• Solo • Unasked for Alliance

[Hart]

"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"

2nd of Ashan, 717
midnight

It was the coldest trial that Hart had ever experienced, he was sure of it, and try as he might he couldn't remember why he was outside at all. He was certain there was a reason, just as he was certain he was drunk, but he couldn't remember why he had come outside or where the person he'd gotten drunk with had gone. He hadn't been drinking alone.

Hart turned in a circle in the dead of night, one hand out to steady himself and the other tucked inside the pocket of his coat, hugging the material close to his body. His scarf was pressed to his face, keeping the frostbite that threatened at bay, and at once he remembered someone-- there had been a man. A man and they had been drinking and sharing a bed, and then Hart had said he would go get something, and be right back, but he couldn't remember what.

It had to be more booze. What else would he have left to go get them? He stumbled a little when he started to walk again, slipping on the ice-slick cobblestones, and stopped to regain his balance, windmilling one arm in an effort to keep up on his feet.

He heard a noise.

He was in a familiar part of town which he knew very well and whose people he knew even better. He had spent a lot of time around here in recent seasons and he thought if he couldn't figure what he was out after he might just wander over to someone's house to stay the night. He thought, House of Roses and all of a sudden there he was in front of the notorious brothel, and Hart intended to go in for something --what?-- but again he heard that noise.

He stopped and looked around.

It was dark and there was nobody and yet there had to be somebody, because only a person could make a noise like that. It sounded like a woman's voice. She sounded like she was laughing, all choked and quiet, or maybe she was crying.

Crying. He stepped a little towards the sound, finding himself at the entrance of a nearby alley, and at once it went quiet. No sound, except the yowling of a cat somewhere off further down the street. Snow drifted down around him on the chill, numb air and again he had to try and find his bearings. How much had he drunk?

"Hello?" he asked, a soft voice because the woman crying had been crying so very softly.

There was no response save for the sound of something scuttering further down the alley-- like someone had fallen or was trying to get up, their clothes brushing against brick or boots scuffed. "Hello?" he asked again, and then a woman's voice said, "Don't come closer, please," and now his eyes made sense of the dark.

There at the end of the alley was a young woman, maybe 18 arcs old, huddled into a corner next to a pile of rubble and trash. Hart took a step closer.

"Please," she moaned, and then began at first to whimper, and then to cry again.

[Hart]

"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"

"It's cold out," Hart said, uncertain of what else to say. As if that should convince her to let him draw near. She didn't give response except to continue to weep. "Are you okay? I just want to help you." Hart peered through the dark. She was huddled down into a tight ball like she was cold. "I have a coat here," he said, shrugging out of it. In an instant the cold air punched at him and he began to shiver. Regardless he set the coat on the ground, careful not to tip himself over when he leaned down, and then backed away from it. "There it is," he said.

He waited.

She didn't move for a while and he said, "Right now the coat is warm but soon it will be cold again."

"Promise you won't touch me," she said, and there was that scrapping scuttering noise again, perhaps the sound of boots on stone.

"I promise," Hart said. In the dark he saw the small form struggle to stand, leaning her full weight against the wall, and then she limped out over to him and took the coat from where he had laid it on the ground.

Close up like this he could see her in much more detail.

She was frail and uncomfortably thin, sick-thin, and she shuddered uncontrollably in the night so that after she put her arms through the sleeves of the coat she couldn't get her hands to hold still enough to do the buttons up the front. Though Hart was not a large man the coat was still big on her.

She looked to be wearing a light dress, maybe a night gown or some sort of lingerie, and stockings torn at the knee, and one boot with the laces untied. Her other foot was bare of both sock and shoe. Her toes were so red against the frost of the street it looked like the blood had frozen inside them. Her toenails were painted a dusky shade of light pink that paled in comparison to the bright, painful color of her flesh.

"That nail paint, do you like that sort of stuff?" Hart asked, his mind playing catch up to all he had seen, and then before she could answer, "Do you want me to help with the buttons?"

"N-N-No," the girl said, and he held up his hands.

"Do you have a place to stay?"

"No."

"Are you hurt?"

"N-No." But she began once more to weep, this time all at once in large, gasping sobs. She wobbled on her feet.

Hart stepped forward and took hold of her, trying to be as gentle as he could while making sure she didn't fall. After a moment she folded against him, as if seeking his warmth or used to either accepting or offering comfort. The girl turned her face into his shoulder, wetting the cloth there with her tears, but still she shuddered. She felt so light in his grasp, insubstantial like air. He might be able to carry her if he had to.

"Can you walk?" he asked her.

"No." She tried to crumple to the street and he was there to lower her slowly down, her legs folding underneath her. Her knees were bare and blue and marked with scabs. Her hands collected in her lap, bunching at the cloth there. Her fingers were dirty and it was only now he realized there was blood under her nails.

Suddenly he felt a lot more sober, maybe because he had to, and when she was ready he helped her once more to stand. "Just this way," he said, supporting most of her weight. He took a careful step and she began to totter, and then, stumbling, to walk. She leaned against him and shivered and shivered like touching him was vile to her. But she didn't pull away.

"Not much farther," he said, trying to keep his own balance while supporting hers, and they went past the House of Roses towards the gates of the city and Ye Olde Inn.

[Hart]

"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"

There was a man in his room when Hart got back to the inn, lying under the bedcovers. When Hart came in the man stirred and blinked open his eyes, smiling sleepily. "Did you get the--?" he asked, and then noticed the slumping figure in Hart's arms. The girl lolled against the seaborn's side as if barely conscious. Her eyes were open and she kept making noises like whimpers, but otherwise she did not move or speak.

The man on the bed quickly got up, naked, making room so Hart could settle her down in his place. She curled at once into the warmth of the sheets and the man, Ewan, stepped towards Hart, collecting discarded clothes from the floor as he went.

"Who is she?" he asked, making an effort to not sound drunk. Hart went to the bedside and sat while the other got dressed. The girl looked up at him when he sat next to her and then folded even further in on herself, still tucked into his coat. Though her eyes remained open it was like she was asleep. Hart had the scarf wrapped around his neck and he unwound it, tossing it to the floor.

"I don't know who she is," Hart said, and Ewan hovered behind him, close to the door. Clearly spooked by the girl's presence and the state she was in. "You, you mind if I--?" He hooked a thumb at the exit.

"No, go, go," Hart said, looking away from the girl only when the other man came over and bent to kiss him farewell. "Go," Hart said, and Ewan went.

---

The next morning Hart woke groggy but not too hungover, used to the aftereffects of alcohol. At first he was confused why he was sleeping on the floor, then he sat up and looked at the bed with its rumpled sheets and remembered. There had been a girl. But the bed was empty now. Confused further he looked around, going to the closet first
--by mistake-- and then the adjoined bathroom. His coat and a pile of dirty clothes and one boot were there on the floor. But still no girl. The air was humid and fragrant like someone had taken a bath. He got dressed and went out into the hall.

When he finally found her she was down at the bar, slouching in an unfamiliar shirt and pants and jacket which might have belonged to either a man or a woman, Hart couldn't tell. There was a large glass cupped in her hands that smelled like gin. She nursed at it. When she saw him she smiled and he saw her lip was split. But her eyes were clear and aware. The difference in expression and demeanor was huge. In the daylight she was no longer so young and helpless.

"Hello," he said, and she patted the seat next to her to call him over.

Hart walked to her side and she said, by way of greeting, "Do you want to help me pack a bag at my place?" A pause while she gauged his expression. "I gotta move out but I got no one to help me pack. Do you wanna help me?"

"Okay," he answered. Still trying to figure everything out. Not having expected this topic, nor had he expected to see her up and about. It was like he had never found her out in the bitter cold, barely able to speak or walk.

"Good," she smiled, and sipped one last time at her drink before setting it down on the bar. She didn't leave money and the bartender didn't ask. "Then let's go."

---

The girl chattered at him in good nature as they made their way towards the slums in lowtown. When Hart asked her if she was still hurting she laughed at the question, surprised. "What are you talking about?" she asked, and he couldn't tell if she was lying, but mustn't she be? She pressed close to his side as they walked as if they were a couple, threading her arm into his. He looked over at her, her behavior so starkly different than before. He was still having trouble catching up.

"So?" she asked coyly, glancing down at herself and then back up at him. "How was it? Worth the nel?" She pouted with her split bottom lip when he didn't answer, "Not that good? Oh come on now, don't be shy." Still teasing.

"It was nothing," he said, "Sorry darling, but last night you slept and that was all."

For the first time there was something there, something in her face that reminded him of how scared she'd been last night, but it was quickly gone.

"Oh, I thought--" She shrugged and easily seemed to forget it. "Huh. Must have been drunk again." The girl changed the subject and they kept walking arm in arm.

Soon enough they reached an apartment house, one of the many squashed together on this side of town. Buildings towered high and thin and crumbled in places, starting to mold near the corners and windows. The apartment they stopped at was in decent shape, no better nor poorer than the next.

The girl ran inside ahead of him, gesturing for him to follow, and Hart bounded up the stairs after her. Somehow he lost her on the staircase and he had to follow the sound of her voice to a room on the third floor where the door stood open. When he got there she was speaking to the air, but abruptly stopped and turned towards him.

"Clothes are in that pile," she said, pointing through the mess, and Hart went and started to pick up one garment after the other off the floor. Most of them were made of thin, stretchy cloth or lace. She had a variety of colors.

"I forgot to ask your name," Hart said a couple bits later, and she blew smoke at him across the room where she was lying on a bare mattress with her feet up the wall, cigarette hanging from her lip. When she rolled over to her belly to face him a piece of ash had fallen on her nose and she scrunched up her face trying to dislodge it.

"Nevermind that," she said, and then nearly dropped the cigarette on the floor when she looked over and saw someone standing in the door, putting a hand to her heart as if she'd been given a fright. Hart turned to look, taking a step back.

There were three men there, the largest of which had entered without knocking. "Hook," he said, addressing the girl, "This the guy?"

"Yes." The bubbly attitude was gone. 'Hook' put the cigarette out in a tray and then stood. Crossing to the men and turning to look at Hart with an unguarded, almost worried expression. Then she looked down. When she looked back up her expression was blank.

"You Tristan Venora?" one of them asked, muscling closer, and Hart dropped the clothes he had been picking up back to the pile on the ground.

"Would you believe me if I said I wasn't?" he asked.

"Come with us, scumbag," the man said, and Hart glanced at the girl. Nothing.

"Okay," he said, and let himself first be blindfolded and then led roughly away.

[Hart]

"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"

He didn't have to walk for long. Outside the apartment was a carriage, and he was shoved into a seat and found himself pressed to the carriage wall, one of the men sitting so close to Hart's side that he could feel him breathing. Hart tried to keep his whole body relaxed.

No one spoke, not once, and the carriage ride seemed to go on forever until, finally, the horses slowed and they stopped. They had taken so many turns Hart couldn't tell which way they had ended up going, only that they were still in the city. He couldn't tell whether it was lowtown or mid.

The door to his side opened and he tumbled out to the cobblestones, going to his knees. Someone yanked him up by the back of the coat and he put a hand to his throat to stop himself choking, stumbling forward when the person pushed him from behind. He nearly fell again, tripping over his own feet in his blindness. Someone still had a hold of his coat and they kept him from falling, steering him by yanking him to either side. He walked as best he could.

Inside it was noticeably darker, even with the blindfold, and someone patted him down. Finding no weapons they led him down what felt like a dozen different hallways but what must have only been four or five, then down a flight of stairs and into a room. The door shut behind him and it became exceedingly quiet. Quiet enough that he could hear his own heart as it hammered in his ears. He peeled the blindfold from his eyes. He was alone in the pitch dark.

Muffled voices came from outside and he followed the sound, arms outstretched, pressing his ear to the wall.

Mostly the voices sounded like nothing, like nonsense, but he picked up a few words here and there. Venora, mostly. What else? It was hard to hear. From the tone of the voices there were two, maybe three different people talking. Arguing maybe. Suddenly the door opened, thrusting him into a dim column of light, and he blinked at the person who entered, turning so his back was pressed to the wall.

The figure walked up to him, knife drawn, and without warning stepped into Hart's space and put the blade to his throat. Hart dared not move, not even to swallow. Up until now he had not been overly afraid.

"You Tristan Venora?" the man asked, and Hart said, "No."

"Proof," the man said, and Hart could only say, "I have none."

"I will kill you if you lie to me," the man said, and the blade moved impossibly closer, pressed so close to his flesh it must have shaved the skin. "Are you Tristan Venora?"

"No," Hart said.

"Do you know who we are?" the man demanded, obviously enraged by his answers, and the seaborn muttered out, flinching, "No."

At long last the man drew back the dagger, and Hart only stood and waited for whatever came next. Keeping as far away from the man as he could in the confined space.

It was not long before someone else walked into the room and lit a sconce on the wall, illuminating both men's faces. The one who had threatened him had a mask covering his eyes, but the other man was plain. He had unassuming features, neither handsome nor ugly, with no noticeable marks or scars. He just looked like a man. Maybe like someone's father or grandfather. He was wearing a seven pointed star on a necklace that reminded Hart of the clergy.

"May the seven guide you," Hart found himself saying, and the man with the necklace smiled at him.

"You're not Tristan Venora, are you?" he asked, and Hart shook his head. "How are you related to the Venoras?"

Hart remained silent. The man sighed. "Don't lie to me, son. Lying by omission is still lying. The Fates look down on those who obscure knowledge and thwart justice."

"Who are you people?" Hart asked. The man with the knife took a threatening step forward, maybe to punish him for having spoken out of turn, but the other held out a hand, clearly in charge, and the angry man stepped back with a grumble.

"We are concerned citizens," the man with the necklace said. "We are Allied against the nobility."

"Death to the nobility!" the man with the knife chanted. Eyes flat and hungry. "Equality for all but those scum."

"You're the RCA?" Hart asked. He had heard of the Rynmere Citizens Alliance. He hadn't thought he would ever meet them himself.

The man with the knife spat at Hart's feet. "The RCA are old fools. We are Alliance and we are the reckoning. Vengeance," he said, shifting from foot to foot like an animal about to leap, savoring the word.

"Okay Pierce, calm down," a female voice said from the door, and it was the girl from before. The others had called her Hook. She meandered in. Her face was cool and her expression distant. She had another cigarette.

With her was a young woman that Hart recognized. One of the workers at the House of Roses.

"That's him," the prostitute said, and Hart looked away from her.

"Tristan Venora?" the bloodthirsty man said, and the prostitute cut him off, "No. Of course not. That's Hart."

"Is he in relation to the Venoras?" Hook asked, and the lady of Roses shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know. But people have seen him at Tristan's house and have reported seeing the both of them in public together. I've seen him and Tristan myself side by side. They look alike I admit," her voice seemed to smile. "But Hart is older I think. And Tristan is--" Hart looked over and the prostitute shook her head. Giggling like a girl. "They're different from one another. Different enough if you pay close attention."

"Still, even if he is not a blood relative," the man with the star necklace said, "He could be of use to us."

"Death to nobility," Pierce muttered again, and he rolled the hilt of the blade in one hand. Hook gave him a sharp look.

"This man isn't noble as far as we can tell."

"He looks noble," the other sneered. "That's enough. I say we string him up outside the Venora's house and watch him kick til he kicks no more. Send a message that we are not mere trifles. That we will be heard." He switched the knife to his other hand. "And obeyed."

For a moment the others were all quiet, and Hart, already with his hand to his throat as if to protect it, knew his heart was pounding so desperately now that they all must have heard it.

"What say you, prisoner?" Hook eventually asked. Turning towards him.

"I helped you."

She exchanged a glance with the man with the necklace. He nodded his head.

"Then you'll help me again. We'll call upon you when we need you," Hook said. "Until then do not contact us and do not contact the authorities or you will be slain."

"Okay," Hart said meekly.

"We will use you however we see fit when the time comes. Are you willing to die for the good of the people?"

Hart said nothing. Hook smiled. "Put your blindfold back on." He took too long and Pierce stepped forward and yanked it from his hands, shoving it roughly down over his face, once more covering his eyes. Hart would have stumbled back from the other man's aggression had he already not been pressed to the wall.

"Let's go," Pierce growled, and grabbed him by the elbow, shoving him towards the door.

The walk out was just as long as the walk in, and so was the carriage ride, which again seemed to involve many unnecessary turns. Eventually the horses stopped and Hart had the blindfold ripped from his face. He was pushed from the carriage out to the ground, and huddled there until the driver had kicked the beasts into motion and taken them away.

He was in some sort of cul-de-sac in the slums, in an area of the city abandoned after the civil war due to extensive damage. There was nobody around to have witnessed the abduction, nor his release back onto the streets.

Carefully Hart stood. As if someone invisible might shove him again and knock him over. He stood for a long moment or three. Just looking around. Sort of bewildered by all that had just happened. He felt like he had imagined it all. Surely he had not just been kidnapped and forced to join, what? Some sort of civil --uncivil-- uprising?

But the violence in Pierce's eyes he could not have imagined. Nor could he have ever dreamed up Hook. She was either the best actress he had ever met, hands down, or she lived a double, even triple life.

Shaking his head and trying to walk without stumbling, he made his way slowly back towards Ye Olde Inn.

Snow started to fall again and more than anything Hart needed a drink.

[Whisper]

Hart

Awarded Points

Story: 5/5
Collaboration: 0/5
Structure: 5/5
These points can/cannot be spent in magic

Awarded Knowledge

Alliance: “Allied Against the Nobility”?
Alliance: Seeking Vengeance
Alliance: Will Seek My Assistance
Etiquette: Offer Help to Women
Etiquette: Resisting a Whore
Fieldcraft: Layers Protect Against the Cold
Fieldcraft: The Damage of Extreme Cold
Organisation: The Alliance
Tristan Venora: Targeted for Assassination

Awarded Extras

Loot & Losses	Injuries
None	None
Fame	Devotion
+5: Helping Someone in Need	None
+2: Good Relations with the Alliance

[/color]

Comments

I wasn't sure what to expect with this thread, but I loved it! Your style of writing is really good, and really easy to read. One comment, however, is that the colours of speech got confusing - I don't know if it was based on language or trying to distinguish people speaking, but at times you switched and the colours distracted me from who I thought I knew was talking. What I mean by that is that the use of colours helps readers to know instantly who is speaking, and that wasn't an option here. Something to consider.

Otherwise.. loving the drama and intrigue... can't wait to see where you go with this - hooping forward to interaction with Tristan!

If you have any questions, comments or criticism about your review, feel free to send me a PM and we can discuss it.
Thank ye.