The conclusion to Ryott's first day on the job.
Continuing from Ryott the Spy - Pt 2 {Vig}


Evening of the first day of the first month of the fourteenth turn of the 12th pass.


The Pit, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 25 May 2018 04:00



This won’t be so hard.


The Pit

One does not enter The Pit so much as descend into it. Why else the name? The Steen ancestors paid for their square footage with sweat, excavating the area and building curved walls up around it. Wide, smooth steps descend into a large entry area that overlooks the pit and galleries. Floors, ceilings and walls have been whitewashed with limestone paste, increasing the amount of light reflected back from the numerous glow baskets hung on the walls. A rounded doorway to the right leads one into the business' "office", which is furnished in spartan style: cushions for kneeling or sitting upon, a desk that's low to the ground constructed of the same whitewashed stone as the rest of the building, and niches carved out of the walls themselves for decorative pieces. Here is a small sculpture of men wrestling, there is a wooden carving of a champion with a foot upon his vanquished foe.

Continuing on through the lobby brings one to another set of six stairs that descend into the galleries surrounding the sand-filled pits. A low wall separates audience from combatants, but even at its highest point, those in the galleries are never more than twenty feet away from the action. The sand is raked daily, with fresh sand added whenever the blood to soil ratio becomes too great.

There’s a not-so-subtle buzz to the lobby of the Pit. Like the hive of some swarm of insect, the people milling about aimlessly, or so it seems. But to everything there is an ebb and flow, and this crowd is no different. There are seemingly two main currents, one that leads to the refreshments and betting tables, and the other that leads towards the steps down into the galleries, and the fighting ring beyond.

Hugging the wall by the entrance, Ryott takes a moment to center herself before she heads out into the throng of bodies. Her ebony eyes sweep the room or as much as she can, knowing that Enyem could be anywhere since she was delayed in slipping in after him. When once again she feels her heartbeat quiet, the spyling slips among the rabble.

There’s an art to moving through a crowd seemingly aimlessly while conducting a methodical search of the vicinity. And Ryott has been honing her skills in this area since she was seven turns old. Keeping in character the whole time, the seemingly helpless waif with the lanky, lifeless hair falling over her face. Another reason she had gone the route of talking her way in instead of just sneaking past the bouncer was to establish her cover, effectively giving her a reason to be desperately searching through the crowds made up of patrons, employees, bookies and most importantly the pit fighters.

After several long minutes of searching, which is hindered by the press of the bodies against her. She's supposed to be playing the part of malnourished pre-teen urchin, the majority of her compactly muscled frame is hidden in the shapeless dress, so she can't exactly shove her way through particularly oblivious groups obstructing her path. Instead, she has to navigate timidly around them making her search even more tedious.

Her reward finally comes when she spies her mark Enyem standing over by the betting tables. He has his arm around the shoulders of a strapping looking fighter with dirt brown hair and the dusky complexion of the desert. He looks wiry, but his muscles are well defined cords and stand out even more with the sheen of the oil rubbed into his bared skin. Enyem is patting the guy on the back, boisterously encouraging his merchant friends to bet on his new find, sure to be the next rising star of the Pit. The other guys don’t look convinced.

Hovering in the periphery, Ryott is making note of any names she manages to hear, as well as any other interesting tidbits of information. It becomes apparent that Enyem is acting as patron for the new fighter, even catching him handing over a couple of hefty purses to the man on the down low after the man had won a couple of fights, earning Enyem and his friends a generous return on their bets.

The rest of the evening is relatively uneventful, Enyem and his cronies drink plentifully and bet indiscriminately, winning more than they lose. Eventually, Ryott has to pull herself away from her work, not wanting to miss light’s out back in Camp. She has to keep up the appearances, even though Javid knows about her activities, he hasn’t sanctioned them, and it would not do to slip on her spyling work for this job. She needs to prove that she can do both without letting either suffer.

Finally, she manages to slip out into the night, thanking Krusher again, but explaining she couldn’t find him once. He gives her shoulder a squeeze and then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a couple of eighth marks. “Here, at least get some rice or bread for the rest of you.” Thanking him profusely, even managing to squeeze out a few tears of relief, Ryott retreats in her careful shuffle until she disappears around the corner. Once again she finds the shadows and makes her way to the rooftops.

Finding her hidden pack, she strips off her disguise again and stuffs it in, her mind going over everything she learned that night repeating certain details to herself to reinforce her memory until she can get all the details down on a hide. Knowing that Divale would frown on a written record of her exploits, she has started developing her own special shorthand/code, for her notes so in the extreme unlikelihood of someone finding them, without the key they wouldn’t be able to be deciphered.

Finally shed of her disguise, the spyling makes her way over the rooftops until the Caravan Grounds are in sight once more. Standing on the edge, clad head to toe in shadow, Ryott breathes deeply as she surveils her home. She managed to get through her first day of actual spywork. There’s no small thrill that courses through her, but outwardly, she maintains her pensively stoic demeanor.

This won’t be so hard.

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