==== February 14, 2014
==== Thierry, Freesia, Cha'el
==== Cha'el comes across Thierry harassing another girl and decides, with Freesia’s input, to help a guy out.

Who Thierry, Freesia, Cha'el
What Cha'el comes across Thierry harassing another girl and decides, with Freesia’s input, to help a guy out.
When It is the nineteenth day of the first month of the first turn of the 12th pass.
Where Igen Weyr, Bazaar sidestreet

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igensidestreet.jpg

BAZAAR SIDESTREET
No matter the time of day, the darkness here is almost absolute, adding a certain je ne sais quois that borders on the treacherous. Here and there, cobblestones have gone missing and leave holes that are perfect for snagging the feet of the unaware. The stench is also criminal, a mixture of urine, rotting meat, and other things best left unexamined in the heaps that pile up next to the back doors of certain of the bazaar establishments.


In this area of the Bazaar late afternoon means little in terms of light though it does lend a further bite to the chill of the air down the darkened side street. Rounding a corner and entering the dismal dinginess, comes a cloaked figure with hood up and head down. Steps across cobblestones are surefooted despite those that are missing, the broad-shouldered knot-free man moving with the quiet confidence of one familiar with the path.

The dingy light is the perfect place for dodgy transactions, of the legitimate, illegimate, and doomed-to-fail kind. Caught up in the latter is one Thierry; the wiry youth is pressing hard to try and get a slim young lady to try and /entertain/ him, by following her down the edge of the street with what amounts to little more than crude catcalling. He's rather lewd about it, too, making plenty of inappropriate gestures that just make the object of his undoubtedly short affections tuck her head down and hurry on even faster. When she's near enough out of his reach, Thi quickens his pace to cut off her path, standing in front of her with one arm propping himself up against the wall, his other hand on her shoulder, albeit lightly. That's when she has enough; up comes her knee in a solid connect with Thierry's inner-thigh. As he leans up against the wall with his hands covering his most precious and thankfully spared-from-knee attack parts, she makes a quick getaway, shoulder-bumping the cloaked man as she goes.

Although muted by careful placement of step, footfalls slow and the cloaked man’s head comes up, eyes narrowing from deep within the shadows of the hood on the little scene that unfolds before him. There’s a low growl emitted followed by an unseen curl of mouth to a smirk when the lass makes her getaway. Turning to watch that she makes it safely out of the dark side street, his focus hones in on wiry young man clutching at his nether regions. Meandering slowly over, chin dipped so as to currently keep his identity hidden; Cha’el halts front and center before the lad in question. For a few moments, he says nothing. But then, “What’s your name, kid?” The question couched low in a smooth baritone.

Hidden identity or not, given his lack of association with the Weyr proper Thierry likely wouldn't recognise the Weyrsecond anyway. He glares up at him, shifting his hands from covering his crotch to rubbing at the spot on his inner thigh where the knee connected, trying to cover up his wounded pride."What's it to you?" Defensive, slightly offensive, but with the wariness that's probably to be expected from someone who calls the bazaar home. He runs his hand under his nose as he snorts, then turns his head to spit, all the while never taking his dark eyes off Cha'el.

Within those shadows and the frame of neat beard, lips tilt about a tight smile, what faint light does filter through from above, catching only that movement of facial features. “Cocky little shit, aren’t you?” The uniform the young man is wearing hasn’t gone unnoticed and is next to be commented on. “That how they teach you to treat a lady in the guards, recruit?” Words are clipped in much the same manner a drill instructor might use when addressing those under his command.

"You don't know the half of it." Yes, Thierry will admit to being a cocky little shit, and then some. He stands up straight, digging his hands into his pockets as he looks, still warily, up at Cha'el. His question about the guards makes Thi snort in amusement, which turns into a bitter little laugh as he runs his hand through his dark hair to brush it out of his face. "Wouldn't really know," he replies, lips curled into a crooked smile. "It's a new thing to me, y'see." He taps the knot on his shoulder. "A gift from the Weyr." One that he's still bitter about, by the sounds of it.

A short snort deflects Thierry’s show of pride for his cockiness. “Aye, I did see. You don’t know shit about women.” Cha’el drawls, deliberating misinterpreting the young guard recruit’s reply. Another few moments of contemplative silence wherein the older of the pair puts the younger under tight study, the bitterness ignored for the time being. “Must be pretty desperate to get laid if you’re willing to walk such a fine line.” Vaguely amused though with a warning edge leveled in his tone.

Thierry's expression shifts; one brow goes up in curious question, while his smile turns to a smirk. "Really?" He fumbles in his pocket for a bedraggled toke, which he tucks behind his ear as he starts searching himself for the lighting gear. "Most of 'em here's selling it anyway, so I dunno what fine line you're talking about me walking along." With all the paraphernalia in place, he tucks the toke between his lips and sets about lighting it. "Besides," he says before exhaling his first lungful of smoke, "what the fuck else are they here for?" … if not to be hounded by boys like Thierry?

It’s probably safe to say that Cha’el could care less about the lighting up given his lack of response to it. Widening his stance as if perhaps he might lunge at the pup and shove him up against the wall, arms fold across his wide chest. “So. Just because a few women choose to sell themselves, you think that gives you the right to harass pretty young things in to giving it away for free? Tell you what…” arms drop and he steps right up close into Thierry’s personal space. “How’d you like it if I did the same to you and trapped you up against a wall, hmm?” Delivered with his baritone deliberately dropped to a rolling purr.

It's late afternoon, and this particular sidestreet is relatively empty - folks are, no doubt, avoiding its many shadows and the dodgy people that lurk in them. Such as Thierry, who's currently backed up against a wall with a taller cloaked, knotless figure all up in his space. The teenager doesn't look entirely comfortable at being confronted as he is, but he's doing his best to hide it by drawing on his toke, and blowing the smoke up into the space between himself and Cha'el, before he replies to the man he doesn't realise is the Weyrsecond. "I'd call you gay and send you to someone who'd happily bend over for you," he replies with a cheeky, self-satisfied smile. "You want that? I've got a pretty friend who'll do it for cheap."

Freesia is one of said women who chooses to sell herself, thereby making her own marks, rather than living off handouts from the weyr. However, to look at her, one would never guess her profession, as she is dressed modestly when outside of her place of employment. A long sleeved, long skirted dress is covered by a short jacket due to the chill in the air. She is strolling slowly, watchfully, when her eyes catch sight of the two men. A hint of a smirk crosses her lips at the two men in an appearantly cozy situation.

Something about the way Thierry answers draws a low thrumming laugh from the bigger man. “Kid, I don’t have to pay for it.” The comment about whether or not his preference lies with men, glossed over. “However,” and Cha’el leans riiiiight in, so that they’re almost chest to chest, his mouth shifting to the young guard’s ear, the hood of his cape slipping back from his head and his hand braced against the wall above the teen’s head, “I’m feeling generous today. So how about I pay for you to get laid and save some poor girl on the streets further harassment.” Another of those low silky purrs and then he quickly steps back and dropping his hand from the wall, pats the side of the younger man’s jaw. “Reckon that’ll help you keep it in your pants?” Ayup, that’s thorough amusement etched across the Weyrsecond’s now revealed features. The female observer that’s just slipped into the side street, either not noticed or deliberately not lent attention just yet.

That's /very/ close now, when Cha'el leaning in and all, and his mouth so close to Thierry's ear. The youth turns his head to the side so it's definitely clear to any passers-by that he's /not/ on the verge of snogging the taller man - because what would /that/ do for his reputation?! - and his lips curl into an unpleasant sort of snarl. What's on offer, though, makes him turn his head back around to Cha'el, right in time for that cheek-patting. "You want to buy me a whore." It's a question posed as a statement of… somewhat disbelief, which is echoed in the teen's dark looks. Freesia's movement behind Cha'el catches his attention, and he glares at her, jerking his head for her to keep going and stop smirking.

Freesia is near enough now to have heard the conversation. Her smirk is full blown as she catches the gist of the situation. "I believe he was offering to buy /you/." She calls brightly to the younger man without pausing her step. She draws nearer, still smirking, both in disobeyance of Thierry's wishes. She shifts her bag from one arm to the other, her fresh food purchases wearying her arms.

The chances are good that Thierry will never be quite sure whether Cha’el would’ve pressed his advantage or not. “One condition,” the older man states lifting his index finger into the air but is distracted from completing that addendum when Freesia weighs in with a misunderstanding of what he’d said. Eyes of sea-blue widen flicking from Thierry to Freesia and back to Thierry again and then a deep smirk curls into place. “You learn how to treat a lady, aye?”

Cha'el's condition isn't /really/ heard by Thierry, who's too busy glaring at Freesia following her comment. "/Fuck/ you," he spits at her, with a middle finger gesture to accompany it. "Fucking eavesdropping whore, get the fuck outta here." Which… well, just makes the Weyrsecond's condition all the more pertinent, perhaps?

Freesia takes Thierry's anger in with amusement. "Perhaps, if you weren't selling yourself in the middle of the street, I wouldn't have overheard your conversation. You should take yourself over to Rosie's… I hear she is looking for more young men to fill out her staff." She would know. Freesia gives Thierry a helpful smile, and a shrug, switching her goods from arm to arm again.

From potential benevolent benefactor of Thierry’s sex life to pissed off in about three seconds flat. A low growl erupts from the taller man and with lightning quick reflexes he snaps a hand out and wraps it about the teen’s throat, shoving him hard up against the wall at his back. “Don’t you ever speak to any woman like that again!!” Blue eyes cold and flat, Cha’el relaxes the tight squeeze of his fingers and flicks a look Freesia’s way for her comment. High approval registers for the manner in which she chooses to handle herself. “My apologies, ma’am. My young friend here has yet to learn to take his boot out of his mouth. However, perhaps a spell working for Rosie might help to steer him in the right direction. What do you think?” Dark brows lift in pretence of query, attention slipping from Freesia to the young guard, “You wanna work for Rosie and learn the hard way or be a paying customer and enjoy the learning curve.” Releasing Thierry, he steps back and lifts both hands in front of to indicate, the young man is free to make his own decision.

Freesia's comments turn an angry Thierry into a /livid/ Thierry, and it's just as well Cha'el catches him by the neck and thrusts him back against the wall, because otherwise? He would've undoubtedly been over there spitting acid in the woman's face. He's not exactly /calm/ with the brownrider's hand around his throat though, and his nostrils flare with each angered breath he takes as his gaze flickers from Cha'el to Freesia, then back again. "She /is/ a whore," he snaps to the rider, scowling at him. "Seen her in Rosie's bending over for punters." Has he? Maybe. Maybe not! Maybe it's a stab in the dark. He doesn't like where the conversation goes from there, though, with his face a twisted composition of utter distaste at the suggestion that /he/ takes up residence in the brothel. "Fuck that," he snorts, rubbing his hand over his neck when he's let go of, looking grumpily up at Cha'el. "That fuckin' Oldtimey goldie bitch put me in the guard. You can't take me out." Because no matter /who/ this mystery guy is, he can't outrank a weyrwoman… can he?

At Cha'el's question, Freesia scrutinizes Thierry's appearance. "Oh, I'm sure /someone/ would buy him. There are people of all tastes there." The guard isn't unattractive, and there are even some women who patronize the joint…. If Thierry is lucky enough to get one of those customers. "Great, you're already familiar with Rosie's. That will be a big help." Freesia makes no mention of whether she does, in fact, work at the brothel.

Although his frame tenses beneath the drape of the black cloak he's wearing so that it looks like Cha'el is about ready to slam Thierry back up against the wall again, he doesn't. At least not for now. But he does plant his much bigger frame between the young guard and Freesia. "That fuckin' Oldtimey goldie bitch, as you so eloquently put it," words echoed with a tight smirk while deft fingers loosen the ties at the front of the cloak, "is my weyrwoman, shit-for-brains." Black fabric is swept from broad shoulders revealing not on a dragonrider's knot but that of Igen's Weyrsecond. "And I'm quite sure that once I make my report, she'll agree in favor of Rosie's." Now attention shifts to Freesia and a mouth framed by a neat moustache and beard, curls toward a sly pattern. "I know a couple of riders who'll find him to be right up their alley of interest."

Thierry scowls over at Freesia, though he's at least conscious enough of the threat Cha'el poses to keep his mouth /shut/, despite her continued insults. When he can no longer see her due to the careful repositioning of the brownrider's body, he scowls up at Cha'el instead. And when all is revealed with the dropping of the cloak, he groans through gritted teeth, slamming his fists back into the wall behind him. "She fucking provoked me," he says with dark sullenness, looking up at the Weyrsecond. "I did fuck all but tell her to take a hike after she accused me - /and/ you - of prosti-fucking-/tution/, and you want to send /me/ to the whorehouse for it?"

"Word spreads quickly of a new hire, I've been told. Within a day, everyone in the weyr will know about him, I bet. Just the infamy will get him laughed out of the cantina!" It's perhaps an exaggeration, but maybe it will shame the boy enough to help Cha'el's lesson.

A dark brow cocks. “Aye,” Cha’el counters to the inference Freesia had made of the situation she’d strolled into, “and do you see me mouthing off and throwing a tantrum like a two turn old? You wanna be taken seriously, learn,” tap of finger to Thierry’s chest, “to control,” another poke, “your temper. And your mouth.” No poke there. “All that piss and vinegar might work for your boys,” because the Weyrsecond is under no illusion that the young man has followers, “but its not going to work on women and it sure as shit, isn’t going to work on anyone with half a braincell that you might need on your side.” That having been said, the brownrider suddenly steps to the younger man’s side, slings an arm about his shoulders and draws him away from the wall. “Now, you reckon you can keep a civil tongue in your mouth long enough to get laid or am I gonna have to gag you?” Freesia’s remarks earn her a quiet chuckle. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure,” his free hand extended her way, “Cha’el, Weyrsecond. And this here’s….” He’d not been given a name earlier so he makes one up, “Smart-Alec.”

If looks could kill, then Freesia would be either six feet under or lost between by now. Maybe even Cha'el too, because, well, he's /poking/ him in the chest. Thierry waits until he's facing the hooker again, with Cha'el's arm around his shoulder and a reluctant stiffness to his stance, before he dares to speak. "You tell her to keep her mouth shut," he hisses through gritted teeth up at the Weyrsecond, while attempting to shrug his hold off. "Don't care who the fuck she is, but she's asking for trouble if she's gonna keep mouthing off shit to piss me off." Is that a hint of a /whine/ there, in his gruff-tough tone? Could Thierry think it's not /fair/ that he's being provoked?

Freesia has stopped walking entirely, as she watches the situation play out. Now she smiles sweetly at Cha'el, and dips a small curtsey. "Weyrsecond." She looks to Thierry for his real name before adding, "I'm Freesia, like the flower. It's nice to meet you." At Thierry's words, Freesia's eyes roll and she grins. "I think you'd make a good whore. Maybe I'll buy you just to teach you a lesson."

Short of shoving him away, Thierry won’t soon find himself released from that casually slung arm about his shoulders. Doesn’t he know that he and the Weyrsecond are now BFFs? They can braid each other’s hair and paint their nails and….Cha’el would rather stab himself with a rusty spoon thank-you-very-much. “Well met, Freesia.” Apparently that’s a ‘No’ to telling her to keep her mouth shut for a hearty laugh greets her latest taunt aimed at the young guard. “Aw, c’mon Freesia, cut the kid a break. He’s just a tightly wound virgin.” Assumption made with as much nonchalance as if the brownrider had just commented on the weather.

Since Cha'el won't do it for him, Thierry snaps and does it for himself. "Shut the fuck up, w—" He cuts himself short, looking thunderously mad as he hisses in frustration at not being able to actually /assert/ himself as he wants to. He takes a sneering moment to compose himself, just enough to add: "You couldn't afford me." Then, to Cha'el, "I've fucked a girl. Wouldn't fuck /that/ one, though." That one being Freesia, of course.

Freesia laughs aloud at Thierry. Rather boisterously, too. "Oh, I can afford much better than you." Freesia certainly earns the marks to spend her money freely. "Are you taking him by Rosie's, then, Weyrsecond?" Freesia can escort them and make a recommendation if required.

Just as Cha’el is curling forefinger and thumb into a circle to flick Thierry’s ear for the outburst, the guard recruit catches himself and delivers something that’s at least halfway decent. For him, that is. With a roll of eyes the brownrider snorts. “You really need to work on your insults.” Freesia is sent an apologetic look. “You gotta make them so that you’re sending someone Between in such a way that they actually look forward to the trip. You nearly got it right with the first bit but screwed yourself with the last bit.” The Weyrsecond delivers conversationally as he steers them down the side street and around a corner into another where the infamous Rosie’s is situated. “Anyone in particular you’d recommend, Freesia? That is if my young friend here is prepared to accept my condition.” Now he comes to a halt and finally releases his amble companion, a brow cocking upward in silent query. Ball’s in Thierry’s court.

Thierry seethes the whole way under Cha'el's grasp, staring down at the toes of his boots to avoid looking up and at anyone. When they're on Rosie's doorstep and he's finally free, he steps away from Cha'el and shrugs his shoulders, giving his uniform a sharp tug to resettle it. He may not like wearing it (though he's certainly more fond of it right now in light of the threatened alternative vocation), but he'll at least look /good/ while in it. "She's not coming in with us," is all he can retort, surly and, well, childish.

"Jenny. She's great with newcomers," ie, virgins, "and she won't take any abuse." Which means Thierry will have to be on his best behavior or he gets none. Freesia has turned about and now follows along behind the two males. "I can go in if I please!" Freesia states indignantly, the man having finally gotten to her. "

For the first time since first encountering the hothead, Cha’el actually affords him a look that hovers on being approving for the manner in which he straightens his uniform up. “That uniform’s gonna be like sweetener to a vtol,” he remarks because chicks dig men in uniforms! Amusement flares once again and he glances over at Freesia then back to Thierry. “What? You worried she’s gonna rate your performance?” Smirk. A step to the side takes the Weyrsecond closer to the young woman and dipping his chin, he mutters something in her ear.

You overhear Cha'el mutter, "… … … … off, I … … … nervous. … … … … … … …" to Freesia.
(Full mutter=For all his mouthing off, I reckon the kid’s nervous. Mind if I take it from here?)

"Heh." Thierry's clearly not keen enough on his uniform to think it could /possibly/ have that much of an effect on the girls who're going to fawn on him for money anyway. "And you can tell that b- /woman/," Freesia, he's talking about you! "… that I've been to Rosie's before. And I'm /not/ a virgin. /And/ I'm not worried how she'd rate me, I'd be the best fuck of her life." He scoffs, digging his hands deeply into his pockets and half-turning his back on them, as Cha'el whispers to Freesia. His ears are pricked though, keen to hear whatever they're saying. "Anyway," he pipes up when they're done scheming, or whatever they're planning, "I can pick my own whore. I like Cleora."

Freesia smiles knowingly at Cha'el. "It was nice to meet you. Have a nice day." Freesia abruptly turns around and walks away, package in hand. There's still no indication whether Freesia has any official involvement with Rosie's, as she doesn't seem inclined to enter the establishment to at least put her goods down.

Faint humor continues to linger through Thierry’s assertions as does approval as he once again checks himself before speaking. “Likewise,” Cha’el tells Freesia, offering her a charming smile and tracking her departure for a few steps before turning back to the teen. “Cleora, eh? Good. A man needs to know what he likes.” And with that, the Weyrsecond raps smartly three times on the understated door, stepping in closer to show his face when a peephole opens and a bouncer peers through from the other side. Without a need for names to be exchanged, the door is swung open allowing entrance for the pair into a front parlor rather sumptuously decorated. While the brownrider himself might not indulge, much later, Thierry will find him waiting sprawled and dozing in an armchair while a pair of Lovelies titter and whisper behind their hands.

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