• Solo • Consequences

Not everyone is happy with Hera's "engagement",

The capital city of the of Rynmere, here is seated the only King in Idalos.
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Syhera Ki'hadi
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Joined: Wed Apr 27, 2016 2:54 am
Race: Biqaj
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Renown: 42
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  • 34th of Ashan, 716
    The sea rolled with frustration, crashing into the docks and against anchored ships, sending a salty mist into the air. Fog lurked between every gap and crevice, lingering and darkening the mood of sailors. Somewhere, seagulls cried out as they searched for food, and the light footsteps of a women pattered down the worn wood of the harbor, drowned out by the drolling of bells and the shouts of men.

    Dressed in a white linen shirt, covered with stains and faded black pants, a man called out orders, a hand rolled cigarette pinched tight between his lips. He looked to be in his thirties, scars running along his arms and a shadow of a beard making him look older. His appearance was rough, but hard working, and when Syhera approached, he looked up with a stern expression that hardened more at the sight of her, "Whaddya want?"

    The red head laughed and held the hem of her blue dress to keep it from getting wet, "Bentley, don't act so callus."

    He scoffed, stepping on board of his ship and stomping about. He adjusted ropes, kicked a bucket out of his way and cursed a man not moving fast enough for his liking, "I'm busy, Hera. Fog's dun gone spoiled the mornin'. I need to get out there," He pointed a finger at the water, "Or we won't get any fish before they're all grabbed." He grumbled another curse, "So, I'll ask again. Whadd-ya. Want."

    So, he planned to stay rude. Hera frowned, "You know why I'm here. Money's been tight around the shop and-"

    "Piss oooff," he groaned, "I don't have time for any lies today."

    "Excuse me?" Hera's voice was cold, her eyes immediately darkening. "You always help me out."

    "You're right!" The man turned sharply on his heel, stomping over to where she stood, "And I won't do it any longer. Not with all this." He waved an arm at her, motioning to her whole self, "Go home, smug."

    Smug?

    The Biqaj woman felt her mouth drop. When it closed, Hera's voice was dangerously calm, "I am no smug." Smug was a nasty home-brewed word for the upper class. Men and women who had their head so far up their asses they didn't see the world around them.

    Bently laughed bitterly, "No? Money's tight, but you're walking around in pretty dresses, and all dolled up. Maybe you should try working, getting your hands dirty for once in your bloody life." The captain snatched up her wrist and tugged it hard, holding it up between them. Her hands were smooth, flawless. Soft, and clean. In comparison, his were monsters - stained by years on a ship, and hardened by the salt of the sea. His grip was tight, uncomfortable and his hands were scratchy against her skin, "Why don't you go ask that fiance of yours for a loan? Sure he wouldn't mind to help out his dearest."

    He dropped her arm, his eyes filled with disgust, "Or maybe he's embarrassed by you. The lord know you're poor yet? Know your mother's crazy?"

    Hera's hand shot out, sending a slap so hard that it snapped Bentley's face to the side and made some of his crew stop and stare. The cigarette that was in his mouth flew out and rolled on the deck. Silence surrounded the two, and electricity buzzed between them. She lowered her voice to a dark whisper, "This has nothing to do with Peake. This is about us. You were my friend."

    Bently lifted his face to stare Hera into the eyes. His face was already turning red from her assault, and he shook his head, " So it's true, den? I ain't no friend with someone who fucks tax collectors. Now get off my ship."

    He believed the gossip, the engagement. Hera took a step back, hating the man before her. Betrayal clawed at her heart, anger at her predicament, but more so that her friend was scorning her. What if she did love Peake? Bentley's words were cruel, his actions uncalled for... and over a sham! A wedding that was to never happen, with a man she hardly knew, nor cared about in that way, "You have made a terrible enemy today," Syhera clutched the fabric of her dress tighter, her knuckles turning white. When she looked back over over her shoulder, she met the eyes of the men who had disrespected her. "Watch your fortune closely. One day I will come to take it from you."
word count: 783
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Syhera Ki'hadi
Posts: 119
Joined: Wed Apr 27, 2016 2:54 am
Race: Biqaj
Profession: Navigator
Renown: 42
Character Sheet
Plot Notes
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Wealth Tier: Tier 1

Contribution

Milestones

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"
  • 34th of Ashan, 716
    "Take my fortune? Bah! Ya hear that boys? Fuckin' a tax man makes you a greedy cunt too!"

    Laughter roared behind her as she took a deep breath and lightly stepped back onto the dock. Hot shame flooded her face, her chest, her core. She had never been so disrespected by those she had once called friends. Her hands clenched into tight fists, Hera meditated to calm her fury. She counted the sails at port, 'One. Two. Three.'

    She hated to lose her temper. She hated being degraded even more. 'Four. Five.' The red head continued to stare straight ahead as the boisterous insults grew louder. Voices of men she knew, and strangers alike wanted to comment on her new predicament -- Things they knew nothing about.

    "Oi! Hera!"

    She said nothing, but the sails soon began to blur from her interest and she couldn't help but pause. When she turned, she spotted a familiar face of a man who had joined her and a cousin for dancing just the summer prior. He had been a nice boy who had even peaked the romantic interest of a relative. Now, his lopsided grin looked ugly, and his eyes too small for his head. Hera didn't want to hear whatever he had to say and gave him a look that must have struck something humane inside him because whatever insult he was about to spit drowned in the sea.

    Hera stormed away as men shouted jokes about her virtue and soon found herself shoving through the crowd of merchants and buyers at market, wanting to scream. By the time she had broken free of the crowd, her chest had tightened into a lead ball in her chest and her breath caught anytime someone looked in her direction. They were scowling at her, judging her. They saw her as unworthy for the lord, or for their companionship. She wasn't used to such callus treatment, and she slumped against a brick wall and tried not to sink to the ground. The smell of the port was distant now, a bad memory that would continue on to the next day and around her the scenary had changed for the better.

    The streets were cleaner, and the air smelled better. It was a far cry from fine living, but the quality of life had improved. No one spared her much of a glance, and she let her anger simmer inside her. A single hot tear spilled from her eye and she used her hand to swat it away just as quickly.

    "Why are you crying?"

    Hera froze, looking down at the innocent voice aimed at her. Before her was a little girl in a white dress and blonde curls that contrasted heavily with the red of her skin. "I-I'm not."

    "Yes, you are. I saw you." Big brown eyes stared up at her, and she wrinkled nose, irritated by the lie, "Did a boy pull your hair?"

    The question was so simple and a sharp laugh slipped from the Biqaj, "No, no one pulled my hair." Looking at the child, who must have been around seven, relaxed Syhera and she found her anger slipping through her fingers, "No one likes my new friend."

    A deep face of seriousness settled on the little girl's face and she nodded gravely, "Why are you friends?"

    'Because he says so.' Hera shrugged, "Sometimes you can't help it."

    "My best friend is a dog, and people say I can't be friends with him, 'cause he's a dog, but I don't care. They're mean."

    Another laugh from Syhera, who crouched down to look at the girl's face, "They are mean, aren't they?" she smiled, not in the same way she smiled at customers, or men, but a softer and genuine smile that crinkled her nose and reached her eyes, "What's your name?"

    "Miriam," the girl said without a second thought, "If your new friend is nice, and your old friends are mean, you should stop being friends with the mean ones."

    "Oh?"

    "Yeah, cause friends aren't mean to one another." She said it in such a matter-o' fact way, it was hard logic to disagree with.

    "I think your right," the redhead mussed, feeling much better.
word count: 723
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