K'vvan meets his cousin in the bazarr.


It is evening of the twenty-fourth day of the second month of the first turn of the 12th pass.


That one place in the bazaar where people go to gamble.

OOC Date



That one place in the bazaar where people gamble

It's darkish and smelly.

The glows lighting the gambling den are dim- there’s no need for good light in an establishment where one is trying to pull the wool over another’s eyes. K’vvan steps over the threshold, his nose wrinkling at the smell that somehow manages to always inhabit places like this, even as the thought tickles, and I use to spend a lot of time here. His footsteps take him no more than a trio of strides in and past a game of dice when a deep Bitran draw crawls out from a table just further beyond. “Wondered when you’d be coming around. I know you got my message.”

“F*k you too.” K’vvan stands, arms crossed as his eyes settle upon the thick form the words spill from. He slips back into his own accent from home, heavily tainted and nothing like the crippled and practiced tone he has learned. “What the f*k are you doing in Igen Katzir?” The greenrider’s tone holds none of the smooth oiliness of the other. Instead there is utter revulsion, like one might have when slime drops randomly from the sky to drop onto their neck.

The man, Katzir, just laughs at K’vvan’s swearing, pushing himself up from the game he is overseeing. The man’s bulk is unmistakable standing obviously, he has wanted for nothing his whole life. There is a softness to the man that comes of not working days but spiraling away the nights instead. The only callouses upon the soft body are those upon his knuckles from the dice. “We got unfinished business cousin Kavvan,” a smile tinges upon Katzir’s face.

K’vvan wrinkles his nose as the stench of his cousin reaches him. Smoke, stale beer and unwashed hair mingle to create a stomach churning aroma. He holds himself fast. “Hold isn’t my responsibility any more. Would look weird if I was always popping in like before.”

“That’s where you’re wrong Kavvan,” Katzir continues, his oily voice making a mockery of K’vvan’s preimpression name. “My father is still very much your responsibility, so long as you haven’t paid him back yet.” He moves closer, his dark brown eyes taking on a tinge of violence. “You know how persuasive he can be.”

A chill drills itself down K’vvan’s spine as he locks eyes with his cousin. It’s been seven f*king years. He steels himself. “F*k him.” K’vvan spits out, reaching out to check the mental bond between him and Nadeeth. She sleeps, the long drill in high winds combined with a sweep of the outlying holds helping keep her down while his mental walls block off the chill of this family reunion. His attention turns backwards again as Katzir takes another step towards him. “I’m serious. Thread’s falling and I don’t have time to deal with his sh*t. You take your f*king a** and get the hell out of my weyr.”

K’vvan’s words only seem to amuse the fat Bitran even more, though the smile on his face isn’t one of pleasure. “And deny me the pleasures of the bazaar? I’m thinking I’ll be staying awhile. Maybe we could spend some time together.” The sound of dice clinking together echos from where Katzir holds his hand inside of his pocket, his eyes are fixed on K’vvan. “Like old times. Maybe see if I can make friends with some of yours.”

“Screw you.” Iciness continues to crawl down his spine. “You get near my friends and I’ll see Nadeeth dropping you in the middle of the sharding desert and see how long you last.” His words are gruff, more a front than a real threat. With one last look K’vvan turns on his heel to put his back to Katzir, and moves towards the doorway, flinging it open with more violence than is strictly necessary.

“I’ll be seeing you Kavvan.” The voice settles back, followed by the sound of laughter which dogs K’vvan’s feet out the door.

Add a New Comment