One Tea Or Two? [Fallon]

[Zandelia]

The Quarters – 82nd Winter 213 AV

The gloom of the stone made corridors had begun to feel like an old companion as of late, someone with whom she had a rapport worth her weight in gold. After a fashion this was truer than she liked to admit, she had spent several dozen Ball’s in the Quarters, several score more than she would have liked. The conversation was a little lacking but it was at least somewhere to retreat to and hide within. The city of Sahova did not want her she had found, not unless she was useful when it came to knowledge of the arcane. She had resolved, therefore, to learn but it meant that – for now – she was trapped in a smaller hive of activity than a morgue.

Except in most morgues the bodies don’t walk around and snapping for you to get out of the way she smiled to herself, wondering how many undertaker’s could cope with such a situation.

Still as she patrolled the corridors, choosing her path at random and her hands clasped at the small of her back, she worried. Already she knew how dangerous such a pat could be. Her sight had almost been permanently taken from her in Nyka on the night of the shadows. She had seen Eyris and his scared body from the flames he had not always had full mastery of. She had Auristics, that was what it was called – sight beyond sight. Her brow furrowed as she thought of what she had meant was the Judgement. They wished to be impressed and her magic was not the way to conventionally do so. She would need something more…showy…she suspected.

And that is precisely the problem! Morphing, as Neilles called it, could alter me to the worse for my lifetime. Reimancy could make me explode according to the legends and personal…observation. I know rewards only ever come with risk…but still she worked at the issue in her mind as she paced.

It was a problem she had thought upon for the last two days, trying to decide which path to take and which was the one to bring reward with the least risked. There were no easy answers, she would have to decide soon and put her miza’s upon the table. It was not a situation she liked to be in – she preferred to be able to bride, threaten or otherwise dispose her problems away. That as what she knew, how she operated. Sahova was a different beast and would take a bit more…diversity of thought. And that wasn’t even considering the other issues at hand…Garret.

Bastard! she hissed to herself internally.

She paused, surprise flickering across her face momentarily. Her senses brought her the slightest hint of an aroma she had not smelt in what seemed like years. She tilted her head upwards and breathed in deeply, slowly through her nose and mouth – as if trying to taste the air.

“Tea?” she muttered incredulously.

She tried to sense which direction it was coming from but the air moved to little, the fetid mustiness overpowering the sweet smell of relaxation. She paused…well…she was in Sahova after all. She closed her eyes, concentrating her Djed and allowed a small trickle to begin to infuse her neck, gently making its way towards her nasal cavity and the sense organs there, slipping ever upwards and finally into her eyes. It was difficult to control and she was more cautious after Nyka. No more torrents of power coursing through her, only a small trickle at any time. She wanted more…wanted to feel alive. She shook her head and resisted as she tried to concentrate upon the small…only the smell. It proved, however, a pointless exercise. She could see no aura within range, certainly could not see through the blasted walls.

Sighing to herself she let it al g, to settle once more within her, and instead took the longer and more arduous task of finding the source by nose alone. It took time and more than once she turned wrongly and retraced her steps. It grew stronger, thicker and finally was before her…another woman before a brazier - the fiery kind. She paused, hesitant a flash of a second before placing her most charming smile upon her lips and stepping forwards.

“I almost couldn’t believe my nose, tea…here. Would you mind if I purchased a brew? It has been so long since I tasted its wonders” she enquired gently.

[Fallon]

It was tired eyes that stared out onto the world this day. The skin having become sapped and pale with dark shadows having formed over her lids. Her head gave only a gentle nod on occasion, a dulled hum quivering from her lips in a fight to stay awake. Yet even now in the cramped space she had been kindly granted to rest in, did the girl keep to herself - watching and waiting patiently. Of course, she was not always locked away in such a cramped space, listening to the mournful sound of cold stone and dead bodies. On other occasions she flung the door open to stare across the corridor, and listened to the rattle of golems as they passed on by. But so far, there was silence, a void of nothing par the occasional patter of some rat scratching against the wall.

Fallon liked that. Little noise was better than some noise, it meant she could at least attempt in hearing someone coming. But, for the moment that did not matter. There was much more important things to tend to. Like tea.

Supplies were among the few things she brought to Sahova. To eat, to live, to survive - unless things truly had changed since her last visit. And it was among these stocks of sustenance and warmth that the mercenary kept a stock of tea leaves and other implements to allow a steady brew. Something that she was already in the process of doing with the room - if it could even be called that - door being swung fully open to let the dull light of the citadel come sweeping in.

Legs crossed and her form surrounded by piles of odds and end, Fallon gave a long hard glare down to the brazier and the couple of coals she had nestled in its base. Lantern oil and a few pages from the back of her journal had been added for good measure sparking and hissing to the flames. The iron kettle was sat on top, gently warming up whilst the leaves rested in its water filled belly. Of course, she was not completely confident she was doing it right, but that did not matter.

She was going to have her tea regardless.

There was a hesitant poke with the kurki at the coals, a moment of stillness before the flames licked up once more. Soon, it would be done soon - she hoped at least. The aroma was already rather strong in its wafting, a wave rolling over through the air. Iron cup placed before her, the books upon the other it was safe to say she did indeed look comfortable in her present environment. Even the gloves and coat were discarded to serve as a something for her to sit upon. And then the woman spoke.

Her entire form became animated, an entire flinch in reaction to the gentle tone. And whilst those orbs of emerald stared down bright and questioning, Fallon's own remained dulled and hesitant. It took a chime for the question to sink in, and a second chime for her to formulate an answer. Not that it was exactly much of one, "I... what? Pardon?" Fallon shook her head fumbling briefly as she repeated herself. Hands fumbled through her pack, her stash of supplies and her life line to the living, "Tea? Yes. Tea. Yes, you may? May you?"

There was a shake of the head, willing the thought of communication through her tired mind. Producing another empty cup the girl presented it to the woman to take, and gave a point down to the empty space the other side of the brazier, "Sit, it is still doing its... thing?" She gave a sniff, followed by a sigh as she came to terms with what was going on, "Living I imagine? Must be, why else would you ask for tea? Why don't you be patient please?"

Her chin rested in her hand, the eyes staring and studying the stranger before her. Clearing her throat she brought on some composure, "I won't lie, you have a look of mischief or curiosity. Or both. Which is it?"

[Zandelia]

She had once been told that she saw shadows in every corner, suspicions and dark machinations. This was slightly unfair, she thought, seeing as it was the state of the world to have such things in it at all times. She merely uncovered them, though admittedly when one looks into the shadows one became more…paranoid. After waiting for a handful of chimes for the other woman to speak her senses flickered and asked her whether the other were truly exhausted or merely chose to pay things that way. I was a consideration though she pushed it aside in favour of congenial spirit for now. She sat down upon the opposite side of the brazier and warmed her hands with a smile.

“You have my thanks, it’s impossible to get warm in these wretched chambers. I think I might make a trip to Sunberth to purchase one of these things come spring. I’d hate to lose something to the cold. Lost enough already” she tried for a smile as she lifted her gaze to the other woman.

Time was on her side, she had been asked to be silent until the tea was ready and this suited her mightily. She made a study off the one before her, attempting to analyse as best she could under the circumstances. She had flinched, ever so slightly, upon her first speaking but that could just be surprise – a strange reaction but still. She was tired, extremely tired by the dulled eyes and the slow reaction time. Yet from a glance at the weaponry and scattered possessions she was a dichotomy of energy. Weaponry and books were not a rare combination but suggested a keen mind.

And yet she might have been possible to kill had I stabbed first and talked later. She has a brazier too, with fuel. I brought food but no such contraption…so she likes to be prepared. So…why the lethargy? I’d have thought she’d have got a god night’s sleep se reflect, though to be honest she had had trouble sleeping herself in these cold tombs of stone.

She frowned ever so slightly in thought but it flashed away in a matter of moments as she listened to the unexpected words.

“I am alive yes, for now” she grinned at that, “I don’ think they think me annoying enough to turn into a Nuit or a cadaver yet” she continued as she leant back and thought she caught a glimpse of what the woman before her was truly like. Chin upon fingers the statement was a tricksome one, designed to differentiate her.

A game perhaps? she pondered, spinning the metal cup she had been given in her hand for a few moments in consideration, it was always best to make others think you were evaluating in return to their own analysis.

“Well if you shan’t lie then I could lie but won’t, you are being kind to me after all. I am that which studies life, watches and waits and then,” she made a steeple of her own hands before separating them with a small sweeping gesture, “changes. Something always changes though not by my hand. You could say that I enjoy both mischief and I possess curiosity in abundance. As for today, I sought out the smell of tea and found a pretty sight…of interest” she finished, looking into those eyes of sea green.

“You yourself have the look of a warrior…a tired warrior. Yet you carry books like a scholar. So which are you, warrior or scholar?” she asked with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“Dasoma” she extended her hand over the brazier slowly.

It was always wise she had said, upon reflection, to know someone before they knew you. Names were powerful things and so her true name was something Sahova had yet to learn.

[Fallon]

Fallon titled her tired head to one side, a slow blink as it calculated the words and the expression she wore. Perhaps it was only due to this sluggish state that more was allowed to be taken in more, or that her attention was indeed focused upon the woman. The pupils sharpened, silent in their stare as she took this stranger into consideration - true consideration. Although she had yet to do or suggest anything of her true nature, Fallon continued to look and watch. Or at least until the kettle gave a deep rumble followed by the clattering of the lid. Gingerly, the girl took it by the handle and set it down upon the stone. Inside was the strong steaming substance of tea greeted them, and so her attention was fixed upon it as she went about her pouring, "Like a stalker you tread, leading yourself through the twisting maze onto your prey. In this case it is tea. In other cases... who knows but you? Watcher and waiter."

"Neither," came the slow response. She gently filled the cup of the stranger, the glug of the dark liquid rising slowly and precisely. The steam escaped into the air, filtering through the cold chill and leaving only a patter as it emptied from one iron belly to another. She spoke, though more firmly this time in warning, "Be careful. It is hot." Brow knitting she turned her attention to her own and began the slow process of filling it, "You hear the dance, yet do not partake. I know that mindset well."

She was silent as she focused, the tired gaze fixed upon the rim. The coals however continued to burn and crackle with warmth filling the little box of a room with heat and making it generally pleasant. But even her drooping eyes did not lift to regard this Dasoma - least, not until her cup was filled to the rim and the kettle once more settled down. The remaining contents was left inside steaming and warm, but there was no rush to drink it. She gave a regard to the hand, a pause as she considered the intentions behind the shake itself - business, politeness, something in exchange for another? Or perhaps just a simple introduction to send them on their way. Lifting her hand, she took it to shake and gave the name that had become second nature to her over the past season, "Bitzer."

She took the cup up carefully, nestling it in her hands and feeling the warmth crawl in to the digits. Gently she blew across the top of it and its dark, rippling sheen and waited patiently for it to cool. But even then, the cogs of thoughts turned round - gently easing itself into life. Such social interactions were beyond her at present, lost in a void of worry and anticipation; it was not safe here, she knew that. Even with this human before her. Who knew who she belonged to?

Waving away the thought the mercenary continued her long unfocused stare and placed down the cup. Bare hands resting upon her knees Fallon asked a more direct question, "Does Sahova not disturb you? Perhaps disturbed is the wrong word. Confuse you?" The cup however did not stay still for long, once more the tips of her fingers traced over the rim and was lifted up towards her lips, "Cheers. Though, this is no ale." Her slurp did not last - it was still far too hot for her after all - and the embers of her mind gave a turn, "You could lie suggests you often make a frequent habit of it. To others or to yourself. Or both. One must be quick to remember them lest she would snag up in her own web."

[Zandelia]

“Cheers. I find ale is sometimes inappropriate at any rate. Bitzer…an unusual name but then there are so many around these days it’s hard to keep up,” she stated as she proceeded to cradle her own tea in a similar fashion, it was too cold here to question where warmth came from, “and you claim to know me well for a first meeting. You are a reader of people then?”

“And sometimes lies can be more revealing and interesting than the truth. Whether I lie frequently or not can only be decided by yourself, after all I could have lied about not lying,” she smiled over the cup, “I lie to myself all of the time – that I am beautiful, wealthy, resected. To you? No. We all cast our own webs with which to trip ourselves, the trick is to know when it is profitable” she finished.

And she claims to be neither a warrior nor a scholar yet is patently both. Then she forewarns me upon lies…delicious. Smart yet reserved, guarded perhaps. And the callouses on that hand were from a weapon too she mused.

She took in the scent of freshly brewed tea deeply, closing her eyes to savour the aroma all the sweeter. She could not remember the last time she had had such a beverage…Lhavit perhaps? Years at least it had been and the taste as she took her first sip was inexplicable. It was like giving a starving man freshly roasted beef. You never knew what you missed until it was gone, the saying was true in many ways. It helped that she had not had the occasion to eat or drink all too often in Sahova – she couldn’t.

“Do I stalk? I cannot recall. It strikes me as a lot of trouble to go to when walking achieves the same ends” she sighed over the rime of her metal cup, the light of the brazier reflecting orange across its surface, “watching and waiting though, everyone should develop that instinct. But then, I do not need to tell yourself that, you yourself have yet to join the dance either”

“A learned behaviour perhaps? Life has so many challenges to a traveller”

She was beginning to see the warrior in a different light, no the not warrior. She was clever and liked to use words for her own ends – that much was clear. Perhaps she held a philosophy of some kind, liked to analyse people or things. It mattered not, she was more enjoyable than the whole damned island they were on at that moment. She gave no hint of her purpose, profession of anything besides a name that sounded strange enough to be an assumed one. There was nothing new there, names were useful and feigned ones all the more so. Still…there was nothing to go on in terms of certainty.

“You are a puzzle then Bitzer, a not-warrior with weapon and a not-scholar with books. And reader of people. It is an art few master. I look forwards to dancing if you should choose. I warn you though, I tend to step on the toes of others – I am a terrible dancer”

The woman seemed unassuming and ordinary, almost contrived to be so. She was pretty but not classically beautiful, strong she would wager but not overly large. She had camping equipment in a city and that suggested frequent travel. Her gaze watched her bring the cup to her lips once again and noticed the marking upon the back of the hand. It was a curious symbol but she did not recognize it. An old gang mark perhaps.

“Sahova is an…interesting place,” she continued by way of conversation, “a city of the dead devoted to researching that which cannot help them as it seems they never leave the island. They say they do not teach, as if research is so different in its purpose – but the process of learning by way of experiment. They do little menial work, are arrogant and more inclined to ignore me. But powerful and useful for now. Why did you come here?”

“An interesting brand,” she pointed out as she took another sip of warmth and felt her insides thaw a little, “I have never seen anything of the like before I am sure. What does it symbolize?”

[Fallon]

"But what is learned and what is natural?" was her return. The dulled eyes sharpened, the flicker of colours brightening before dying down once more, almost as if the warm coals were prodded to give only a flash of a burning flame. Returning to her cup she spoke, "To stalk suggests some form of sneaking or stealth, to walk puts you in plain and obvious sight. And as you yourself admitted you do not partake in the dance..." She gave a shrug only in gesture, and left the rest of the sentence to be constructed by Dasoma herself.

There was silence as she took a slurp, slow, gentle the strong flavour resting upon her tongue. Bitter and far from sweet, dark instead of light. But strong and lasting upon her pallet. She gave a gentle regard to it, then spoke in a musing tone, "Once, I was told that tea reflects the nature of a person. On how it is made, on how it is served, even down to the lasting imprint of taste it leaves upon you for those few chimes afterwards. If you believe such thing."

"Puzzle, Puzzle..." she tested the word upon her tongue, "I like puzzles. They stretch the mind. Makes it think. React. Grow. Change from one shallow point and expand. Look beyond the obvious." She gave a wave of the hand in response, "You are a listener and a watcher. The observer in the crowd, the shadow behind the corner. But more than just that. To pray no insult, but the way you talk and analyse gives it away. You play a closed hand."

"I am here for the reasons of another. And my own. Treat it as a job if you wish, for that is the mindset I have steeled myself to," her back straightened, her eyes meeting almost in defiance and a challenge, "It allows one to be wary of their surroundings after all. To be wary of who they speak to. No?"

Pausing, Fallon gave the coals a firm prod with the tip of her kukri. Hissing they continued their burning - though over a much broader spread than before. Heat erupted out into the air, licking at the cold and circulating round. Warmth was needed it was necessary in such a cold room - more so when the door was open. If it was closed then she would have simply let it suffocate itself, fuel for it would have been preserved then. But, she had a guest - even if she was a stranger in all par name.

"This? It is far from a brand," she gave a point to the golden Lomar questioning almost in return, "Is a mark of wisdom, the Lomar, a symbol of the Goddess Eyris." It was a quick answer, direct and sharp. Eyes gave a blink, and the point retreated back to holding the cup steady. There was another sip, smaller on this occasion, before the cup was settled down upon the cold stone. Tired lips turned into a curl, amused in her own sense of curiosity and questions. The fatigued mind may have slowed her in response, yet it made her think things through. To carefully choose her words in this game of wit, a play of tongues and questions. Shifting her weight, the girl moved her hand up to her hair, brushing it back through her fingers. Her hands did not find pause, no single state of rest in doing something. Always doing - much like her mind. Reaching out she took up the thin strip of cord and pincered it between her fingers as she tried to tie it back. Focused she did not speak, her eyes staring at the coals in concentration. Strands came free, but for the most part the mane of blonde was tied back after a few long chimes.

"Just as Sahova is interesting it is dangerous. It is like a rose, pretty but carries many thorns," she rubbed her brow, her tied gaze now able to take the woman in without hindrance of her hair. Hands rested upon her knees, her eyes staring firmly ahead, though not exactly on anything, "The again, so does lots of places."

[Zandelia]

“You mean to say that you are sharp, have shadowed depths and have a tendency to be fluid?” she responded with a smile, “though I agree. The way one makes the tea and serves others reveals one’s nature as well. Personally I believe only certain minds were made for tea…with certain proclivities” she finished taking a sip of her own and delighting in the flavour.

Oh it was not the best tea she had had, but then Lhavit was a magical place devoted to art – and art was the all. Pouring tea was and art, hawking beads too and everything from politics to the common beggar. Tough she had to admit there were few enough of those and received short shrift. Whether it was wise or not she decided to impart this somewhat.

“In Lhavit they take is an art, the making and serving of tea. I was amazed at the care with which they took, the meticulous nature of it. At times one wonders what the world would be like if such dedication were transferred to everything…everywhere” she mused aloud.

She considered how best to approach the probing questions, the references to the dance again and the analytical mind attempting to work her out. The gaze of Bitzer was dulled most often but sparks flew at times. It was a dangerous intellect hose eyes acted in such a manner. Either she had practised the expression of mild interest or she was naturally so and took advantage of that fact. Zandelia could not blame her for it, it was a gift in some cases. Though it was not too difficult to see the other woman was polite but reserved.

Any interest is kept deep inside and whether boredom comes acted or otherwise I will still be asked to leave. And it is such a lovely fire. I do so like to meet people too she thought with mild sarcastic slant.

“I see that my approach has been misguided though, tea has brought me here but the conversation is far more interesting. Especially with those as know how to converse upon more than a scale of indistinguishable grunts,” she began her speech anew, “I will not pry this day upon what your job is, nor who your friend is. Suffice to say it intrigues me and my services are available should you wish to employ them. Perhaps I will even meet your friend, hmm? After all, if this place is so dangerous perhaps we should band together”

She finished her tea then and placed her own upon the stone in front of her crossed legs with a flourish. It had been truly delightful, a ray of sunshine in a darkened necropolis. She wished that she could partake every day but needs must and other plans were in motion. Fasting and meditating were perhaps upon the cards if she chose to take that path.

“As for my hand being closed, far from it I say my dear Bitzer! Closed implies a desire not to be seen but I leave who am just lying around for those intelligent enough to find it, and I think you are smart enough to have already formed a picture of who I am. I suppose, though, that who I am matters little…a shadow...in the crowd did you say?” she smiled at that, it was quite fitting at times, “True enough! What I lack is perhaps of more interest to the wise such as yourself – purpose. I would gladly accept the dangers of this cursed place if it meant finding a little shard of answer. It is all we can ever strive for”

“I am also looking for someone and there is a rich reward for telling me his whereabouts. If such a possible mercenary would care for such a thing” she stating in a teasing tone, she still had not made up her mind what the woman was. A wandering mage perhaps – the world was unkind to such people.

Though I’m beginning to get a good sense of who she is, and with her that is more important I sense the thought bubbled up from the depths of her mind, a slight flash of what was possibly wisdom.

“But perhaps you would not wish to hear my troubles, you’re as like to have enough of your own. Everyone does and I try to solve them where I can, so I would know how much of an annoyance it can be!” she toyed with the cup then for a few moments with a small chuckle, almost a giggle one could say.

Bitzer, if that was indeed her true name, wore wisdom like a cloak Zandelia was beginning to see it draped across her shoulders. For every ten words Zandelia spoke to her it seemed that only one was spoken back. She was perhaps not the brightest of waters but the deepest…perhaps. She thought about things, this much was clear. And in a clever enough way to suss out much of what Zandelia showed to the world, as well as the fact that it was a façade. She could only hope that she was interested in what lay beneath said veneer.

“Tell me of this…Eyris, does she cover only wisdom or intelligence also? They are quite different aren’t they? Similar at times but get to know them and they have their own...personalities” she looked Bitzer in the eye then. The inference should have been clear – two items and one of them wisdom, the other intelligence.

“But when does one begin and the other end? We could go around and around all of our lives and not answer the question…unless, of course, we define such things and what their interests represent ahead of the discussion”

“I would value you opinion on this matter Bitzer”

[Fallon]

Fallon's lips pursed into a line, before they curled into a drowsy smile. Amused, she released a snort and a quick retort, "Yes. I'm also very good at leaving stains upon things also when spilt." She did not interrupt further when she spoke of foreign places - even to her. The strange name and seeming air it produced only caused her to pause her sipping to listen carefully. Or at least until the conversation once more turned to her. She did not dwell long upon it, the last of the drops draining from her cup before once more she placed it down. Taking up the still warm kettle she began her pouring a new, "Top up?"

"They are not a friend. Just an associate," she corrected as she begun to fill up her own cup, "Though you probably would be able to meet them if you knew where to look." The kettle was lowered, the slow swish of the contents from within gently rolling within. Blowing across the surface she returned her depths to the liquid. It was darker this time, stronger and more pungent in flavouring - but that was the curse of leaving such things to brew and diffuse over a period of time. Sucking in the warm air it was only a matter of ticks before she let out a stiffening yawn.

The mind blinked into a state of lull, the words turning into a slur as the woman continued her talking - a redeeming of self? Or to try and lead her astray? Then again perhaps it was the honest truth. Sceptical the girl did not answer back and simply chose to wait. Dasoma would have to put down the cup eventually, and then the truth would promptly be revealed - as and when she bothered to look closely upon it of course. So much was revealed, yet also played out in a particular fashion. A steady rhythm and gain of information, words, snippets, subtle mannerisms of this seeker before her.

Yes, seeker. The actual and more accurate title was presently beyond her, but it was closing in fast; to take words and information, to store them and keep them. Scholar was far from the wrong word, it suggested there was some form of storage outside of her mortal form. No, this was a lot more precise. Both hungry and direct, sharp pointed and designed only to exploit. Least, that was the slow turning thoughts of Fallon. Taking a sip, the girl raised her gaze up to meet Dasoma's, a peer over the rim of the cup as she studied and watched the reactions.

"A mercenary, by definition, is a person who is primarily motivated by personal gain and who is hired to perform more... unclean things at the best of times," she stated dryly, her gaze refusing to move at first. Holding it she continued, "Money is their main motivator - most of the time. I bid you luck finding one who will take up your offer on this rock however. For it will take little more than just a single mercenary here." There was a second sip, shorter this time as she continued to mull over her words.

"Troubles are like coins," her finger tip traced the rim of the cup, her eyes staring into its depths, "You spend them, your exchange them, you gain and loose them. You trade them in and you get something else out, and of course vice versa. I cash mine out frequently however, so I am plenty empty of them. Sorry, you're out of business here." Pausing she mused over her words, her brow knitting into a fine line a she thought. Wisdom and intelligence - quick tongues, noises and sounds, designed to direct attention and split it. No, by revealing lots at once things could be put aside, lost and

"Wisdom, Knowledge, Learning and History are her domains," Fallon settled her cup down and laced her fingers together. She sensed the bubbling of a lesson forming in her mind, the turns of some philosophical discussion no doubt forming in the forefront of her mind, "Opinions, opinions... so fluid and forming, yet individual. Rippling like liquids. But, I will state mine as you requested. Though I don't think it is my opinion you seek." There was a long pause, her eyes glazing with thought and decision, designed to give as clear of explanation as possible.

"Wisdom is based upon experience and knowledge, along with having good judgement when needed," she began her hands parting to almost create a set of weighing scales. The right one sunk, "It is the clarity of thought designed to bring forth the best possible outcome with the lowest amount of sacrifice. To know that it is best to look back and check instead of blindly going forward." Her left hand sunk at that moment, almost as if signifying the placing of some mass upon it, "Intelligence however is being able to acquire the knowledge and skills in the first place. To be able to research and gather effectively from various sources." Fallon clasped her hands tightly together, "And whilst you can have intelligence without wisdom, you cannot always have it the other way round."

Hand sinking back to the cup she brought it up once more, mulling over the dark sheen in the light of the burning brazier. The sharpness of gaze softened, her shoulders slumping slightly as her own question flickered into life. It came honestly and naturally, calm and collected in tone.

"Tell me... when will you smile honestly?"

[Zandelia]

Zandelia listened intently, the words said weighed just as carefully as the motions of the hands Bitzer was making. It was an interesting perspective that the woman had and in and of itself gave a little bit more of the puzzle that was the other woman. She spoke like a tutor, dressed like a fighter and thought like a scholar. It was almost as if she sought balance of self by doing rather than by saying or thinking. Yet she did not sense anything that approach falsity in her voice, her mannerisms – persuading her that what she stated was the truth, as far as she viewed it. The question in return, blunt and hard as a hammer surprised her though.

Her smile was genuine this time, spreading across her lips slowly until the corners turned upwards and a small slit of enamel showed. She could not help it, after the long journeys, the leave takings, planning and shadow games it was nice to finally meet someone who would not necessarily accept her half-answers and feigned emotions. She laughed, almost a giggle some might say.

“And when will you tell me your real name?” she returned with just as bluntly, but in good humour, after a few moments, “yet you have defeated me and thus now know what my smile looks like Bitzer. I had hoped to only do so on a death bed, alas. Well played indeed” she passed her cup to the other woman then and watched it refilled under her care.

She reminds me of the past, the people of the Crimson Edge. Some of them at least. I doubt I will see them again, not after reading Neilles’ journal and the letters from Wrenmae…Shroud…whoever he is. All dead, all hunted down she thought, a sad look in her eyes for a few moments as she took the cup back and nursed it within her palms.

“You describe the two well, wisdom and intelligence. I doubt I could put it better, nor think about it as deeply. In answer to some of your previous unasked questions…that is what I am, intelligence. Or I try to be. I have not been afforded much wisdom in my life so I make do with the other”

She sipped her tea and tasted the increased bitterness and relished the darker, stronger flavour. It was likely the last cup available and so she took it in slowly and more carefully. She was not sure she would be welcome again to the brazier of this woman. Tea was difficult to acquire here for a Pulser, most things were, and so she would take it as she could.

“I would very much like to meet your…associate, if they are half as interesting as yourself I shall call myself lucky. Good conversation should be admired, never refused. Yet I note you fail to tell me their name, what they look like or even their gender. A test, perhaps?” she stated, the questions unasked but nevertheless there and her eye upon the other woman.

Not that it would need her answers. This place is a warren but much of it is well-travelled and certain bottlenecks exist for the patient observer she noted, wondering if it would be possible to create such an opportunity for stealth in Sahova.

“You speak of coinage but not as if you understand it’s movement. It circulates. How many of those coins once belonged to you but you would never even know it? One day cashing in may not be enough and that is why it is so difficult to solve one’s problems, no? They appear before you are even aware of them”

“You have been blunt with me, allow me to be equally blunt with you when I say that you are a pleasurable torment. My statement about the tea was true, though amusingly timed. I look forwards to trying to understand you”

“Did you come from Sunberth?” she asked, her own question as blunt as they came, “is it true that Robern is dead? Rumour travels fast and whisperings have been heard even in this fetid tomb” she finished.

If he was then perhaps it was finally safe to return…or safer in point of fact. It seemed an age since she had walked the streets of her birthplace and the yearning was difficult to keep out of her voice. She knew she had revealed her nature a little too candidly with Bitzer but in truth it mattered little. A traveller with tea was not something to fear – especially when she had given a false name. Perhaps Bitzer would answer, perhaps not. The woman was smart enough to know that ship timetables were easy knowledge to come by and therefore the timing was almost right for her to have come from Sunberth.

If not I shall return blind…if I must she affirmed, knowing all the while that it was counter to everything that she believed in.

It had been too long.

[Fallon]

Fallon's lips broke into a curl, her eyes staring intently at Dasoma's. Even in her foggy mind she could still manage to lure out snippets, though the uncanny bluntness of their reveal was perhaps a bit much. Her head only tilted to one side, the stare turning glazed and thoughtful. And all the while the cup was gently lifted and sipped from. There was only a quick retort, no beat lost within it, in response when the woman questioned her name, "When you tell me yours."

She did not interrupt as the woman entered her state of musing, the slowing of her sipping, the reduced rush and the distinct gentle movement of saving the liquid - almost as if it was about to be ripped from her at any second. But even the eyes of the mercenary remained unfocused. Only on occasion did the lids produce a blink, her head tilting to one side as the woman described not only herself but her present thoughts and wishes. Her brow lifted slightly and the attention once more falling onto a specific point.

"Depends on your definition of interesting. It can be different for each individual... But, I shall take it as a well meaning compliment," there was a yawn, followed by the pinching of her brow. She was tired, she knew that and because of it she took everything at a slower pace than usual. No use saying something and tripping up over it later. It was for the best to be guarded in Sahova, it was not safe here. "I test everyone who I deem worthy of my time," she placed the cup down gently, "And everyone receives a different way of being tested. I take my hand and play it as I can. The Scholar, the cunning, the brute, the quick tongued or the jovial, and so on. Many faces but the same purpose of direction."

The girl waved the words away, much like the trail of hot steam that was licking at the air and promptly continued.

"If I did not know how much coinage I had or where it existed, it would make me a very poor individual," she gave a pause, "That is, if I was the sort to even consider cashing them in to begin with." Promptly she moved onto the next piece, "I did come from Sunberth. It is true, Robern is dead. Passed in the Summer if word is correct. And now, some gang is going round, think they were calling themselves the Scars, with their target sharp on the Daggerhand," she gave a nonchalant shrug, "Took out one of the generals and strung the bugger up with his eyes in his mouth. Nothing nice to look at. Unless of course you are into such gruesome viewings." She took a sip from her tea, a long relaxed sigh escaping as the warmth clawed its way down her throat, "There is plenty going on there. A revolution almost from the old and into strange times, though, I do not understand half of it myself. Let the gangs keep their ways to themselves."

"Fetid is too much of a compliment for this place," Fallon hummed, "Sahova is the waking nightmare, the horror beneath your bed waiting and watching for the right moment. For you to drift off, to reach up and... you understand. I need not say more." Taking the kukri she gave the dying coals a prod with the tip, her lips pursing together to form a line as she did. They gave an angry spit, the white ash being turned and the black shards crackling in the heat only to begin smouldering. Withdrawing she took her sleeve, a slow, practiced movement and smeared the flecks from its edge, "Sunberth is no better. It stands upon the calm before the storm, that moment that many miss before the lightning strikes and the thunder roars. Soon. Soon there will be conflict like no other, and the Hound of the Scars will lead one side," her hands made a scale shape, "And the Daggers will lead the other."

There was a mighty clap as they came together, her sight cold and sharp upon Dasoma. Long gone was the look of the scholar, instead the steel of battle and conflict filled the swirling gaze. The Kukri was placed down firmly before her, the sharp edge pointing towards the woman, and her chin lifting almost in challenge. She had found someone interesting after all, now it was to see if they were worthy of the time of the Scars and just how far they would go.