through the morning air whether he's aiming on catching it or not. "Could you give that to your friend the shithead, please?" On inspection, now or later, it's a little round box with perhaps a fingertip's worth of numbwort in it. suspicious minds might wonder if it's cut with something, but it's really quite innocuous, nothing but a salve. "I don't want to see him right now, or I'm going to, as the Weyrwoman said, knock a motherfucker out. But I'd appreciate if you give that to him anyway." For a moment, as she tosses, an ugly bruise becomes visible around her arm, purple-red against pale, tanned skin. Pause. "I don't know your name, sorry," she finally states. "Or his. I'm Veresch."

What other complete shithead does Reilan know? There is no one else /that/ could be. It's a startled move that has him grasping at the thrown box, fumbling with it before hauling it in like a football. /Safe!/ It does get a bit of inspection though, warily turning it over and eyeing it before his gaze flicks at the girl again. "You /could/ just keep calling him that, but he doesn't have the best handle on his temper. It's Thierry. His name, not mine. I'm Rei." A flippant, distracted spouting of names! He even opens up the little box to look in it, and /sniffs/. The wrinkled nose is enough for him to shut it again quickly. "It's best you don't, anyway. He's sulking." Which just makes the teen even more prone to fits of snarl-spouting venom. One hand leaves the box to tuck hair behind an ear, waving the small object at her. "I'll get it to him, though."

"I don't very well know what else to call him, since he didn't deign to introduce himself before he started tapping ash on my head," Veresch says lightly, delicately, as if there's a void that emotion cannot cross right now. Still, at the names, she nods. "Rei. Thierry." Her gaze flicks from his face to hands and, without shame, the bits inbetween, though the gaze is clinical and distant, not lecherously leering. "Thierry," she says again. "It's … not what I'd expect it to be. If you could also… also tell him to apply it to his cheek and not throw it on the ground and stomp it into pieces, I'd appreciate that as well." Her head cocks. "Such a pretty-flippy boy, and he's sulking. He'd look much better smiling." There's no chance of that happening though. Then, out of the blue, "Do you want me to braid your hair for you? It's going to be choking with dust soon, it looks half-wet still, and this place is a sty."

Reilan smirks ever so slightly. He might have to..delicately explain where the salve came from to avoid certain disasters with it. "Did you /expect/ it to be along the lines of Snakeface or Porkbutt?" Lashes flutter just a bit with an innocent grin that slides across his expression. His friend's attitude might lean him /toward/ names like that in the future, at least. The question of braiding does bring the boy up short though. It's true enough,the few tiny braids he has not doing much for the /rest/ of his hair in the meantime. There's some hesitation though, again with a wary look up and down Veresch. "..Veresch, you said? …Alright. You do have a point."

Veresch steps closer despite the fluttering lashes. He'll just have to sit on the garden wall. At least she tugs a hanky out of one sleeve to spread it on the wall for him because he's probably not going to volunteer his veil. "I've always imagined that it's Asshat. He is truly the most miserable guy I know." There's the sense of more, but she keeps her teeth between the words and the open air; when he's seated she steps close enough to reach his head. It's all very surreal: for a few moments there's the light, creeping sensation of fingercombing. Then, with everything sectioned off neatly, her fingers weave at an appreciable pace, plaiting and tugging. Surprisingly complex, almost feminine, that braid, with the beads in his hair tugged and twisted into prominence. "There," she says as she steps away, not quickly but certainly definitively. General, all-purpose man-loathing, perhaps.

"He's not /all/ bad." Maybe Reilan's known Thierry too long to really get too angry at his bad behavior. But then, he needs a place to sit. At least Rei isn't too picky. He seems surprised, even, with the placing of a hanky, but sits down obediently enough. "It's not as though everything else isn't just as filthy around here." And it's true! Despite the general seediness, there is just..the dirt. But at least he doesn't complain about any of the fingers in his hair, or the time it takes to accomplish the braiding. It's almost as if the teen is holding his breath, as it puffs out in a rapid exhalation when 'done' is finally being proclaimed. He hops to his feet, fingers lifting to feel over that braid curiously, worriedly…but then nods. "Thank you."

Veresch filches her hanky back the moment that he stands, snapping it once or twice to clean it of whatever might be on there. Boy-cooties, perhaps. "You're welcome," she murmers as she tucks it into her sleeve and tugs the sleeves down; with a little nod, she steps away again, obviously to go and slink home through the Bazaar, like the mangy feline she resembles at the moment. "Good day, Rei," she calls over her shoulder. "I'll see you around, maybe, if he stops sulking. Or if he doesn't."

Add a New Comment