Closed Azure Souls (Thomas)

[Kit Rowan]

x

Day 67, Season of Fall, 513 AV

The hour was rather late, all told. Today had been rough; Kit had been forced to deal with a delivery of an item a tenth her weight. It had weighed her down, nearly caused her to fall from her place on the high ropes, messed with her jumps several times and had her coming in late. Or at least late according to the needy bastard who had wanted it in the first place. Kit needed to release a little tension.

Hence the Spot. Kit let a Ravosala carry her through the canals next to where the great wide boat had parked itself, tossed a few mizas behind her as a tip, climbed out of the Ravosala and walked over a short rope bridge from the edge of the canal up into the side of the ship. She walked in, greeted by the happy sound of laughter. She made her way through the crowds, relieved at the ease she allowed herself to dance between the patrons, the easy spring in her step, not badgered by irrational compulsions and knee-jerk fear.

The back was more or less as she had hoped; there was no line of musicians or singers waiting to ascend and take the stage. Kit had it wholly to herself, for a while. Kit's visits had been rare and irregular, but there were still some in the crowd back here that recognized her distinctive motley, offered her a discrete little nod that Kit returned, bowing her head and spreading imaginary skirts in a deep curtsy that that brought a chuckle out of one, or maybe two of the customers.

Kit did her stretches quietly and climbed atop the stage, slipped off her shoe, let her leather jacket slide off her back on top of them. She was dressed in fine wools, her trousers loose to allow for ease of movement and her tunic clinging tight, outlining her silhouette against the flickering orange lantern-light of the tavern's innards. Embroidery in azure blue danced up her sides from the trousers up to the shoulder, swirled across her back, patternless except for the inverted triangle formed in the white space.

Kit turned around and crossed her arms, smirking, revealing the same wrong-end-up triangle woven over her belly. "If you were looking for a song, I'm sorry, that's not what you're gonna get. Not my thing." Kit raised her hands straight in the air, breathed in deep. Her stance was too narrow, so she widened it a little, spread her feet apart. Staring up at the ceiling, Kit forced her hips forward as far as they could go and reached, reached backward toward the ground, letting her upper body follow her arms upward while her lower stayed in place. Her hands hit the ground, leaving her body in an arch, stomach pointed toward the ceiling. Kit heard a whoop and whistle, and she smiled at the sound of it.

But she wasn't done, not quite yet. Kit reached her hands an inch further forward, forward toward the front of the stage and the rest of her body curled in after her, the belly pointed toward the ceiling now aimed at the back of the room, now flush with the stage . . . And Kit found herself peeking between her own legs, feeling the good pain of a long stretch across the whole of her torso. She propped her head on her hand, and gave the room a strained smile; there were one or two hoots, a few smiles, more stares. They're looking at me! A sense a queasy dread tried to overtake her, of course they are. I'm amazing. "You'll just have to deal with an acrobat instead." Kit winked, and then laughter took the room.

x

[Thomas Cosa]

He had been lied to; when it all came down to it. He scowled deeply, pushing away his half-empty mug of unpleasantly delicious mead, determined to find some fault in Rhysol's city.

Ravok. The supposed nightmare of every born and bred Syliran. It's opposite in every way, or so he had been led to believe. A dark, violent city unnaturally floating in the middle of a Vayt-blessed lake (The lake, he supposed, was true. Lake Ravok existed, but he doubted very much it was poisoned in any way). A city so twisted, so vile, Leth and Syna dare not allow there light to fall upon it; again, false. Tonight's weather had been perfect, just like the last two petching nights. And, even better, it was always like this.

He had been promised burning buildings, screaming children, and violently murderous axe-wielders running amok streets paved in the blood of innocents and virgins.

He had been promised a city to hate, to despise.

Instead, Thomas had found himself a utopia. A perfect society, something the Sylirans had been supposedly trying at since the Valterrian.

"Maybe the problem comes from worshipping a dead god," Thomas snorted, angrily taking another swig from his cup. Delicious, as expected. "What a petching joke."

"Joke?" A whispered hissed came from his waist, Stranger slinking sideways to attract Thomas' attention.

"Yes, a joke," Thomas mumbled, turning his face away from the burning candlelight. "Like, ha-ha. Funny, you know?"

"Humorous? Something done to provoke laughter?" Stranger clicked, his metallic mouth echoing the words like a snake.

"Well, yeah. More or less," He shrugged, signaling for Stranger to lay around his neck; it would be far easier to listen to the golem should he arrange himself into a collar. Closer to his ears, and everything. "But I was being sarcastic, so it's not really the same thing," Thomas sighed, "Look, it's like --,"

And then the collected murmur of the bar broke, instantly replaced by laughter.

"Like that?" Stranger asked, rolling around Thomas' neck to get a good look at the stage, "Is that human doing jokes?"

Thomas turned as well, the cold joints of the golem's legs rolling against his skin to adjust it's body again, only to find a young looking girl, her head casually between her legs.

"No, Stranger, she's an acrobat."

[Kit Rowan]

x

Kit had already tied herself into a knot, and that was impressive by itself, but how do you get out of that? In the end, that was the simplest part. She lifted her legs off the the ground, lifted them over her head and set them down behind her, ending as though she had simply laid down on the ground, her body straight as could be managed. She lifted her hand, pressed them down into the floor on either side of her shoulders and pushed herself up, leaving room for he to bring her feet under her and push herself to her feet.

"So I'm funny, am I?" There was mirth in her question as she said it, glad to have entertained. She propped a hand just above her hip and surveyed the audience. She spotted a sullen-faced girl who stubbornly refused to look up from her cup, a pair of slightly older boys who were watching with big grins, muttering to each other and a ravenous look in their eyes that made her smile waver slightly, a lanky, pasty-skinned, dark haired man with a distracted look in his eyes, more. She let her audience wait for a tick, two . . . Three . . .

Kit raised her hands above her hands and pulled backward, never jumping, never even leaning the ground, just reaching back until her hands touched the ground again, her body bent in much the same way it had before she peeked between her legs, but this time she didn't stop. She thrust her hips forward, let the momentum carry her on. Her right leg lifted off first, then her left, fractions of a tick later and opening in a split in the air for a moment before they touched down on the other side, right first, left second, and Kit raised her hands high into the air. "You don't seem disappointed yet," Kit said, very casually. There were not many cheers either, but a bare handful were watching with rapt attention, or at least daring a glance up at her every now and then. She had their attention now.

"That was a bit boring though wasn't it?" Kit sauntered around the stage's edge, letting everyone get a good look. You vain little wench! A voice in her head whispered. Shut uuuuuup! She reached where the stage met the Spot's wall, and that was where she let herself flow into her next trick.

Again she raised her hands into the air, put one foot forward, though this barel lasted a second. This time she didn't bend backward at all, but lunged forward, planting her hands on the ground and allowing the momentum to carry her legs up into the air. But this time, she twisted her waist when it reached the highest point of the arc. She flipped around in the air, so her body was pointed in the opposite direction, where she'd came from.

Her feet came down and hit the ground together and bounced, the forward momentum shifting skyward at their urging. Kit curled herself tight into a ball, and her rotation sped up, and she could feel the air resistance against her body as she spun in the air once, uncurled, landed with her legs straight, her arms in the air still, her body quivering slightly from the strain. A single mistake could have crippled her for weeks. For life. The thrill made it worth it. Kit turned her head to face her audience, the widest smile on her face, her cheeks red from exertion and exultation.

Kit brushed a lock of hair out from in front of her face, flashed a smile. "What do you say? Want more?"

x

[Thomas Cosa]

Thomas watched, obviously impressed, as Kit twisted and flipped across the stage; she moved her bodies in ways he couldn't even imagine, and despite himself, he found that he was beginning to enjoy the show. His childhood memories were littered with story tellers and street performers of Syliras, the traveling buskers and mysterious fortune tellers all had always excited him as a child -- but they could never stay in the city for long, or wouldn't; the Knights had never approved of such a traveler's life.

"Are they laughing because she is broken?"

"What?" Thomas chortled, Stranger's absurd question combined with his own alcohol intake momentarily cooling his brewing anger, "No, no," he giggled, taking another sip of the mead, "Why would you think that?"

"An observation, or lack there of; I have no record of such movement recorded. Is it natural movement then? Would any human be able to mimic hers?"

"No. I don't think most humans would be capable enough to mimic her.

"It isn't natural movement then?"

Natural enough, though it is a learned ability, I suppose that would describe it better ," Thomas sighed, "So then I guess all humans would be perfectly capable of mimicking her, with practice. It isn't an easy thing to do, it isn't like with animation. I wouldn't be able to learn it all, and repeat it perfectly after a sitting not like...," he dropped the sentence in mid thought, ideas rapidly forming -- true, a human wouldn't be able to learn her skill in one sitting, but an animation could.

Stranger could.

"And you have no record of these movements being used before? On Sahova, by an golem or an automaton?" He asked quickly, a little too loud in his excitement -- it was a half formed idea, but if he could manage Stranger's directives to include some kind of storage capacity he could come back to Sahova with a whole slew of memories and skills to use in future animations; an acrobat's talent would be the perfect thing to start this new collection.

"I have no personal record of seeing these types of movements, but I do not have every a record of every golem created or used by Sahova, Thomas Cosa. I am unable to answer your question to the full," the golem clicked.

"Oh," Thomas said, still determined to see his idea through. It wouldn't matter if someone else had the idea before him -- Mashaen would still be impressed by his initiative, no? That besides collecting information on Ravok, that he managed to bring back several skill sets to be used by future Sahovan animators? "That's fine, thank you Stranger. I was wondering though, how much of her movement could you memorize? Could I use your memories of her as a source for a future animation?"

"No. She would need to be available to be sourced for the animation."

"Could I use you as storage, for her skill, or would I need to find an empty vessel?"

"I can be used as a storage, a simple change in directives would be required. Please state the new directive, and I shall change my code."

"Wait," Thomas asked, confused -- "Why do we need to add a new directive? And what directive would I use?" He wondered, not entirely sure he would guess it.

"A Directive of Storage, skill, would needed to be added to my code for several reasons. Should you try and use an animation for memory storage, the added memory or skill fuses with the skill core; if it matched with the current body, there would be no issue," Stranger clicked, hissing, "However, as it is not a simple fact, or lore you wish to add, her added movement, to this vessel, could spell disaster. I would be confused, and unable to move as smoothly as I could otherwise. A Directive of Storage allows me to separate usable skills from those you wish to keep for future use."

"Understood," Thomas nodded, whispering the code to activate the addition of the new directive, "Add Directive of Storage, lowest priority."

The golem hissed in response, the inner workings changing to adapt to the newest directive.

"Now, all we need to do is get her alone..."

[Kit Rowan]

x

It was about the reaction that Kit had hoped for; a cheer here, a whistle there. Annabelle ghosted about, eyes glinting like a wolf with prey in sight, asking distracted patrons if they would like the most expensive drink on the house while they were too distracted to question her much. Annabelle gave Kit a wink that said 'anyone who makes me money is my friend.'

The audience was still wanting more, so she fell into a longer routine. She stood on her hands, split her legs above her feet, twisted her body into more odd configurations and more. Ticks turned to chimes and Kit felt sweat began to bead on her forehead, the wetness of effort start to seep into her performing outfit. Damn Azure Tailoring for insisting on using fine fabric. Fine, water-absorbent fabric. After a while, as it always did, people started to tire, their cheers less enthusiastic as they were distracted by the business they had come to the Spot to do properly; drink and chatter.

Kit bit down on her lip and decided to quit while she was ahead. She gave the crowd a wave and—though she wondered whether it would be truly wise, considering the way her first visit to this place had been—blew them a kiss. She slipped on her jacket and hopped down from the stage, the weariness that she had kept from her face in performing coming suddenly over her. Kit wiped her forehead with her arm and breathed deep breaths.

It was Annabelle that came up to her. "Done already?" She said, and Kit could hear the disappointment in her voice. She'd wanted more, greedy girl. Not that Kit would have turned down coin herself. "Want anything?"

"Yeah," Kit said, yeah. "Give me the most watered down thing you've got." Annabelle rolled her eyes at this, but she accepted, wandering off to grab it for Kit. It would be nice if she would make this one on the house, but whatever profits Kit racked in Annabelle would be Annabelle. Coin was the center of her world.

Kit picked a table whose chairs had been cleared away, snagged an empty one from an incomplete group and dragged it over. She plopped herself down in the seat, eyes wandering over the bar, wary, remembering. This time though, she had her wits. This time, she thought, fingering the hilt of her dagger under her jacket, she'd be ready to deal with anyone who came by with sour intent. One way or another.

[Thomas Cosa]

People were getting bored, but this was to be expected. Thomas, however, couldn't get enough of the young acrobat, or rather, the idea of her. The potential of her talent. As the cheers and yells died down, his own imagination soared; humanoid golems were expensive, true, but perhaps they'd be worth the added effort should they be able to move like her.

They would need to be properly proportioned and balanced of course, and, he assumed, made of a lighter material, like wood. Thomas fancied the idea of a four or five acrobatic guards, assassins even. Or maybe even adding some of her skill to some of the already existing golems, for experimental reasons. Maybe, depending on her own skill, and what Thomas could manage to transfer successfully, he could create some kind of movement predictor.

"Thomas," Stranger hissed, tightening around the animator's neck to draw his attentions, "She moves."

Forcing himself away from his daydreams, Thomas followed the lithe form with a perverse greed; she had something he wanted, and needed desperately. He had long since planned to bring back information about Ravok back to Mashaen, but bringing back the people's skills? How often would someone of her level in acrobatics come to Sahova alive? How often would there be a baker, or a cook? For once, Thomas ignored the annoyingly perfect city for the once seemingly ordinary people. Each and every one of them potentially had something Thomas could take and use, something Stranger could carry back to the arch wizard.

And this acrobat would be the first, and surely, her skill alone would impress Mashaen to some degree.

He hoped.

Either way, Thomas knew he had get the girl to trust him enough to get her alone. And preferably gagged and bound. Or, if he was very lucky and suave, enough to get her to actually participate.

"But how?" he wondered aloud, his gaze falling back to flickering candle. Trust came from comfort, from familiarity. It came from knowing someone, it come from caring. He frowned, thinking.

And then it came to him, like magic.

His vision faded, another view juxtaposed against his own; spinning and twirling, jumping around, faces smiling widely, cheers for more.

Thomas smiled, remembering he had something far better than trust at his disposal. "Thank you, Seer. May your blessings guide me forever more," he smirked, ending the prayer. "Stranger?" Thomas asked, looking away from the candlelight to hide his face - he didn't need anyone seeing him talking to his necklace.

"Thomas."

"Stay quiet, and don't move unless I state otherwise. I'm going to try and convince her to give me what I need, but should that fail, I will need your help. But, you are my secret and unless I need you, please remain as motionless as possible," he finished, pushing himself off his chair. Thomas didn't wait for Stranger to respond, the pulser knew the golem would listen to him. Please was just a technicality.

Quickly, he made his way towards the acrobat, smiling confidently at those he passed by; he tried his best to mimic the annoyingly undeserved confidence he had observed on many of the locals -- he didn't need anyone realizing he wasn't from here. Sitting next to the youth, his smiled widened, eyes meeting her own,

"Would you like your fortune told?" It was an awkward introduction at best, and at worst, she would leave; either way, he could prove himself of enough interest to her. He would make her trust him.

He would have her skill.

[Kit Rowan]

x

Unwanted admirers were almost something of a job hazard whenever Kit put on a show; she had learned that much even in Alvadas, where some even dared so much as to try to follow her home. They imagined some promise in the way she smiled, spoke, in the way she moved for their entertainment. Or they simply wanted, and thought that excuse enough. And, barring magic, there wasn't much Kit could physically do about it if it came to that. It was good to be aware before it did.

She kept watch, eyes skirting surreptitiously over the attendees and finding with relief that many seemed to have forgotten about her in the space of the last few chimes, taking the excuse to pour their attention into other things, with a few exceptions.

Pasty was one of them. A tall, gaunt boy with a long, sober face that looked like it hadn't seen the sun in a season. She held his eyes for a moment and pulled her mouth down into a sneer, hoping to deter him. Pasty had a possessive hunger in his eyes that Kit did not care for; maybe he would get the message.

Daft, determined or both, Pasty's interest never waned. She muttered a sharp word under her breath as she elevated from his seat and began to find his way in her direction. She had provided entertainment in the bar before, she might provide it again; the crowd might lean behind her if push came to shove. But this was Ravok. She didn't want to take that gamble when all bets were rigged from the start.

Just like that, he pulled out a chair next to her and slid into it, made it his. She scooted her chair away from him, just enough to know he was unwelcome. "The last time a boy took a seat next to me without asking in this bar, he and his buddy tried to get me stupid drugged and petch me." She pulled back her jacket enough for him to see her dagger. "Bounce on out of that seat, Pasty."

[Thomas Cosa]

"Confident," Thomas sneered, glancing sideways at the shown dagger; a small trinket, but deadly enough to kill him. He wouldn't ignore it, he wasn't stupid, but he wouldn't let him be thrown off by the weapon. Sahova had shown him for worse ways to die, and besides, should he die in Ravok, at least the weather would be nice.

"But I doubt there's anything to be shared in common between me and those other boys, especially in regards to you," he remarked coldly, eyeing the girl more carefully than before -- she had already been attack, so she wouldn't be so stupid as to put herself in a situation where he could knock her out. "She needs to trust me," he realized, his smirk vanishing.

He would need to give her something she would hang on to.

"Look, I'll be straight with you," Thomas sighed, feigning exhaust.

"I'm a fortune teller," a lie.

"I enjoyed your performance." True.

"And I don't have much in the way of coin." False

"And I thought it would be nice to repay you in kind, with a show. So what do you say?"

[Kit Rowan]

x

He didn't seem to be put off by the dagger; Kit had been trying to intimidate the boy and instead he'd practically sniggered at her! She felt an unsettling lump turn and turn in her stomach. Either he didn't believe that she had the guts to use it—and in a bar this big with so many people watching, Kit wasn't sure if she actually did have the guts—or he believed and simply did not care.

Kit could preen in front of an audience, she could smile and flip back her hair and enjoy their eyes. But there at least she was reasonably sure that she was safe. Now though, she was just a little girl alone at a table with a stranger who refused to go away. Kit gave him a look over; he didn't seem particularly strong, but he was bigger than she was and weight was a greater factor than she would have liked to admit. A teenage boy could have wrestled her to the ground and her unwelcome admirer was not a teenaged boy.

Kit let her jacket hang open for a little while before she let it fall, reluctant. "Alright fortune teller," Kit said crossed her arms in front of her. "I don't go up there for favors. I go there for practice. I go to be seen for a bit. I saw you watching, and I don't mind it. But I don't like entangling myself with thank-yous after the fact."

"People tend to think it entitles them to more."

[Thomas Cosa]

Thomas frowned, frustrated. He breathed deeply and loudly, foolishly signaling his own impatience; his own lack of social graces owed only to his growing status on the Citadel. Had any of the apprentices in Lab 15 even dared to challenge him in such a way, to show him even the slightest rebellion, well, there were plenty of other less pleasant places for them to spend their apprenticeship.

In a cage, for example.

Ravok, however, was a different story. Here, he had no status, no pull. Here, Thomas was a nobody. They had told him there would be consequences if the city's people found him out, if they had discovered his purpose. So, he had nothing.

And no way of getting what he wanted from this girl.

"Look, you...you," he stuttered, swallowing an insult. The last thing he needed to do was offend her -- or rather, offend her more than he already had. She still had the dagger after all, "Is it so hard too accept thanks? A gift? Is it too much to assume that --," his voice dropped, his self being dragged unwillingly into the chavi.

The bar around him dim, the girl's face covered by shifting lights of color, each a moment remembered by her. The glowing orbs burst simultaneously, vibrant lines of charged memory cutting through Thomas' mind, filling his whole with foreign people and places he never been.

The whole of experience lasted only for a chime, not longer, but the memories slowed enough to catch the face of someone familiar to the animator. Someone caught by the acrobat among the many of Ravok's canals, and someone Thomas had meet within the ancient halls of Sahova.

"Wrenmae," he echoed dizzily, still trying to organize himself after the glimpsed past. "You know him."

Perhaps, had he waited longer, the youth would have thought better than slamming the girl with that tidbit. Thomas had no clue as to their particular relationship, or to how she would react to him knowing Wrenmae. He only thought of finally finding a connection with the annoying brat, and coming that much closer to the end goal.

At least now, he had a bridge. All he needed to do now, was have her cross it.