Miss Misery

[Neely]

23rd of Winter, 515AV

Neely only looked up to hear the gentle thud of candles on the cobble in front of her stall. She didn't rest on the stool provided for her but had instead shimmied up the wall for a greater view of the crowded market place. There was little issue finding the culprits, a screaming horde of children running from an imaginary enemy. The unsettling thing was that Neely couldn't tell if they were screaming for pretend fright, or if there was perhaps a foe barrelling after them. Given the city's recent bias towards the more horrific illusions, she wouldn't have doubted a true invisible enemy. But as they disappeared down another corridor of the every confusing market-place, she realized they had knocked down a few of her merchandise.

"Zlynge." She muttered under her breathe, slipping down from her perch on the wall to crawl towards the front of her stall.

Only four candles had fallen, but the soft animal fat had smushed in the process, not quite as durable as beeswax. She hissed once more, picking them up and rolling them in her hands, assessing the damage. She wouldn't sell them, they were hardly worth a copper anyway, but, at least, she could melt them down and reshape them. Although it would be a waste of wick. She sighed, turning back to the dip candles that lined the front of her stall. It was near the end of the day and her sales were dwindling, but she wouldn't be back to the Bazaar for a few days, so she wanted to sell as much as she could. She turned away from the candles, crimson eyes laying back into the crowd. Was it worth staying for a few more bells? Or should she simply pack up and attempt to find that Zith that had bothered her the days before?

Instead, she found herself watching the crowd. A woman with pale blonde hair that fell past her hips in a thick braid caught her eye for a moment. When she turned, her basket of vegetables weighing her frail arm down, the flash of Symenestra familiarity pinged in Neely's chest as she took in the long black nails and absurdly pale features. But after a few ticks of shamelessly watching the stranger, Neely realized she was no longer looking at a Symenestra. The woman didn't seem to change and yet her blonde hair and lavender eyes glittered of the norther Vantha rather than her cave-dwelling kin. Alvads. She dismissed the absurdly subtle transformation, her eyes catching sight of a peculiarly moderate figure. Among the flashy colors and elaborate illusions of any other Alvad citizen, including even her brightly colored tunic, this man looked like dirt.

Rusty brown eyes that nearly mimic his rusty hair over a little too grimy coat of skin. Anyone would ring him for a foreigner in an instant. Although she didn't much care for the normalcy of his figure, as much as the expression on his face. She was a foreigner herself, although a few years accumulated, so she didn't care for those who wandered into the city.

She did, however, take an interest in the deep furrow of his brow. Something was bothering him. She immediately broke her gaze, glancing to her immediate left. The chamomile and lavender candle remained untouched among the few pillar candles that remained, and she snapped it up, turning back towards him before she lost the disturbed stranger. He hadn't yet passed her stall, and didn't seem in a particular hurry, so she took the chance to step into his view. Although she was a little taller than him, she didn't risk stepping into his way, lest he tramples her without noticing.

"Tiring day, my friend?" She cupped the beeswax candle in her hand, not so subtly holding it out to him.

[Noven]

It had only been about a handful of days since their ill-matched little entourage docked at port and passed through the bizarre, city gate known as the Gaping Maw. And already, Noven found himself driven from his quarters.

That he preferred the streets to four walls and a roof spoke volumes of how things fared with his two female traveling companions. Between his guilt and fury over Mae's enslavement and endless responsibilities concerning Melody, his sanity had become more than a little frayed. Mostly because his waif of a victim grew more obstinate by the day, defying him every which way she could afford to, and had been caught trying to kill his pup more than once. Wick evaded her efforts easily enough, but it was her perseverance that had Nov worried.

And whatever it was she held against the Isur...well, suffice it to say the seething hatred festering within Melody's delicate set of bones kept the Vexer up more nights than he could afford.

But it wasn't until that very morning that Noven had finally decided to take to the streets. He was left with no choice after discovering the lass's sleeping form was, in fact, an illusion. Though it had taken a trip all the way to the City of Illusions for him to realize what her power was, he could no longer be fooled. At least, not for long. And now that the damnable creature had run off against his orders, completely in her element and left with no one to keep her in check, only the gods and goddesses would know what that conscience-less, miscreant of a child was up to. It made his brow furrow and shoulders tense just to think.

Of course, there was another reason for his actions. One he would likely never admit. As callous as the man could be, he just couldn't find it in himself to leave the girl alone. She was a broken, troubled thing that caused him no small amount of pain and strife, but he had caused her much the same in return, albeit with her whole-hearted consent. She was a victim. His victim. Life may have dealt her a shyke hand at birth, but the hand he offered her instead was far worse.

He was culpable, whether he liked it or not, for what became of her.

So out the door and to the streets he went, chasing after Blondie like he had done so many times before. He had advised Mae to stay with Wick, in case Melody returned on her own, but to do so with weapons and wits at ready. Just because he cared a smidgen for the hollow doll of a girl, it didn't mean he was suddenly blind to her ways. Nov was sure no one within a quarter mile of the lass could mistaken her sentiments toward Mae for anything but loathing. He knew she could was no stranger to jealousy. Homicidal intent, however, was a different problem altogether, one he had initially believed was limited strictly to his dog.

Five chimes into the search, the Sunberthian began cursing the girl.

He did not like the city. He did not like illusions. And he most certainly did not like the fact that even if he somehow managed to map down all the streets, which he had neither the skill nor patience for, it would be rendered useless within a day or two.

As a child of the Berth, he was accustomed to one kind of life: slummish. And in this sort of life nothing ever changed. The misery of those around him was set in stone, their fates sealed if they weren't strong or determined enough to fight, the city was consequently colored in the appropriate hues of sludgy brown, brackish black, and blood red.

Here in Alvadas, however, Noven was faced with every last color and facet of life he was neither familiar not comfortable with. It was near impossible to tell what was real and what wasn't, let alone navigate through the city itself. Just setting foot outside of the inn was, he had quickly begun to realize, potentially a grave mistake. His first few days trying to get his bearings in the logic-defying city were something of a traumatic experience, shadows creeping along his peripheral and dead things lurking where they had no business lurking.

She's going to pay for this, the man swore in his own head, little wretch is more trouble than she's worth. Which may have carried more weight, if he had not realized in that moment that he was utterly, undeniably lost.

Nov slowed his pace to a crawl, trying his best not to let the panic show on his face. He was just about to turn back and attempt retracting his steps, however fruitless he knew that would prove, when six feet something of pale skin and limbs popped into view. Had he not already been corded with tension for the past couple of fortnights, the Sunberthian might have jumped in surprise. As things stood, however, he merely came to a sudden and abrupt halt, the struggle to find an adequate response evident in both his face and silence.

"Uh..." he grunted at first, trying to buy himself and his stress-addled brain time. The woman before him was clearly a peddler of some kind, judging from the candle in her hand, but Nov hesitated all the same. How could he trust what he saw? Trust anyone or anything in this convoluted city?

In spite of his paranoia, however, he took a closer look. The woman was young, no much older than his traveling companions he guessed, and wore the typical, bright colors locals here seemed to favor. But then he noticed her eyes and wondered if she might not be entirely human, what with the deep crimson around her pupils almost as black as her hair. Old Noven, the one who knew nothing of his past and cared even less of his future, would not have thought twice. But New Noven, the one who had traveled half way across the world to hunt down the truth of his heritage and lost more friends than he cared to count along the way, knew better than to ignore the possibility.

"...Yeah, you could say as much," he finally answered. The man was lost and no closer than he was that morning to finding his unruly charge. He may as well swallow his pride and ask for help.

A quiet, less relied upon part of his mind whispered, and if you don't find her, you'll have to Vex someone sooner or later. Poor Mae doesn't even know how many times you've considered...

"I've been looking for someone," Noven quickly added, ignoring the voice in his head. The voice that often sounded suspiciously like one that had urged him to use his mark for the very first time. "Young girl, blond hair, skinny. May or may not have caused a ruckus this morning passing through."

He placed his gloved hands in his pockets to give the candle seller his full attention. It was a long shot, but asking couldn't hurt. And besides, illusions or no, he knew what it was like to try and making a modest living. Perhaps he would buy a candle to take home, lest he have nothing at all to show for. It might at the very least make Mae smile.

"Seen her around by any chance?"

[Neely]

"Young girl, blond hair, skinny." Neely repeated and nodded as if she was actully listening to the information, a faint curl of humor tugging at her lips. A breathey chuckle wound from her lips and she turned to the candle stand. "You truly do need to relax." She sighed, plucking the flint and steel from the corner. She glanced at the man while she lined the flint up with a scrap of cotton that was in the lighting pouch.

"You've not been here long, have you?" She asked, striking the flint a few times until she saw the flick of a spark on the cloth. She took care with her nails, holding the steel at a weird angle to account for the absurdly long black claws. Yet as she pulled the cloth away, her claws didn't seem so unnatural to her as she brought the scrap up to gently coax some air into it and then folding the charred clothe so that it was thinner. "How long, stranger?" She asked, waiting for his answer, taking her time to answer his. She picked up the candle, tilting it as she lit it and then waved the clothe out in the air while the flame grew, the scent of lavendar, which greatly overpowered hte chamomile filling their vicinity.

"If the human was blonde and skinny this morning when you lost her, she's likley to be an Akalak or worse by now." She set the pillar candle down, leaning back into the stall. Blood orbs followed the rusty brown of the strangers for a moment, and she tried to soften her face. She knew the sharp angles of her pale Symenestran face would do little to aide her attmept to look friendly, so she dropped her gaze, looking down to his hands, which where in his pockets, before looking back up. At least I have your attention... She thought, hoping it was true.

"Unless... she was a sister?" She mused, crossing her arms. "If she is anything like you, I'm surprised you haven't found her yet. Ionu would have spit her out bells ago." Neely shrugged, glancing down at the candle, grimacing at the uneven wick. "Or was she a girlfriend? Bedwarmer run away?" She mused without a smile.

"Not many Alvad ladies think much of... where do you come from, stranger?" Neely waited. She didn't want to ramble too long, lest she looses this concerned stranger's attention. Yet she supposed she would need to give him something to deny, or confirm, which may help her along. Perhaps strangers to the city were not so interesting as the ones within it, but the Symenestra had never ventured outside of Kalea, and there was no doubt this man wasn't even familiar with the mountains.

[Noven]

Somehow, Nov had the sneaking suspicion that his question wasn't going to be taken seriously.

"That obvious, eh?" he replied as he watched the peddler light one of her myriad candles. The Sunberthian paid extra attention to her hands, ever wary of surprises.

If it hadn't been apparent before, it was so now: the young woman was not altogether human. Or if she was, then she, like so much of this city, was cloaked in more illusion. But even without the aid of sorcery--or her wicked, ink-dipped claws--there was something distinctly predatory about her. There was a precision, an efficiency to the way the candlemaker struck her flint and lit one of the candles. She moved with an eerie sort of grace, long, agile limbs reminding Noven of an industrious little spider. Only this particular spider was not little at all. She also spoke the Common tongue and sold candles rather than snare hapless flies for a living, but whether Nov himself was something of a fly remained yet to be seen.

As the candle flame grew, a floral scent filled the air around them. The slumbred traveler thought he might have smelled the same scent once, but he couldn't place a finger on the name, and chose instead to answer the peddler's question. "Less than a fortnight," was his rather generous estimation. There was no point in seeming too new to a merchant.

Nov actually found himself relaxing a little around the pleasant smelling candle. Living with Melody for so long in a cramped cabin, then sharing a room with her at the local inn had left him wound up tighter than a ball. He hadn't even known candles could be pleasant until that very moment, having only ever used them for light and nothing more. But at the mention of her being turned into something called an Akalak, whatever budding effects he felt vanished instantly, replaced instead with another surge of anxiety and frustration.

He knew, personally, what it was like to have one's identity altered by magic. And though Melody deserved whatever shyke she managed to land herself in this time, he sincerely hoped she hadn't gotten herself turned into something unrecognizable.

For a moment, he hoped the candlemaker would laugh and apologize for jesting. But she didn't, and wasn't. Such was the nature of the city, that starting out as one thing in the morning and ending up as another by nightfall merited not even a bat of the lash. She did go on, however, to make sly speculations on who this lass was to the likes of him. Nov remained silent at first. He had no idea what the woman meant by being anything like him and only a vague guess as to who Ionu might be, but it wouldn't hurt to let people assume Melody was his sister. It could make them more willing to tell him where she had run off to.

At the mention of bedwarmers, though...

"No," he nearly snarled, though the gods knew it wasn't for lack of availability on Melody's part. Spreading her legs meant about as much to the hollow-eyed lass as eating or bathing. They were just things other people expected her to do, things she could hardly be bothered with if left alone. "She's a friend, and she's run off on her own. It's not safe for her to be by herself."

What he really wanted to say was, it was not safe for other people. But he was trying to find her, not earn her a bigger death sentence.

With that settled, the last question finally came. The one that he had braced himself for since their conversation began. There was no way of telling if Noven had run far and fast enough. But if trouble was still on his heels all the way from home, even after what he and Fallon had dished out to the last batch of bounty hunters, then the fugitive was ready to pay his compliments. It was the least whoever still possessed the brass to try deserved.

"Our journey began in Zeltiva, but the only true home I ever knew was in Sunberth," he said at last. To hell with it. He was tired of hiding, and he had the feeling that if he didn't answer sufficiently he would only be met with more questions. "So you Alvad ladies are right. It isn't much, unless you count all the stink and piss and rot. "

He looked at her levelly for a tick. "The name's Noven, by the way. And what of you? You an Alvad born and raised?"

A quick glance at the faintly flickering light of the scented candle later, he added, "Or were you something else before you were a candlemaker? This one smells like familiar, but I can't remember the name."

It was as subtle of a lead into negotiations as he could manage, but he was the best he could do under the circumstances.