Rush Hour Risks and Rewards (Jaron)

[Avari]

Season of Fall, Day 27, 511 AV

The warm golden sun of Syna rose over what promised to be a pleasant autumn day in the Zeltiva, her slanting rays illuminating the gracious, time-weathered streets of the Old Quarter in a lovely mosaic of brightness and shadow. The granite walls of the famous University loomed grandly over all the other buildings in the vicinity, like a palace built for pedants and professors instead of princes. While the campus was only just stirring to life as the dawn's light swept over its tall towers, however, the streets and alleys around the University were already bustling with activity and people. Too preoccupied with thoughts of business to admire the radiant sunrise or the ornate architecture around them, dozens of merchants, shopkeepers, and assistants hurried to open their upscale businesses in the Old Quarter and begin another day of work. A few early shoppers were also there, watching avidly as "Open" signs came on display and shop windows filled with a rich array of wares. There was heavy traffic of carts, wagons, and the occasional elegant carriage, along with plenty of pedestrians thronging the narrow streets of this small but celebrated section of Zeltiva.

Mingling into the growing crowd of merchants and customers was Avari, her hands tucked into opposite sleeves as she slipped unobtrusively through the streets. Three years in Zeltiva had taught her to adopt a crepuscular lifestyle, to be most alert during the twilight hours when its citizens were heading to work or leaving it to head home. In those hours, numerous people filled the streets, often sleep-muddled or work-dazed, providing easy pickings for a light-fingered and nimble-footed pickpocket like Avari to slit a purse or snatch a few coins from an unsuspecting stranger.

As she moved lightly through a knot of well-dressed gentlemen browsing at a window display of hats, Avari wished for a moment that she had an accomplice or two. Just one helper would make even these simple acts of larceny less nerve-wracking. A person to follow alongside her, to whom she could pass the purse or coins once she'd liberated them from a victim, leaving her clean, and to create confusion and distractions if the attempt went wrong... If only it were possible to find some help! But she didn't even know where to look.

She shook her head sternly and refocused her attention on her quarry, a fine lady wearing a flounced, frilly lavender gown. Avari had noticed her moving from shop to shop about a block ago. As the lady paid for her purchases, Avari had also spotted how she took the money from a pocket of her gown on her right. As the lady paused on the side of the street, Avari sidled closer to her, her eyes fixed on the lady's gown and the ruffles concealing the pocket with the money.

Before Avari was able to get beside her, however, the lavender-clad lady suddenly raised her hand and waved as a rattling carriage pulled to a stop before her. The lady alighted onto the carriage with a laugh, and it rolled out of sight. The Konti watched it disappear around a corner with a muttered curse.

Her quarry was gone! Now she had to find another likely target. She spun on her heel, already searching the crowd with an intensity borne of annoyance and irritation.

Avari's eyes quickly fixed on a dark-haired, broad-shouldered man moving slowly toward her on her right, leaving a trail of admiring feminine murmurs in his wake. He looked a little like how she always imagined an Akalak would appear, except for his lack of blue-tinted skin or brooding, melancholy air. Avari could feel herself being drawn to the man too. What enticed her about him, however, wasn't his chiseled face, the large sword he carried, or the grace with which he carried his tall body; it was the pocket that bulged at his side, with the glint of a purse or moneybag catching the light as he halted in front of a weaponsmith's shop.

That moneybag might be tricky, she mused. She would have to take it while on the move, a difficult maneuver. But the man was standing still, and it seemed he was carrying quite a lot of money with him. It was too tempting a prospect to resist.

"Right, here we go," she murmured, stepping forward.

She let herself be carried by the current of the crowd, until she had moved so close to the man's side that she could smell the strong, sharp aroma of leather from his clothing. Slowly, she eased her right hand from her opposing sleeve and moved cautiously toward the man's side. For once, Avari was not wearing her gloves, for pickpocketing was much too delicate for her fingers to be impeded by even the thinnest, most worn canvas. Besides, her skill had developed to the point where she was sure she would not brush the man's skin, even accidentally, and risk triggering an unwanted vision of his deepest love or desire.

Ever so slowly and gently, Avari fanned the edge of his pocket to determine if a purse or moneybag was inside. Feeling the weight of it, she reached inside. Her fingers touched the small bag, and she took a deep breath, praying to merciful Avalis and all the gods that would hear that the coins would not clink.

Before she could lift the moneybag out of his pocket, however, a strong hand closed hard around her wrist. He had caught her! Somehow, the man had caught her in the act and stopped her before she could get away. Avari gasped and tried to pull free, even as a wave of panic and then a wave of visions rooted her to the spot.

[Jaron Grunn]

Zeltiva was a different city, and one that Jaron was still trying to navigate with his mind from the memories of his walks with Astrolabe around the place. There wasn't anything overly confusing about the method in which the streets were constructed, and there were plenty of other landmarks that Jaron could use to navigate his way around without getting lost but for some reason he lacked the confidence to believe in himself and just go with the flow. He followed Astro's directions to one of the weapon shops in the city as Jaron wanted to see what little toys they would have that he could use. The sword that swung at his side had saved his life on multiple occasions, so that wouldn't be leaving for sentimental's sake, but the dagger was easily replaceable; it was just a last ditch weapon if ever found himself without a sword. It was also placed in just the right place so that he could slip it out in the blink of an eye if the situation called for a little, sharp tool to deal with a situation. When Jaron had thought he found the place, he had instead found something that resembled a fish market that was busy cleaning out some ... entrails or something else that made the prospect of eating fish again very unlikely. He backtracked and retraced his steps as he looked for the familiar cues that Astrolabe had given him, and when he followed a certain flow of a crowd he found himself in front of the place that seemed deserted, but at least it had nothing to do with fish. Jaron stood in front of it for a moment as he glanced at what he could see from outside and through the windows; nothing appeared overly interesting as he let out a sigh and turned his attention briefly down the street to see if there was some other shop of interest. Would Astrolabe be awake yet or did he have class this morning? Jaron's mind was a tad foggy from the amount of kelp "beer" that he and Astrolabe drank that night, "beer" that didn't deserve that name. At all. Jaron's feet were just about to head down the street when he felt the faint yet ever so familiar presence of a woman that thought she was sly and could take a swipe at his coin purse that was resting comfortably from his hip. His hand reached out and gripped the small wrist in his hand with enough force to prevent her from leaving his side with all the strength in her body. Jaron wasn't all that familiar with the physical strength of a Konti but he was aware of that little gift they had. She looked utterly helpless as Jaron pulled her towards his body, smiling down to her as he slipped his free hand under his cloak for a moment and quickly wrapped it around her body as if they were two lovers, reunited. Jaron smiled and looked down to her to try and dismiss the erratic meeting between them; the last thing that Jaron wanted was to get the local authorities involved in this when a much better compromise could be reached, at least in his mind it would be better. "My love," Jaron rumbled out as he looked down to the Konti woman in his arms. She looked as much as he thought a Konti should - white, white, and more white. Though he never knew of them being so petty that they would have to resort to theft to maintain their lifestyle. Is that why they were chummy with the Akalaks; they provided the dark-hued warriors with coin, they provided the thieves with protection? "How cute of you thinking you could slip the coin away from me without my knowledge," Jaron felt her try and escape - a natural reaction given that no one but Jaron knew the true intent of his charade - and he tightened his grip around her with a little chuckle. His hand slowly moved down to the soft spot under her rib cage along her back, just where (if his biology lessons were correct) sat two very important internal organs. Within the palm of his rough hand lay the dagger, gently grazing against the soft fabric of her shirt with just enough force to let her know that there was something more there than just his hand. "Did your witch powers not show you this would happen, my love?" Jaron said with that terrifyingly calm grin as he went down to try and rub his rough cheek against her forehead. If anyone was watching the two of them, they would simply think they were two lovers that weren't shy of public displays of affection. But the tight grip he had around her along with that dagger against her back said differently. "Regale me with a story, a good story, or else I paint the street red, my love." Jaron said in a flat tone, his hazel eyes looking down to the woman in his arms as his facial expression went flat. The crowd around them seemed to have ignored them for the time being, and now he could try and get to the heart of the matter. Unless Kontis didn't have heart...

[Avari]

The best that Avari could manage was a token struggle, a feeble attempt at twisting out of the man's grasp, as the tall, leather-clad man that was supposed to have been her quarry abruptly became her captor instead. If she had been alert enough to notice, the ease with which he yanked her off her feet and swept her up into his arms would have maddened her to no end. Holding her against him with an iron grip, the man murmured soft, strangely gentle words to her in a low, rumbling voice, words that were utterly lost on her as Avari writhed in the clutches of something more powerful and irresistible than he: a vision of his innermost desires, his greatest love.

As she hung helpless in his arms, she saw the image of a man, just as tall as the one who had captured her and ruggedly handsome with an open, engaging smile and a square chin strong enough to plow a field. At first, Avari thought the image of the man was all there was to it, but it seemed her captor's will was too strong; the strength of his personality and emotions held her spellbound, just as the strength of his arms held her prisoner. Avari watched as the image of her captor's heart’s desire expanded and unfolded. Now she saw how the rugged, square-chinned man in the image was lying on the ground, with a ghastly wound from his chest to his belly that bubbled with dark, churning blood. Instinctively, she recoiled from the image. Could her captor be so heartless as to long most ardently for another man's death?

No, it seemed, he was not. As the image developed into a full-fledged fantasy, the rugged man lying on the ground pressed his hands together over his wound and, as though by magic or perhaps the gift of Rak'keli, the blood seeped back into his body and the terrible gash across his torso closed and mended. He smiled and stood up straight, and Avari felt a twinge of something that felt like pure joy. But it was her captor's joy, not her own, to see the man come back to life and reach out to him with both arms, as though nothing had ever changed between them and he had never, ever died…

Only when she felt the sharp point of a dagger digging into her back, did Avari suddenly and painfully awaken from her trance. She was shaken by how powerful the vision had been. With most others, of lesser willpower and force of character than this man, Avari received only a fleeting image or sensory impression. Her captor must be a very forceful man who had loved very deeply, to have affected her this much. For a moment, before she furiously quashed the feeling, a faint thread of sympathy for his pain wove its way into the tangle of her emotions, a blend of indignation, frustration, self-castigation, and desperation.

How had he caught her? Had he seen her reflection, perhaps, in the window of the shop? Or had he felt the faint motion of her fanning his pocket and responded before she could pull away? What was he going to do with her now?

Avari bared her teeth fiercely at him and attempted to twist free again, with no measurable results. Tragic or not, her leather-clad captor was still holding her pinned and pointing a dagger into her ribs. Thanks to his feigned show of affection and sweet words, no one around them was about to come to her rescue either. From the corner of her eye, Avari could glimpse passersby smiling in amusement as the man bent his head to whisper the words "my love" into her ear again.

"Oh, is it a story you want?" she hissed, still struggling unsuccessfully to wriggle free. "What are you, some sort of literary critic? A professor of storytelling, traveling in disguise?" She snorted skeptically. "If I tell you a good enough story, will you let me go? I wouldn't have done you any harm. That paltry amount I was going to take…a strong man like you, with hands as fast as yours, could earn it back in a day's work on the docks. And if you wanted to hire out your big sword, you'd earn even more.

"But if you insist, I can tell you a story." Avari tried to shrug, even though her shoulders were crushed against his chest. "The only problem is, there are so many to choose from. What story do you want to hear? The story of the man who lost his handsome lover and broke his heart? Would that suit you, my love?" She watched him closely to see if her barb would garner any reaction.

"What about the story of the magical sea monster that lives on Konti Isle?" she went on. "Or...oh, I know. The story of the ten perfect white swans on Konti Isle and the one black, ugly, wicked seagull who flew away?"

[Jaron Grunn]

Jaron wasn't sure where she got that first story idea from as he knew that the Konti had tricks up their sleeve. Maybe this Konti had the special ability to guess something about a person, and guess pretty accurately? There was no other way to try and understand how she got that information, unless she was recently in Lhavit and knew what happened there. Sev's death wasn't a secret and certainly made some news around the city to the people that mattered to Jaron and Sev, so he was used to people from his old hometown knowing the story. But a complete stranger and one that was trying to pilfer his pockets? He didn't buy that she just knew that story or read it on a board. Something was up with that little tidbit of information that she gave him, especially since that tone in her voice suggested a bit of attitude behind those faux-innocent eyes. He didn't let on that it hurt him, at least Jaron thought he didn't, but anyone that could read the subtleties of body language could tell that it dug into Jaron deeper than any weapon could. His grip around her body didn't loosen so she could escape, however, as he was confident in the dagger's ability at her back to convey the point home that if she tried to escape she wouldn't be able to get very far with a dagger in her back. "I prefer something a little more realistic instead of a fantasy story," Jaron corrected the Konti as he licked his lips in thought. Of course he knew exactly what he wanted to ask her but he delighted in watching her reaction in his arms. She wasn't that much against his body as Jaron guessed that she weighed half of his weight, maybe less, and unless she had the ability to shoot fire from her fingertips he was safe from any bodily harm from this woman. "How about a story about a little, tiny thief that thought it would be a good idea to steal from a well-armed, remorseless killer. One man whose hands - those very hands around her body - have killed countless women and men because he was paid a great deal of coin to do so. A man that could easily snap a woman's neck and make it appear that she simply fell down some stairs, or held her so tight to make it appear that she fainted. Perhaps the result of a rushed and unexpected proposal?" Jaron looked around with that sly grin on his face. If only he had a ring in his pocket to follow through on that little rouse. "Fantasies of the past don't entertain me and neither do your little witch stories," Jaron pressed his lips forward and tried to kiss her on the forehead. To observers on the street they would assume that it was a loving kiss, but nothing could be further from the truth. "I'm sure that little head of yours is capable of more than simple fairy tales for simple minds."

[Avari]

As wriggling and struggling were clearly getting her nowhere, Avari forced herself to take a deep breath and relax within the man's arms, as little as she liked being restrained there. Trying to keep her features under control, even as her heart raced furiously in her chest, she hastily evaluated her options. Her arms were too tightly imprisoned at her sides to reach for one of her daggers, even if the slender, balanced blades could possibly be any use in close combat.

Her only clue to the man's vulnerabilities was the brief scenario she had glimpsed about his deepest desire; that, and his almost imperceptible flinch when she had offered to tell a story of his dead lover. Avari's eyes had never left his face, and she was sure she had seen that tiny, but telling reaction. Otherwise, though, the man had remained calm and composed throughout the encounter, which was more than a little frightening. Anger or desire for vengeance would have given her a lever with which to manipulate the man, but his mild, almost amused demeanor offered few metaphorical handholds for Avari to take hold of. His unsubtle threat to snap her neck or crush her in his arms wasn't making her feel better about her chances of escaping unscathed, either.

Admit it, she told herself, you've been caught, and there's no easy getaway route this time. Best not to get too defensive or try talking your way out of it. Just bide your time, don't get angry, and see what you can do now.

Despite her efforts to keep still and follow her own advice, though, Avari couldn't help shuddering and averting her face when he leaned forward to ostensibly plant a kiss on her forehead. Why did he persist in these false gestures of affection, when he had already fooled anyone who might look their way? Was he that proud of his own cleverness in thinking up that ruse? Could it be that he was actually enjoying having caught her in the act?

Ah, that might be a useful weakness, Avari thought. If only I could think of a way to exploit it.

Mildly, she answered, "Perhaps if you had troubled yourself to listen to my so-called simple fairy tales, you would find that they were created for more than just simple minds to enjoy, and they carry deeper meanings than you would think. But you are the one holding the dagger, so I will dance to your tune. Let me tell you the story of the little thief and the man with a big sword, just as you asked."

Avari cleared her throat and spoke in a low, grave voice. "In a beautiful white city by the sea, there lived a woman who had not been blessed with great size of body or strength of arms. Nor had she been born with a peaceful, placid heart that would have allowed her to remain content with her lot and keep to her place all her life. She wanted to make her own life and live in freedom, always seeking to surpass her own limits. Because of these desires, she lived her entire life in conflict with her sisters. She could never find happiness while she dwelled in the white city by the sea.

"For years, she struggled with her discontent. But she could not suppress the fierce pride that made her unwilling to bow down and submit to anyone, nor the independence that made her yearn to be free and unfettered. The only satisfaction she ever found was when she was able to hide away from prying eyes, when she found sweet solitude and solace in the shadowed places of the world. So, she grew sneaky, secretive, and devious, because it was the only way she could feel at peace within herself.

"But there were not enough shadows in the white city to shelter the woman, and far too much light. She could not hide there forever. At last, she finally left to make her home in another city, a city with more color, more shadows, and more freedom than she had ever known. It was also a far more dangerous place, however, especially for a woman not powerful enough to dominate others, not wealthy enough to purchase her own safety, and not submissive enough to surrender to someone else's protection. Her only weapons were her wiles and her wits, which had to defend her against a hostile world and give her what she needed to live.

"The woman learned to make her living by taking from others, even when they were stronger, faster, or more knowledgeable than she, because she was clever and determined. Indeed, the stronger and fiercer they were, the more knives and swords and maces they carried, the easier they were for the woman to deceive. The warriors," and here the ghost of a smile flitted across Avari's face, "commonly believed too much in the strength of their muscles to believe they could be bested by a woman who looked so weak. But strength comes in many forms, and she used hers the only way she knew how."

At this point, Avari paused and gave a long sigh. "One day, the woman saw a tall, broad-shouldered man with a big sword, and she smiled to herself, for she thought he was another one of those mighty and mindless warriors that made such easy prey for her. But she was wrong. The man was faster and more cunning than she, and he caught her despite all her skill and experience. In only a few seconds, the man held her life in his hands, and the woman had no way to escape. How was he able to outsmart her when so many others failed, she wondered? Perhaps it was because he was, by his own admission, not so very different from her, for the man was a thief in his own way; he stole others' lives from them to make money to survive, while she stole their money from them for the same purpose."

If she had not been in his grasp, Avari would have spread her hands wide at this point. In lieu of such gestures, though, she contented herself with tilting her head thoughtfully. "Now, the end of the story lies in the hands of the man with the sword and dagger. Will he kill her, as he has claimed to kill so many others? Will he take her to the powers-that-be and bring her to justice? Or will he let her go?"

She looked up at him, her blue eyes intent. "Now you must tell me, how will this story end?"

[Jaron Grunn]

Jargon wasn't sure if this storytelling ability was something that was innate to the white witches or not. If she had gotten away with it she would have taken something far more valuable than coin, and would have been pursued until she was nothing more than cold body in the corner of an alley. While the coin purse appeared that it had a substantial amount of coin inside, there were other things in that black little bag that gave the appearance of fullness. One clear indicator of this was the lack of a distinctive clash of coins inside, though that could have been easy to overlook given the loud yells of the weapon shop in front of him. He shifted his shoulders as he held fast to the woman, determined not to let her go just yet. While the story was interesting and revealing, it could have just as easily been that - a story. A fabrication and a lie that she had ready in her sleeve for when a moment like this occurred, so she could try and save hide from a most certain death. Jaron was aware of the warriors that she spoke of, mindless killing machines that enjoyed the glory and gore of battle and nothing more. These men were the most dangerous, as they fought with the most tenacity and held little respect for the art of battle. Instead they preferred to blaze their way in and hope that brute strength and a strong weapon would secure their victory. Jaron had killed many of those and in his mind he flashed back to the countless faces of men, helpless in their death throes as the very sword at his side was pulled from their bodies, stained with their blood. Were they that different after all? "The woman assumes that the one thing she desires is in the same sort of pouch in which most of the people in this world carry coins, carry things of value to trade, barter or hoard. What she didn't account for was something far more precious than money itself being in that pouch, something small, valuable, yet priceless." He said the story to her in much the same tone that she regaled him with her own story. Jaron's eyes remained locked with those blue ones, only blinking out of necessity and ignoring the people around them. "To her, the journal would be nothing and thrown in the garbage. But to the man, it was his world. And if she would have succeeded in removing that pouch, she would have found herself with an adversary so determined for vengeance, that not even death would stop his pursuit of revenge. The story of her life, no matter how hard, hardly differentiates itself from other people in this world - white witches or not. It elicits no sympathy from the man who functions as a paid weapon and nothing more." He loosened his grip around the woman's body and let her stand on her own two feet, free from the grasp of his arms around her. Jaron tugged the cloak around his shoulders again, hiding his arms and hands under the weathered and well-worn cloak. His hands secretly slipped into the pockets of his light jacket as he looked back to her, fearless in her retribution now that was no longer under threat of death. The dagger was still nestled in his hand and could easily silence any unease he may experience now that the Konti was free. "Are the Konti known as fast runners?" He said with a sly grin. Jaron wasn't about to run after her - he had no purpose, now that he was secure in his own possessions - but keeping her under control and with him, for the moment, seemed like the best idea. If Jaron could try and get some information from his woman, that might prove useful. Astrolabe lived in the safety of the university and not in the streets. Perhaps this Konti was just one of many slight handed individuals that were keen to slip their fingers into the pockets of dull-witted strangers.

[Avari]

When Avari listened to the man describe the value of the journal that she would have stolen from him and heard him pronounce her story unworthy of compassion or special consideration, she bowed her head with a terrible finality. She had been perfectly honest with him, more honest than she thought she would be, but it seemed even the deepest, most unadulterated veracity hadn't been enough to earn the man's forgiveness for trying to steal his valuables. When he declared that her life's story had elicited no sympathy from his hired-swordsman's heart, Avari was certain he had just uttered her death sentence. Taking a deep breath, she squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation of the dagger, hoping against hope that it wouldn't hurt when he stabbed her in the back and gutted her like a fish. During what she believed were the final moments of her life, the Konti found herself wishing that she had inherited even a little of her mother's gift for storytelling. Perhaps if she had been able to tell her tale better, this man wouldn't be able to punish her for trying to steal something he valued dearer than life by taking her life in return.

Just as she was about to whisper, "Laviku, wash away my fear," the man suddenly, shockingly loosened his arms around her body and released her from his grasp. With a gasp of surprise, Avari wobbled to her feet awkwardly. As soon as she found her balance, she gaped openly at the man, unable to believe that, after his fine speech about his tiny, priceless journal and his lack of mercy, he was letting her go.

Part of her mind, faster than light, leapt to consider the prospect of darting away and disappearing into the crowd. Small as she was, Avari could easily weave and twist her way through the milling students and shoppers and lose herself in the throng. Even if he gave chase, she was sure she could lose the man once she turned into some narrow, meandering alleyway and took shelter in a shadowed doorway or pile of discarded crates. She ventured a quick glance toward the end of the street, pondering the possibilities of running.

But then the man asked her, in a mischievous manner that seemed totally at odds with his grim tones a moment ago, if the Konti were known for being fast runners, and Avari sighed. It was no use. If the man had already anticipated her thoughts, she'd have a one-step advantage on him at most, not to mention legs two-thirds the length of his. It wasn't worth it to turn tail and try to run, if he was just going to catch her right away.

Instead, Avari folded her arms across her chest and planted her legs a little apart, like a woman not planning on going anywhere.

"The Konti don't need to be fast runners," she quipped in response to his question, "because we already know where you are now, where you're going, and when you're going to get there." Her mouth turned down at one corner in a self-mocking expression. "Or so the stories would have it, at least."

Avari eyed the man warily. How did one conduct oneself in these situations? Grandmother Enuoe's lectures on proper etiquette never covered what to do if a mercenary swordsman caught you trying to pick his pocket and yet let you go. Her own experiences were no help either; she would have escaped or talked her way out of the situation by now, rather than being set free like this.

"Well. Um. Thank you for sparing my life," she stammered as graciously as she could manage. "I, er, I suppose I'm sorry to hear that you didn't like my story. Or should I be glad that you didn't care for it? I suppose I am glad that you chose not to...how did you put it?...snap my neck with your bare hands and make it look like I fell down some stairs. So, well, I thank you.

"I'm sorry that I would have stolen your beloved journal. Though, if I may offer advice unsolicited," she added, irrepressibly, "in the future, it might be better if you didn't store it the same place where you keep your money. If your journal is that small and that precious, you probably could -- and should -- hide it anywhere on your body, rather than in your money pouch. There are a fair number of pickpockets and footpads in this city, some of them much better than I am." She made a slight face at this admission, but after all, he had caught her red-handed. "So, you might want to take care and not put your money, which everyone will want to steal, in the same place as your most valuable possessions, which no one else but you will value."

A flash of teeth gleamed as she grinned briefly up at him. "Just some advice free of charge, considering you were kind enough not to poke holes into me with your dagger just now. I appreciate the way you ended this story. Quite a narrative twist, but a truly satisfactory conclusion all the same."

[Jaron Grunn]

She was right, at least, about keeping the journal somewhere that someone could easily grab it if Jaron wasn't paying attention. But he wasn't focused on whether someone would steal from him as he was aware of those around him and those that were trying to size him up from afar. The Konti almost would have had him if it wasn't for the fact Jaron was more on guard than usual in a city that he was unfamiliar with. He stood straight and looked down to the small woman, who seemed even more frail in appearance a few feet from him than she felt in his arms just a moment ago. How could someone so slight be so mischievous? "Advice is appreciated, but unneeded. The thieves that will attempt to steal from me will have more than just a dagger in their back if they try and steal so much as a thread from my cloak. You got off lucky." He said with a raised brow. Jaron had considered for a moment if someone that knew the streets of this city would be useful but then realized that he had someone that knew everything about this city. Astrolabe wouldn't be completely useless when it came to how this city operated, and Jaron had no desire to try and get into the seedy underbelly of Zeltiva. If anything he'd appreciate a contact on how to get some work, but why would a thief know anything about mercenary work? She seemed to be doing just fine on her own, that is if she was a little more careful. Maybe she should dye her hair, Jaron thought. "Perhaps you should seek out these pickpockets and footpads; they could offer you advice on how to succeed at your job without getting caught red handed." If the two of them could share their thoughts, Jaron would be somewhat relieved at the fact that they both were uncertain of how to proceed from this point. Would they just separate and pretend they don't know each other? Or should he offer to take her for a kelp beer and split it evenly - surely the woman had some coin on her to pay for the simple things in life. But if she didn't have the money then Jaron thought that maybe there was some truth to her story, but surely the woman must have some skills that could be exploited for coin. People don't come out of the womb of their mother bad and unable to fit into society like a normal, productive member. "Do you do anything else besides steal and tell stories? Surely they could use someone like you as an entertainer of children, for your stories are quite vivid and exciting," The last word was said with a certain sarcastic tone, complete with a smirk. "It makes me sound holier than I truly am, but there are alternatives to coin stealing." Jaron glanced down to the sword that was kicking out the side of his cloak slight at his side. "Proficiency in a skill would be a good way to do that. You get really good at something and people will pay you to use your skill to their advantage." Jaron paused for a moment and took in a deep breath, pondering for a moment. His eyes looked the Konti over from head to toe as he tried to think of what else a white witch could do besides strike fear in those with simple minds. "Unless your skill is simply to look helpless and pathetic..."

[Avari]

It was all Avari could do not to spit in the man's face for his outrageous comments and call him some of the colorful names she had learned along the docks of both Mura and Zeltiva. She had done her best to be gracious to the man, apologizing for her actions, thanking him for his strange, unexpected gesture of sparing her life, and offering some sensible counsel, and what did he do? Not only did the man respond with smug boasts about how little he needed her counsel, but he went on to belittle her skills and smirk about her life's story. Then he had the effrontery to lecture her about the elementary concept of hiring out her skills to make money as though he were speaking to a slow, dim-witted child. Did he think she had been born yesterday? His arrogance was infuriating.

It was on the tip of her tongue to inform him that he should count himself fortunate to receive advice from a Konti like her, even a simple suggestion about city life and the importance of storing one's money properly. Most of the time, her fellow sisters only bestowed their wisdom upon the few lucky men they had been Called to serve. An ordinary swordsman like him, a man who killed for money and led no cities or organizations, should show more gratitude. He certainly shouldn't be making insensitive comments about her "skill" in looking helpless and pathetic.

With difficulty, Avari restrained her temper, reminding herself that her rebukes would be lost on such an ordinary swordsman. He probably only knew how to wave a blade around and hit people with his fists. And how to insult people, it seemed.

"Your advice is appreciated, but unnecessary," she replied shortly, paraphrasing his earlier response to her well-intentioned counsel. "As for what else I do... I read. I look and learn. I'm considered to be quite handy with dice. And sometimes I tell fortunes."

Suddenly, a flash of inspiration struck Avari at the thought of telling fortunes. Because her personal gift of insight required touch, she usually pretended to be a palmist and used what she saw in the moment of physical contact to tell her mark exactly what he wanted to hear about his future. It had made her fairly popular as a fortune-teller, the few times she deigned to tell fortunes, because she always foretold that her customers were sure to attain their heart's desires someday.

But with this man and his heart's desire...

I'd like to see if he still feels like mocking me after I'm done telling him his fortune, she thought darkly. Or if he has any more clever remarks to share about getting off lucky with a poke of his dagger or telling stories to children.

Avari smoothed her features to a guileless blandness and then widened her eyes, as though a marvelous idea had just occurred to her. She extended her hand to him as though offering a generous gift. Her voice gradually grew warmer and more conciliatory as she said to the man, "How about if I demonstrate that particular skill to you, here and now? Would you like me to tell your fortune?"

Then, as though embarrassed by her eagerness, she added with seeming diffidence, "I should say that I am well-versed in the art of tracing the lines and shapes of the palm and interpreting them to find insights about your past and future. I glimpsed your hand earlier, when you, ah, well, when you grabbed me, and I caught a...a whiff, so to speak, of something terribly tragic and painful in your past.

"If you wish, I would be pleased to offer my skills and see if I can foretell something happier in your future. You only need to place your hand in mine. No harm will come to you, unless you are one of those superstitious people who fear to have their fortunes read."

She debated inwardly for a moment, wondering if she had been a little too enthusiastic and if a hint of snappishness might be taken amiss. If the man had any wits at all, she decided, he would undoubtedly recognize how patronizing he had been and understand if she answered his sarcasm with a touch of her own. Avari let her lip curl slightly as she raised her blue eyes to his hazel ones, now gleaming almost golden in the bright mid-morning sunlight, and gave voice to some of the irritation she had been holding in check.

"How does that sound as an alternative to coin stealing?" she inquired.

[Jaron Grunn]

Jaron never understood with wanting to know the future. Though, in retrospect, if he had known about the event and what would have happened with Sev he would have done everything in his power to prevent such a thing from happening, even going so far as to put himself in Sev's position so it was him that was buried in the ground instead of Sev. But time, as it was, was something that Jaron let flow naturally without knowing what was ahead of him nor caring what sort of fortunes or horrors may lay in his future. But this Konti seemed interested in this little game and he thought he would play along with it, at least. What was the worst that she could do, tell him that he was going to find a fortune on the street in the form of one battered coin? Technically she would be correct, but to Jaron that wouldn't matter. "Sure. Enlighten me," Jaron said with a smile on his face as he held out his right hand to the woman in front of him. When Jaron turned the hand so the palm faced upwards, Avari would see the rough callouses along what should be a soft palm from gripping a sword and training every day. The bumps inside were rough like leather, from the tips of his fingers to the beefier part of his hand. The only part that was different was the middle of the palm where one would assume the hard and uneven nails on his fingertips would dig inside his hand when he made a fist. That spot was red, raw, and appeared to be a wound that was never allowed to heal. When Jaron saw that red mark in his hand he pulled it back from the Konti and slipped his hands back under his cloak. If she was looking up to his face and paying particular attention to his cheeks she would notice that under the scruff of his unshaven face that his cheeks reddened ever so slightly in a blush. "Perhaps another time, then." Jaron said and wanted to shift topics away from the idea of fortune telling and of talking anymore about his hands. He parted the cloak once more with his hands and made sure that the insides of them were faced away from the Konti as he spoke and idly scratched at his cheek, hoping that his hand would hide the redness of his cheeks until it went away. "There must b-" Jaron didn't get to finish his sentence as a man ran by Jaron and in the blink of an eye had cut the coin purse from his side and was speeding down an alley away from the two of them. He glared over to the Konti as if she was an accessory in this theft and growled out as he spun around and started to run after the would-be thief. "Reward if you catch him!" He bellowed out to the Konti as he swerved around the corner and ran towards the thief. He hoped that the chance of a monetary reward would be enough for her to aid Jaron in his pursuit instead of just standing there and tossing her hair back and forth.