| Who | |
| What |
Nasrin is pretending to be someone else. Vyncis baits and drops some choice advice. Swearing, of course. |
| When |
It is evening of the first day of the third month of the seventh turn of the 12th pass. |
| Where |
The Pit, Igen Weyr |
| OOC Date | 18 Feb 2016 06:00 |
"I can swing that."
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.
Braziers burn hot and oily, a more masculine thrum and whiffs of petroleum. There's a fight, and it's an ordinary one, but the challenger is wildling from Southern supposedly, and hellbent on making profit for himself even if it means he must move on to other arenas. Still quiet a few gaps set in the stands, more than enough room for a certain waif, but she chooses not to be seen, tucked into a recess that was once a blocked off entrance to an original antechamber. In nondescript clothing, a headscarf, and hooded cloak, Nasrin looks just as ready to make off with a purse as watch the fight.
The fight is the reason Vyncis is here, really. He's not here to stalk a cousin and point and laugh - though it might come to that eventually. He's actually not even here to collect on a bet, for a change! But he's also not here to fight. No, Vyncis is here because those two fighters out there are people he might be fighting in the very near future - and one must know one's enemy, after all. So when he spots a woman, and goes over to her with every intention of flirting, boy is he going to be surprised. Does he know what Nasrin looks like without a veil? Probably not, since he's the bastard of the family. "Well hello there," he greets with a smirk. "What brings you here~?" If he realizes it's his cousin, well, he can always say he was just teasing.
Nasrin's best disguise, better than her brother's shoes, roughcut cape, and streetrat obscurity, is being where few proper Steen women would be caught. Hide in plain sight, as they say? She pulls her eyes away from the central ruckus, no kohl to emphasize their blueness. When she sees it's Vyncis she flinches, it can't be helped. "Smelled the food." If one calls it that. The Pit serves controlled violence and luck, very little in good cuisine. She scratches her cheeks, making sure to blacken her fingertips in a little spent coal before leaving. "Got any?" Nasrin isn't hungry, but her waifish persona is.
Something about this woman is familiar. But Vyncis can't quite put his finger on it, so he leans on the other side of the recess, his eyes straying to the fight. "If you were looking for food, you chose a shitty place to get it." He replies frankly. "They're not big on charity here." His eyes turn to Nasrin again, considering, assessing. "You're going to get yourself into trouble." Either by stealing, as she seems to look like she'd be doing, or by simply being who she is and being here. Whether he's realized who she is yet or not…well, the warning can still be accounted for either way. "The one from Southern is going to lose," he says suddenly, jutting his chin at the fight. "He's too desparate."
Something about this woman is familiar. But Vyncis can't quite put his finger on it, so he leans on the other side of the recess, his eyes straying to the fight. "If you were looking for food, you chose a shitty place to get it." He replies frankly. "They're not big on charity here." His eyes turn to Nasrin again, considering, assessing. "You're going to get yourself into trouble." Either by stealing, as she seems to look like she'd be doing, or by simply being who she is and being here. Whether he's realized who she is yet or not…well, the warning can still be accounted for either way. "The one from Southern is going to lose," he says suddenly, jutting his chin at the fight. "He's too desparate."
Something about this woman is familiar. But Vyncis can't quite put his finger on it, so he leans on the other side of the recess, his eyes straying to the fight. "If you were looking for food, you chose a shitty place to get it." He replies frankly. "They're not big on charity here." His eyes turn to Nasrin again, considering, assessing. "You're going to get yourself into trouble." Either by stealing, as she seems to look like she'd be doing, or by simply being who she is and being here. Whether he's realized who she is yet or not…well, the warning can still be accounted for either way. "The one from Southern is going to lose," he says suddenly, jutting his chin at the fight. "He's too desparate."
It's times like these when she's prowling, despite every social cue otherwise, that a brand of true fear sears her center and spreads outwards unless she tingles with the sensation. Stupid, and addicted to that adrenaline, Nasrin's eyes are blinked over to Vyncis. The only way to beat him, even if she were to lose, is to act nonplus. "I can swing that." That is not a verb Proper Nasrin would use, but Boy Shoes Nasrin will try it. She exhales while thinking of a reply and enjoys the recycled heat the scarf insulates at her mouth and chin. "He could be faking weakness to throw Faselt."
It's times like these when she's prowling, despite every social cue otherwise, that a brand of true fear sears her center and spreads outwards unless she tingles with the sensation. Stupid, and addicted to that adrenaline, Nasrin's eyes are blinked over to Vyncis. The only way to beat him, even if she were to lose, is to act nonplus. "I can swing that." That is not a verb Proper Nasrin would use, but Boy Shoes Nasrin will try it. She exhales while thinking of a reply and enjoys the recycled heat the scarf insulates at her mouth and chin. "He could be faking weakness to throw Faselt."
Vyncis chuckles, his voice low, and eyes the fighters. "I bet you can," he replies thoughtfully. Once more the girl gets a look from him. "Fair enough," he agrees. "Let's see…which secret shall I let slip?" He's planning on 'her' fighter losing that bet, apparently. Either way, he gets to find out just who of the two is the better fighter - and he gets the chance to see them both in action. "If he takes advantage of Faselt's slow kick on the right side, he might have a chance." Vyncis concedes, finally. "But he'd better take advantage soon - I don't see how he can have that much stamina left."
Nasrin overlaps her legs, they cross at the shin, while her vision gets lost down in the sandy stadium. Vyncis's threat hangs, feeds the air around them. She hopes she makes out on that bet, not for the late supper, but to spare her whatever so-called secret the pit fighter things he'll share. But it isn't to be. The wildling loses his balance and falls, Faselt soon on top of him. The collective crowd hoots and dozens of arms thrust over their heads. Nasrin looks calmly at Vyncis.
When that Wildling goes down, there's a definite smirk that crosses Vyncis's face. It's a good thing he's not in it to be an entertainer other than in fighting, because he has little to no ability to conceal his moods. Or at least, so it seems. If he is acting, he's done a damn good job of it for all these years. He looks over at Nasrin, raising his eyebrows. "Desperation is a crazy thing," he comments, his smirk growing a little. Who is he talking about? Her, or the Wildling? "Certain people in the Steen family," the man begins, that grin still lingering. He buffs his fingernails on his shirt idly as he goes. "Sometimes have people following them when they leave the house. Sometimes these people are people just familiar enough to blend right in to those surroundings." He glances back up at her. "Sometimes they're right with those people. Tragenia, for example," it's a second cousin he's named, one with a very paranoid father. "Is always accompanied by someone who is there to…report back to her father." He smiles. It's not necessarily unkind - but it's not all that nice of a smile either. "In case she talks to long to any one man who's not her betrothed, or happens to let her veil slip… Or so I hear." A warning? Or an offer? Vyncis is freer to be…well, less than reputable, since he's only a bastard. Perhaps he's offering to turn his services around…should he be being employed in that particular manner. As ambiguous as he's being, it's hard to tell!
Down like a sack of potatoes. Nasrin doesn't mourn him, not that he's dead, but she does miss the hope of winning. "His knee gave way, maybe an old injury." That would absolve her of a little bit of error. "That is an interesting story, I've no doubt it's true," and she listened to every word, arms still tightly folded, no conclusions reached. Suddenly they're out and she's switching her weight. "But I'm still hungry." Actually, she needs to work her way back to the compound, but any reason to leave is a reason to leave. She circles Vyncis's left just as another pair of fighters work up the crowds.
"It's only to be expected, really. Herders watch their stock." Is Vyncis calling her cattle? Maybe he's just using a comparison. Goodness knows it's an accurate one, sometimes, with how the Steens treat their women! "Just beware of your surroundings…Nas." That last is whispered, just as she passes him by. Should she chance a glimpse, there's a smirk playing on his lips. As for his attention? It's fully back on the new fight. He's never one to go into any fight unprepared…and he's not about to start. It's a safe bet that Vyncis will still be here when it's time for the Pit to shut down for the night - and perhaps even for a bit beyond that, as well.