Cascabel, Divale, Iandicael


Cascabel is walking her canine pup, Iandicael is upset over some unknown crates and Divale… is Divale.


It is sunset of the twenty-fifth day of the fourth month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Bazaar Sidestreet, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 25 Feb 2018 05:00




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.

It's another bright, sunny day at Igen, with nary a cloud in the sky and temperatures which are downright balmy. It's no wonder that the bazaar is bustling today, with its denizens making good use of the ever-shortening time before the oppressive heat of summer once again hangs over the Weyr. But shadows still cling to the sidestreets, where those less inclined to bask in the sunshine may find some brief respite. Iandicael is such a man, a hulking figure who creates his own shadows with the imposing strength he presents. He's an unsettling figure to encounter in a back alley, to be sure, but lucky for any who might stumble upon him, the direct source of his ire seems to be an unusual stack of… crates? Yes, that near-constant scowl seems to be fixed upon a stack of three crates which he circles like a predator as they rest against a nearby wall, their very existence somehow offensive to him.

Actually warm out, without being painfully warm and without being the sort of cold that is either too bitter, or just a little bit of a pathetic vaguely home-reminding cold without getting to the point of really making her think about the climes she once preferred … this is the kind of weather that will voluntarily get Cascabel out and about even amongst crowds. Not that she seems to have a choice where she's going, as she is on the other end of a rope leash being yanked upon by a small, enthusiastic tunnelsnake hunting terrier. It's the dog, and not the young woman, who seems to have a direct route toward shady Iandicael and his offensive crates. "No, no," Cas is chiding softly, trying to redirect him, but the puppy is focused, and is going to sniff those boxes right now, thankyouverymuch. "Fenugreek, don't —" He is sniffing. He is not peeing on, at least. She raises her head to look toward Iandicael without meeting his eyes, offering a gentle, "I am so sorry."

Bright sunny days often go unnoticed and the shadows are familiar enough, that Divale pays little heed to either. She knows these streets and the Bazaar far better than she did prior to her first Turn here in Igen. Her patrols have come to an end and she should be reporting in soon, but has chosen to circle back instead. A hulking form such as Iandicael would normally bring the Wingsecond pause and, perhaps, a bit of quiet observation but either she’s feeling impulsively brash or it’s more the young woman and canine that has her stepping out from a nook. Nothing said (yet), but she’ll make it obvious enough that she’s there. Divale’s eyes rest first on Cascabel, unreadable in their lingering gaze… but it will be Iandicael who gets the sharper look for that scowl and predatory circling of his.

Iandicael may be born of the twisting streets of the bazaar, but it has been turns since this place was more than just a memory. He has not had the time — nor, frankly, the desire — to learn the names and faces of those associated with the guard, and so Divale's added presence means little to him. The approach of two women is hardly something to be feared, or even acknowledged. The puppy, however… that draws his attention, the full weight of that scornful scowl now turned upon the poor creature and its unsuspecting guide. "By all means." It's all sarcasm, poisonous in its thinly-veiled anger. "Allow the animal to sniff at anything it desires without knowing what might be contained within. No harm can come from that."

Cascabel's face likely means nothing either, though a close glance at her rings might — it isn't as if she is making them obvious, though. Instead she's attempting to pick up the wriggling form of Fenugreek and pull him away. "Hopefully nothing that is explosive," she says in a tone that is attempting all practicality and calm, keeping the possible irritation under several layers of wraps. Iandicael does not look like the kind of person she wants to tangle with, even with Divale there; she can sense Divale more than she actually sees her, and while she knows that the other woman would protect her if anyone were to actually do anything … her preference is not to go anywhere near that. "As others may be out walking their dogs. He is young, he is still learning," and extremely unhappy about being lifted and held. Wriggle, whine. "Shh."

“If there is no damage done by the canine, there should be no issue. It is not a crime for a canine to sniff,” As it’s only natural, yes? Divale briefly allows her attention to drift back to Cascabel after her dryly delivered comment, but soon draws it back to Iandicael. His tone only brings a shadowed smirk to her features and while she is far from relaxed, her movements come across as calm and nonchalant. Now she is going to inspect those crates from a distance; just a long, observant look over, all while she muses. “Wouldn’t be explosives, now, would it? Who would be daft enough to bring such materials into the open like this?” Not that the side streets are exactly public public but… close enough.

Some puppies just wanna sniff, and their people don't wanna get punched in the solar plexus so they move their puppies :(

It's difficult to tell if Iandicael observes anything about the woman with the dog, his features so deliberately composed in a glare that nothing else is visible beyond the expression of anger. "Not explosive." There's a darkness to that answer, as though whatever might be contained in those crates is somehow far worse than that. If anything is explosive here, it is the man who seems utterly unaffected by Cascabel's apparent calm. A muscle in his jaw jumps as Divale intercedes, the sharp slash of his gaze suggesting that he's more annoyed by her continued presence than threatened. "It's foolish for a canine to sniff." Never mind that it is in their nature — Iandicael seems to think little of that. "These crates shouldn't be here," he says after a moment of silence, his ever-present rage now directed at the offending objects once more.

That calmness is cultivated, as Cascabel has a tendency to attract explosive people. Especially Bazaar-bred men, as it turns out. Though she should like to avoid as many confrontations as possible with those who aren't ones she's already stuck dealing with on a daily basis. "It is his job," she says of the canine in her arms, "Though it is his job specifically to be sniffing out rodents and snakes, not other people's deliveries. Or … deliveries in error?" A cant to her head; she shouldn't be nosy, but she's finding it difficult to resist what with relatives not hovering over her to stop her and Divale there to not let her die.

Please no dying on Divale’s shift. The paperwork is atrocious and she’d… rather not — such a messy affair all around! She’ll cast a small side-long look to Cascabel, as the woman continues to hover and plead her case for Fenugreek’s apparent insult. Definitely, the Wingsecond is more on her side of things (heavy bias aside). She’ll save speaking for Iandicael and though low spoken, there’s no denying the sarcasm laced in her voice. “Then why don’t you move them?” A hand lifts to indicate him and then those offending crates. Big hulking muscle man and three crates? What could possibly be the problem?

"Seems like a foolish job in a place like this." Judgment is heavy in his voice as he stares Cascabel down. Iandicael seems to feel no need to move toward her in order to intimidate despite the advantage in his size. "There are rodents everywhere here. Half these people are rodents." Although probably not the ones that poor puppy is meant to sniff out. "Why would I move them?" His shift in attention is swift, with Cascabel the focus of all his energy one moment, and then dismissed the next. "They are't mine."

Being dismissed to the shadows is really Cascabel's preference; please forget about her, the better for her to listen to and make mental note of everything that's being said around her. There are gifts to being insignificant. There are also smarts to taking a few steps back from the frightening form of Iandicael; even if he's not stepping closer, the intimidating factor is working and she's moving away with just the force of his eyes on her. "He works in a shop, or he will when he's older," she starts to explain, as if it matters, as if anyone cares even though she's pretty confident that they don't and that's just as okay with her — when from a shop window around a corner, an older woman emerges and calls out a name. Hers, as it turns out. "Bel! Cascabel, where are you and that mongrel!" Now, she winces, almost folding in on the pup before setting him back down on the ground. There's a momentary irritated shake of the head: don't call the well-trained basement cleaning animal a mongrel, perhaps — and then with a final curious-cum-terrified look at Iandicael and a more apologetic one for Divale, she heads back toward where she's been summoned from. But she's also going to do her best to find out whose crates those were, because she just won't be able to resist.

Divale turns her gaze back to Cascabel for a moment but just as she goes to speak, the younger woman is being summoned. She dips her head respectfully, dark gaze following her retreat before sliding back to Iandicael. She holds to that silence, as if gauging whether or not he’s worth her time. Apparently he merits a few more minutes… or she’s really not wanting to settle quite yet to report work in the Guardhouse. “We have canines who hunt those kind of rodents, too. Bigger brutes, of course than that pup,” Sorry Fenugreek. Divale tilts her head, a faint if not slightly wolfish smirk playing upon her features. “So is that why you seem to be all bent out of shape? Are the crates not marked?” she asks in that same dry manner.

Iandicael at least seems to notice Cascabel's departure, his shadowed gaze drawn back to the young woman when she is summoned away. There's a name heard, and he makes silent note of that — perhaps to track down whoever is responsible for her and give them a piece of his mind later. Though his purpose is shrouded, the man watches her with his scowl firmly in place, his only shift in attention to watch Divale in turn. He marks his as well, something faintly smug in the downward turn of his lips when the brownrider finally looks in his direction again. "You'll need more dogs to root out this infestation," he warns, his worldview bleak. "The crates aren't marked." He'll affirm that much, although he blatantly ignores any suggestion that he's 'bent out of shape'. "And there's a smell." One other than the usual pungent scents of this region.

“Don’t I know it.” Divale’s voice remains steady and only with a hint of a long-suffering sigh. Iandicael is spared any further glances for the time being, her gaze now on those crates but that does not mean she has gone as far as to ignore him. Nor does she put her back to him or even venture too close; it’s an unknown and so far has given not even the tiniest of shred of reasons for trust. He has proven to be somewhat entertaining, though! “Unusual or ominous?” It sounds like she’s purposely yanking his chain, but in truth the Wingsecond WANTS to know — and avoid checking herself. A glance skywards, brows furrow briefly before her gaze lowers again and darts between mysterious crates and Iandicael. “It would seem I am needed elsewhere. As for your, ah… predicament? Either find the source or report it.” Somehow she can already assume what the man will do and her faint smirk says as much. It’s going to remain HIS problem, however! Divale’s just going to ghost on out of there, with not so much a spoken farewell (but a nod, at least).

Or he can just ignore it. And now that Divale has mocked him — at least in his eyes — and departed, Iandicael seems inclined to do just that out of spite. Igen better hope there's nothing too ominous in those crates, 'cause they're being abandoned right where they are.

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