Who | |
What |
Two Wingleaders and an Undergrounder investigate a fishy smell in the Bazaar. |
When |
It is the seventieth day of Spring and 70 degrees. It is bright and sunny. The only evidence of the overnight storm is in the lingering mud puddles. |
Where |
Bazaar Sidestreet |
OOC Date | 27 Oct 2016 23:00 |
"I'm not pregnant or anything." - Th'bek
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.
"Sonuva…" Rounding the corner into a sidestreet is Parhelion's wingleader dressed in riding leathers fit for the spring climate. Not too warm, nor too cold, this is the perfect temperature for making rounds in the lesser travelled areas of the Bazaar. And it also means that garbage strewn about from the winter months hasn't been cleaned up yet — which means it smells lovely over here. "Well, that smacks you in the damn face." The smell, of course. R'xim grumbles as he makes his way down the street in search of where the worst of the stench is coming from.
Beris emerges from a shop on that very side street, and has clearly forgotten about the smell thanks to her time inside away from it: when she steps out, it hits her like a ton of bricks, and the teenager claps a hand over mouth and nose. "Blerg," comes muffled from beneath that hand, as she steps right into R'xim's path, not seeing him walking down the street from her left. In fact, she's looking to her right, squinting to see what the hell is causing the terrible smell she's just walked into.
R'xim halts with a sudden grate of his boots when a figure steps out from a shop directly in front of him. Honed reflexes keep him balanced and he stands rigid for a moment as he attempts to identify the teenager staring in the opposite direction. "Might want to look both ways before stepping into the street, girl." His tone is serious as both hands pull down on his riding jacket to smooth out the mussed wrinkles from his abrupt stop. Then the smell hits him again. "What is that? Or 'where' is more like it." Peering around the teen, Rix steps to the side and makes his way over to a cluster of wooden barrels lined up against a shop wall.
Th'bek walks in from the Central Bazaar.
Beris's head snaps round at the serious voice telling her off, and while her eyes, visible above her hand, show annoyance, whatever snitty response was going to come out of her is held back. Yeah, those are the knots of a man not to argue with. "Sorry," she mumbles from behind her hand, which then moves to pinch her nose rather than cover up everything. "I don't know," is the only response she can offer his question, voice sounding weird thanks to her pinched nostrils. Beris follows R'xim, frowning at the barrels accusingly. "Smells kinda fishy?" She's holding back the old gag reflex. "Swear it smells worse than when I went /into/ the shop," is muttered.
The wooden barrels against the stone wall are eyed as R'xim debates whether or not to actually move them to see if he can find the source. "Whatever it is smells like a gutter full of sh—" He doesn't finish his thought. Instead, he grabs hold of a barrel and hauls it to the side in an attempt to see if something might've actually died behind one. "See anything?" Poor guy didn't bring his glasses. He pats his pockets for them just in case after he settles the barrel with a gritty scrape over sandy cobble stones.
Rev has been in the bazaar checking in on Omila, the former weyrmate of an Arroyo rider once lost to Thread. Periodically, Th'bek will see how she and their children are doing and see if they need anything. She also happens to cook very well. Very full, and half-loving, half-hating that reality, the brownrider slowly makes progress through the bazaar avenues and detours, stopping by a stall with paintings on odd surfaces: wood, mirrors, rocks, before moving his feet forward. This is near where R'xim and Beris are. And the Stench. "Was there a third person with you who died?" He looks as if his eyes are watering.
Beris visibly gags as they get closer to the barrels, a fresh wave of Stench wafting over her. Bless R'xim for hefting that barrel aside, because, yes, Beris can now see the source of the stink! It's a rather large, half-eaten fish, now barely more than bones, likely dragged there by some feral Bazaar cat for a meal. "Faranth, that's disgusting," Beris complains, backing off, eyeing Th'bek. She's not going to retrieve the offending item!
"That's what we're trying to figure out." R'xim grunts while moving another barrel away from the wall. Apparently he didn't find his glasses. "I swear to Faranth if I find a damn body stuffed into something on his street I'm going after the Akzhan myself." It's just another day in Igen's Bazaar, folks. After Beris reveals the source of the god awful stench, Rix steps around a barrel to maybe… no. He's not going to touch the dead fish. "Rev, who owns this shop?" The one the barrels are leaning against.
Th'bek converts breathing through his mouth and comes closer despite all good sense to do otherwise. "Uhhh," there's some sliding of a hand against his chin and lower jaw as he wracks his memory. "'sa… Gordo, no that's his brother, Gappan! It's Gappan." He peers into the shop's window, but the cloth overlapping it prohibits any view. "Doesn't look like it's open…"
Well, at least Beris isn't the only one totally unwilling to move the fish. In fact, she's backed off a good few, large steps in order to get out of the worst of the smell. She looks between the two riders as they discuss the matter, with a look of disbelief on her face. "You want the shopkeeper to clean this up?" She asks with amazement, perhaps completely misunderstanding what the two mean when they talk about the shop's owner.
R'xim moves the barrel back where it was to help cover the nasty dead fish and its smell. "Yes." is his simple response to Beris. "That sonuva bitch can take care of this thing since it's near his shop." Damnit, Gappan. "He's the one who always throws garbage out his window in the winter and expects people to clean it up in the spring." Not THIS time, so sayeth Rix. Pardon him if he makes his way back to fresher air near the main street. "Rev, this is… uh." He failed to collect the teenager's name. Maybe if he snaps his fingers like he's trying to remember, she'll tell him. "This is Th'bek, Arroyo's wingleader." Naturally, Rix just assumes everyone in the Bazaar knows who he is by now.
Th'bek very slightly shakes his head at Beris. "It's not like the bazaar employs much of a clean-up crew to keep the streets sanitary and orderly. Ha, I almost said 'odorly'," he juts an elbow into R'xim's arm, the bronzerider that is an honorary uncle to him. "So, most of the time each shop keeper, whether they like it or not, is unofficially supposed to keep their own space clean. Nice to meet you, you are?" Asking Beris for information Rix isn't easily providing. He burps quietly, still very full.
If the language offends Beris, she hasn't shown any sign of it thus far. Her mouth does twitch with amusement when R'xim clearly doesn't know who she is, though. "Th'bek, right." Her gaze does flick to the knots at Th'bek's shoulder, so she can begin to associate Wingleader with that particular type of knot. "Hm." She accepts Th'bek's opinion of what the shopkeepers should be doing with some disinterest, then offers her name in a very casual manner. "Beris." No rank given with that. Her attention turns to R'xim, dark eyes on the one who hasn't introduced himself. "Who are you?" Blunt, but not wholly rude.
An elbow to the arm merits an eyeroll from R'xim as he strides up to Gappan's side entrance to knock. His fist raps on the wooden surface a few times before a woman in a head scarf opens the door just a crack and looks up at him with curious dark eyes. Very charismatic when he wants to be, Rix quietly converses with her until she opens the door a little wider to reveal Gappan himself. The older man listens to what is being told to him and after a fashion waves an arm in the general direction of the barrels. "See that one of your sons takes care of it within the candlemark." Which means that Parhelion will be back to check. The door closes and the bronzerider turns to make his way back toward Beris and Th'bek. "What?" he blinks at Beris. "Oh." His throat is cleared. "R'xim, bronze Shalnth's and Parhelion's wingleader." A beat, "Where are you off to, Beris?"
Th'bek thought 'odorly' was a pretty good pun, but does not cling to his comedic laurels. "Ugh, can we move on?" He pats his stomach fondly, wanting to hold onto its contents. "I worked hard for this lunch and would like to keep it." Th'bek avoids the larger of puddles flourishing after the night's rain, trying to think of his afternoon schedule in advance. "Do you belong to one of the bazaar families?" He does not see a chaperone within the girl's presence, but the question still gets posed.
Beris shows little in the way of a reaction to the revelation that R'xim is not only a bronzerider, but another Wingleader, to boot. Is Beris attracting the damn things today or something? "Home," she offers as casual as you like to the question sent her way, before Th'bek gets a strange look for his question, the girl's forehead furrowing. What's with all the questions?! "No," she states simply, and a little defensively. "Why are you two out here?" He adds, dodging the same puddle as Th'bek as she throws the questioning back at them, tossing her hair back so she can straighten up, as if to show she's got nothing to hide.
R'xim motions to the main street after Beris explains herself and follows along behind she and Th'bek. He, too, notes the lack of a chaperone and will see that the girl is at least out of the sidestreet before he thinks about continuing on with his rounds. "I'm on duty. Parhelion works shifts in the Bazaar to help out… and to see that teenage girls don't wind up behind the back of a barrel in some alleyway." Rix eyes Beris again, his tone much like a father scolding a daughter." No, he won't lecture her. Yet. Instead, he takes a deep breath of fresh air once they step into the main vein of commerce. "That's better." Breeeaathe in, breathe out. "Gappan's kid better pick up that damn fish before I get back." That last bit is mostly to Rev.
Th'bek's hazel eyes spend a glance at R'xim when violence is mentioned. It's true it occurs regularly, sometimes as mundane as slapping and other times far worse. "I was seeing the family of a friend of mine, his name was I'tane and he was a rider in Arroyo since before I was tapped. His weyrmate, Omila, moved back to the bazaar after he died and she is the best cook I know. On days I go see her, I skip breakfast and usually supper. But soon I got a meeting with my 'seconds so I best head that direction." Again he holds his stomach. "I'm not pregnant or anything."
Beris follows, not so much obediently but with a stride as if she were going to go that way, anyway. She rolls her eyes when R'xim talks about chaperoning teenage girls. "I can handle myself out here." She's more interested in Th'bek's story, sad as it may be. When he holds his stomach again, she gives him a sweeping look up and down. "You sure?" With more cheek than a random girl perhaps should have towards a Wingleader, especially with that wickedly amused twinkle in her eyes.
"You better not be pregnant, especially after the talk we had." R'xim says while looking over at his fellow wingleader with a smirk. There's a quiet moment as the bronzerider reflects upon I'tane and the family that's left behind, though he says nothing on the matter. Delivering a black knot to a family member is not something he jokes about — and he's delivered his fair share over the past Turn. Clearing his throat just a bit after Beris' comment, Rix tries not to return too much snark to the girl. "That's what most women say when they're out here by themselves." He pivots toward Th'bek. "I'll follow you to the bowl." He then pivots back toward Beris, "Good meeting you. Stay safe." Spoken more like an order than a request.
"Mostly confident." The brownrider parcels back to Beris with a slow, satiated grin. And when he looks at R'xim, his grin only marinates in place. "Thank the dunes it's my rest day today, I get to nap." Because that's about all he can do when he looks like a python that's swallowed an entire deer. "Aye," echoing R'xim, "and smart. Nice to know you, Beris. Wingleader," he salutes his comrade and takes an easy walk back to where Tavuqth was last known to be.
'Odorly.'
:D