Closed To Play The Part (Isalie, Khida)

[Colt]

tenth of fall, 513 a.v
mid-day

Shahar couldn’t help a small sigh of relief when he finally broke free of the crowd. A subtle shudder passed through his body; too many people made his skin crawl, and while it was something he could endure it would never be something that he could enjoy.

He continued farther, slipping through the twisted streets between the tents until the auction clearing could no longer be seen and the shouted offers were little more than wordless murmurs in the distance before turning around to look at the woman following him.

Her hair was long and tangled from far too long without attention, knotting and twisting to well below her shoulder blades. She was clothed in little more than rags patched together to preserve decency, and her limbs were naught but skin and bone. Her face might have been slender and delicate once upon a time, but hardship and hunger had left it gaunt, almost ghost-like, as if it might shatter under a firm tap. But her eyes… they weren’t cerulean, nor were they the rich sky-blue that poets might speak of to their sweethearts. They were a gentle blue, like the muted sky on the reflection of a lake. But the were clear, piercing to the point that one might fear to cut themselves beneath them. Pretty eyes, but when set in the harrowed body of this Isalie, they stood out like stars.

But her gaze… that was altogether different. It was empty, the gaze of someone that no longer fights, but simply accepts and endures. It was the gaze of one who wanted only to survive, no matter the cost to themselves. That was a gaze that would have to be changed at some point, but not now—now, she was in dire need of more basic things.

He combed his memory carefully for the common equivalent of the word he was looking for, reaching for the waterskin at his hip as he did so.

Water. He started with Pavi, drawing out and exaggerating the sign so that is was obvious that he wanted her to pay attention to it. “Water.” Like with the sign, he said the word slowly, taking care to enunciate each syllable clearly. Even so, his voice was a peculiar thing; though not jagged, it was… quiet. Hardly above a loud whisper, though in the abandoned street it was easy for the woman to hear. “Water.” He used the common word this time, pouring a little water into his hand for her to see before switching back to Pavi. “Water.” He held the skin up in offer, though far enough away that she wasn’t exactly obligated to take what she did not wish for. “You… thirst?”

[Hope Dawnwhisper]

The man who had bought her weaves his way amongst the growing crowd of people who had come to the auction. But Isalie didn't have the same drive to force her way through and in a matter if chimes, she is further behind, with people in between them. Some Drykas eye her as she makes her slow way through, still following the man and, for the most part, she is completely oblivious to their gaze. Nor does she notice the other woman following behind, making her way towards The man too.

Once out of the main throng, Isalie makes no particular effort to catch up to the man, repercussions be damned. But once she does meet him, Isalie sees nothing in his gaze that suggests any harm was about to come to her. The dark haired girl couldn't pinpoint what the emotions she could see were, nor was she particularly interested in finding out. But what she sees is something akin to what she saw in a Nuit's eyes once. Something somewhere between concern and pity.

The girl wonders why.

Dragging herself back to the present, she realises that the man was trying to talk to her, once again using Pavi. This word, however, she had heard before; water was a necessity and she had learnt it quickly, having been offered it numerous times, and even on one occasion, requesting it. The events of the morning had left Isalie to forget about her own needs, and the offer had brought it to the front of her mind. Recognition flickers across her eyes, in sync with the smallest of smiles in thanks, barely perceivable, as she nods and reaches forward to take the offered skin.

The smile disappears as she drinks and passes back the skin to the man. "Thank you..." she remembers to say. The words, however, come out as little more than a hoarse whisper; having not spoken more than a few words to anyone since arriving in the tented city. According to Isalie, however, she had no rights to anything, even water, and it was a kindness from him, one she was grateful for.

[Khida]

Khida waited for the hunter to finish his business, content to stay back while he approached the platform. She watched all the while, weaving around people as needed to keep a clear view of him -- so many people, and many of them taller than she. The Kelvic was just beginning to seriously consider seeking greater height when she caught a flash of sign from her partner. There, he gestured, and she turned, sighting the place indicated. There. There, she went. And there, they came, the hunter and the brown-haired girl, he leading and she following behind. Khida fell in behind the girl, and the little procession made its way out of the crowd gathered for auction to the vastly clearer avenue beyond. Here, where there was more space, the girl slowed -- or perhaps just quit making the effort to match the hunter's long strides. The Kelvic who followed did not chivvy her forward, nor even seem much bothered by the dragging pace; she just slowed herself, considered the girl... and found nothing on the walk to counter her original impressions. They paused so the girl could have water; Khida caught her partner's eye, having spent part of the walk also thinking of the signs to express what she wanted to say. Or something like it. Bad, she gestured, and that one sleeps in attempt to clarify what bad referred to. The attitude of her gestures, and her emotions behind them, was not criticizing but owed more to concern and query.

[Colt]

The girl took the water, a small smile on her face. He examined her, trying to pick out exactly what it was she needed, and in what order. Clothes, that seemed best first. And proper shoes. Perhaps something lean to eat slowly as they made their way back to camp, and then they could have an actual meal. It was obvious even to the casual observer that Isalie had not eaten like she should have in a very long time, so he would have to make a point to get something more on her bones in days to come. But first came clothes, then he could think about the rest.

Khida signed to him, and he gave her a blank look. He considered her signed statement, assuming that she was referring to Isalie, then hesitantly tried to respond.

This one sleeps, yes, he said. Required. This one, weary. He wasn’t sure if Khida knew that word yet, and so he slumped his shoulders in imaginary exhaustion to demonstrate. Sleep to heal. Wake, no longer weary.

He wasn’t sure if that was what she had been asking, but his attention was returned to Isalie when she gave back his waterskin. He looked east, towards the Ruby clan; with so many people at the auction, crowds would be lessened greatly, and if they moved quickly it could stay that way. He turned and signed this way, a gesture that was easily understood even if one did not know Pavi, and took up a brisk pace in that direction. Once moving, he turned back to Khida. Is that what you meant? he asked.

[Hope Dawnwhisper]

Now Isalie couldn't ignore the woman following on behind her, a woman who had something to do with the man. As they stop, and the pair communicate briefly, Isalie turns her attention to the female. She takes in the other's appearance, but little more, too wearied now with apathy to do much more, or to even commit her appearance to memory. She also doesn't bother to look down at the slow-moving hands, knowing she would understand none of it. Had she bothered, however, And looked closely enough, Isalie might have realised that the woman had only a little more knowledge of the language than she.

By the time the pair are finished communicating, Isalie has turned her head back to gaze vacantly at a point beyond the man's right shoulder. Her eyes were unfocused, and whatever she was looking at, she was not taking it in like she should have been. Had this happened two years ago, or maybe even a year ago, the adolescent would be searching for an escape route, missing nothing, and planning for her survival once she was free of this tented city. Now, though she wasn't aware of it, a part of her was almost thankful to be back in someone's care. Whether that care was going to turn out to be the very best thing for her... or the very worst.

The man signals to her to continue to follow him, though she doesn't register it as Pavi sign. He turns and begins to walk once more. Isalie waits, watching him for a few paces before her legs finally begin to move, though at a far more lethargic pace than the leader. It wasn't so much that she was being truly defiant to her new life. Her body, and her mind for that matter, just wouldn't allow her to move any faster.

Along the way, she averts her eyes to the left where, beyond the tents she could see a sea of endless, pale yellow and green grass, which rose higher than any grass in Sylira. Given her own way, she would wander off to a few metres beyond the final tent in the encampment, amidst the long grass that would hide her from view. There, she would lie down and just... sleep... But she couldn't. So she continues to walk, and turns back to stare at the ground upon which she was shuffling along.

[Khida]

Weary, he signed, and slumped his shoulders to illustrate its meaning. Weary, she echoed, as she echoed nearly every new sign she met with. It was axiomatic that weary was the state of being which mandated sleep... but Khida wrinkled her nose at the offered sign. No, that wasn't quite what she'd meant. His attention was diverted by the girl before Khida could reply, one of the drawbacks of sign. She didn't mind too much, though; she could wait. So, evidently, could the girl -- wait with a complete lack of alertness or even interest in her surroundings which only crystallized Khida's impressions. The hunter directed them down another route, what the Kelvic thought would eventually lead to the red-marked tents. He walked quickly; the girl, as before, did not. Mindful of her bondmate's interest in the girl, even if she didn't really share it, she lagged. But this time, he looked back, and signed towards the Kelvic; she shook her head in reply. She couldn't figure out a way to mime what she meant, either, not on the spot. "Sick," Khida clarified in Common, with no regard for the fact that the one she spoke about shuffled along right there. "Sick in mind." The words dropped sudden and abrupt into their otherwise silent conversation, an almost harsh intrusion -- or perhaps that could be attributed to their blunt delivery. Not hunt, not fly, her hands added, illustrating the problem in the reference terms which meant most to her, gestures jagged and emphatic with her bewilderment and dismay; the paradigm that apathy described was utterly foreign to the falcon Kelvic. Not run glassbeak. Not see sky, sun, not... Wish, hope, dream, care; her gestures faltered as Khida's vocabulary ran short of the essential concept. She fell back on her original descriptor. Sleep. Bad sleep.

[Colt]

Isalie moved slowly, far more slowly than Shahar had anticipated. He looked over his shoulder in puzzlement, then turned and walked back towards her. He went behind her, then around her, but did not move to touch—he circled and hovered, as a dog might in herding a sheep. He snapped his gaze to Khida when she spoke. He knew sick and mind, and it clarified what his bondmate had been trying to say, even more so when she dropped a string of signs to farther illustrate her point.

I know, Shahar said with a gestured equivalent of a sigh. I see. She has bad sleep. Mind-sleep. I want to change. Show her more. Show sky, grass, wind. Teach hunt, wake her up.

The tents were changing from yellow to red, and he spent a moment remembering where their destination was before signing towards a side path.

Perhaps Isalie was ill? Not in just mind and heart, as Khida had put it, but physically? She seemed exhausted, but it was a different kind of exhaustion than Shahar was used to. She didn’t appear to have any wounds or handicaps, aside from the obvious malnutrition, but he was no healer. After Isalie had proper clothing it would probably be prudent to go to the Opal Clan district to see what could be done. And maybe getting her something to nibble on would be a good idea, too.

And she would need a place to sleep. And something to sleep on. And a horse, soon, to learn with, but the horse could wait for a little bit, at least until the next movement of the city. Perhaps she could use the tent he and Khida shared? Yes, and then he could get a larger one that was easier to breathe in to replace it. But what next? What to teach her? In what order? There were so many new questions and concern buzzing through his mind at the sudden and unexpected addition to his odd little family, and they made him anxious with their droning.

He took a breath. He needed to think slowly, to cautiously choose the path that made the most sense. And right now, making Isalie healthy made the most sense.

He caught sight of the pavilion he was looking for and pointed to it. There. The Threaded Hide.

[Hope Dawnwhisper]

The silent member of the trio hears the first words spoken aloud by the woman and, somewhere in the back of her mind, she registers that they were spoken in the common tongue, a language that Isalie understood. She doesn't, however, question why the woman was speaking the Common tongue, or how she knew it. It doesn't even occur to her that the woman was not from these lands, or the slight possibility that she might be in the same situation as Isalie herself. She does register that the words were quite probably referring to her, though she doesn't fully know why; having known no different her whole life.

Continuing on her slow, lethargic pace, her worn, over sized boots drag along the ground, kicking up dust and mud and killing sections of grass which had survived the Drykas encampment. Clearly, though, the man grows tired of her slow pace, and also slows, turning back to circle her, her eyes drop, for the first time, to the ground and her body hunches over further than it already was, in attempt to make herself as small and unimportant as possible. It was a simple defensive tactic, one which she had learnt as a child.

Not for the first time since she had arrived here, a small surge of fear swells in the pit of her stomach. From Isalie's standpoint, as she was hardly new to the concept of people buying other people, she knew of only one outcome to such a sale - slavery. No matter what countless people had tried to reassure her she was, the evidence to the contrary was overwhelming. And this man who had bought her now owned her; he could do anything he wanted to her.

But, even through the fear, another voice asked her why she was scared, knowing she had been through it all before and there was nothing left for the man to break. He couldn't hurt her, not anymore. The fear dissipates and Isalie returns to grey nothingness; the fog that covered her mind also clouds her vision as she looks back up, still maintaining her slow pace forward.

[Khida]

Mind-sleep, change, wake up, Khida echoed to her bondmate, then added one more sign: yes. Even the snake-man took greater interest in himself than did this girl. The Kelvic thought there were some similarities in their behavior, especially how the snake-man had acted early on... but even he had looked, reacted, responded. This one seemed stuck in a pit of sand and unwilling even to look up, never mind reach out for a hand. How did one change that? Khida didn't know -- but her faith that they would didn't falter. Yet. Not even when the girl shrank inwards under the hunter's regard, a reaction the falcon Kelvic considered more in keeping with prey than predator... though that manner did spark a flash of disdain from Khida, accompanied by a disapproving scowl. The girl would need a completely different attitude to someday hunt with them. It might as well start here. She reached out and set her palms to the girl's shoulders, pushing them back upwards. "Stand up," she insisted. "Look out around you." Not that she really expected it to work just like that... making a falcon from a mouse couldn't be easy, or more mice would hunt... but maybe it would do something for the girl.

[Colt]

If anything, Isalie became even slower at Shahar’s attempt to encourage her forward. That certainly perplexed him. He frowned, then moved back and forward, gesturing for her to follow and to move a little faster.

Khida echoed his signs, then added one of her own. Yes, she agreed with what he was going to do try to do, and for that he was glad. Still, he was a bit startled when she stepped in close to Isalie, pushing her shoulders up and saying something in common that Shahar thought implied looking.

Gently, Shahar touched Khida’s shoulder. Not yet, he said, weary, still. Must sleep, must heal, then wake up after.

They had ended up hovering somewhat awkwardly at the mouth of the Threaded Hide, and Shahar was extremely aware of the curious glance of its keeper on his little group. After a moment, he exaggerated the sign for come again, then slowly made his way into the tent.

Cloth covered the tables set up in the room and racks of clothes were crammed against the wall. There was another door in the back, half-open to reveal cut fabric and sewing materials strewn about haphazardly, but that was not what the hunter was interested in. He turned to the shopkeeper and gestured to Isalie, not bothering with formalities of greeting.

Her, he said. She needs a tunic, pants, belt and sandals. Strong-made, for lasting.

The keeper blinked at the abrupt request, but composed himself quickly and turned a dazzling merchant’s smile onto Isalie. “Of course!” he said in Pavi. “This way, please.”

No, Shahar gestured. Not Pavi. Common?

“Good, good,” he said, switching to the appropriate language. “This way, please.”