Roll of the Dice, Turn of the Wheel

[Ramirez]

The setting twilight sun painted a tranquil fresco across the Scara Braen sky. Long gossamer strings of clouds stretched over the horizon, passing languidly through the warm orange light, that was slowly turning into a cool lavender. A flock of seagulls went shrieking through the air, and the memories that their cries brought...Ramirez DePietro could not say if they were pleasant or not. The Dajas Pagoda reached up and seemed to touch the sky across the street, its silhouette dark and nearly featureless before the light of the setting sun. Its shadow fell over him. The one eyed man who had once proudly, and loudly, proclaimed his profession as a pirate, watched the night coming from his spot on the curb of the cobbled street, a labelless bottle of golden rum sat between his legs.

Ramirez sighed and lifted the bottle to his lips. He had no crew. He had no ship. He had one eye.

The former pirate, now a drunk and a bad gambler, should have at least felt some lifting of his spirits; he was in good health, after all. And why wouldn't he be? He'd drunk of the cold, sweet waters of the Fountain of Youth. What was more; he had both his arms and legs. He should count himself lucky, after he'd seen so many men and women, war veterans, civilians, prisoners - hundreds of other sorts, really - limbless from gangrene, war wounds, sickness. As though to pound the point home, Ramirez raised his two hands to his blue, which had once shined like crystal, with roguish good cheer, and flexed his fingers.

He froze a bit at the sound of laughing children. Back in Radasanth, they'd taken to throwing things at him when he'd dipped far enough into the bottle to start stumbling. Nothing worth trying to take to the bazaar and sell off. Just buttons, copper pieces, rocks...the list went on. He waited for the first nuisance to start pelting him, his brows knitted over his good and one scarred eye. It had been out in the open since he'd lost his eyepatch in a game of poker. He could remember that he'd waved his dagger in the laughing man's eye, the one that had won it, but the number of empty glasses in front of the pirate showed why it had been so easy to toss him out of the tavern.

At least a dozen little feet pounded down the sidewalk behind him, and the sharp point of that dagger came sliding down out of the sleeve of his dirty blue coat, to shine in the fading, reddening sunlight. He wouldn't cut any of them; he wasn't that stupid. The City Guard would hunt him down and have a rope around his neck before the sun could set twice more. He'd just...well, as the English would have put it, he would simply put the fear of God into them.

But the stomping feet went right on past, and Ramirez let out the breath he'd been holding. With a quick flick of his wrist, the dagger went back into his coat sleeve.

"Hi mister!" The former pirate jumped a bit, clearly startled by the child that had seemed to just...materialize beside him. The boy was perhaps nine, maybe eight, and had hair the shade of a peeled carrot. Freckles were splashed across his cheeks, heavy on the bridge of his nose, where a pair of smudged glasses rested on his face. The striped shirt he wore was about two sizes too big, and his tan colored shorts weren't long enough to cover the scabs on his knees. "What're you doing?"

"Sitting," Ramirez replied plainly, and looked away from the boy. He wasn't hurling rocks, and he wasn't doing any particular harm standing there, so the former pirate let him be. "Resting for a bit. I've been walking for what feels like eighty years. I sat down to look at the Pagoda." The little boy screwed his face up in something that looked like confusion. It could have easily doubled as curiosity.

"Why?" Ramirez blinked, looked at the child, and then back towards the tower of the famed warriors.

"Well...um, it reminds me of better times, I suppose." He took another slug of the rum, and then scratched at his black stubbled chin. "There was a tournament, some years back. Called the Magus Cup, involving that tower. I didn't win it...but I was glorious. Well, if I do say so myself, and I do say so myself. But everything's gone to pot, now." The boy opened his mouth to ask another question, but Ramirez stood up off the curb with a grunt, and patted him on the head.

"Rather not talk about it, child. Run along, run along." The child stood there though, in the setting sun of the isle Scara Brae, watching what was, in reality, an old man, stumbling off to the closet bar. Stumbling off, to play a little bit of the cards, and get enough drinks from the pretty girls so that whether his night ended up in a bed, or on the country ground, he'd sleep in black numbness.

((Closed to Reva.))

[Reva]

Brown eyes looked out at the people milling about, a face bare to the sun turned upward, to look at the walls of the city. She tried to judge by the shape of the buildings, how much time had passed. How much time had passed since she last felt the wind move like fingers through her hair for more than a few moments? How long had it been since she took the time to relish the light of the sun warming her skin for more than?

Moving with the flow of people that moved in the streets of Scara Brae, her eyes scanned the city. She was in no particular rush, looking for no particular thing or person; simply watching where she was going for the moment. But she was taking it all in; the colors, the sounds, the feel of the earth beneath her booted feet. She wanted to remember it all in case she was called back, to have new material for new dreams. She remembered what Michael had said. This was not the home she knew, but perhaps it could be something close to it. A new home, or at least something new to do, rather than sleeping away time like a cat in the sunshine.

"Go, entertain yourself, is what he had said, after seeing her dressed and supplied. While she had walked the same path her companion before her had done, he was no where to be seen, and even the scent of cloves faded as the sight of the city came into view. On the city walk way, Reva weaved through the streets with care not to touch a passing body, a task easily done with the small circle of space that had been given around the woman and the towering glaive she held against her shoulder with her hand as she walked. The shaft was of smooth, polished wood that felt soft to her touch, as though it had been made for her touch, like she had held it for years. The blade higher in the air was covered in cloth like her cloak, to give a less aggressive look, and to hinder any careless accidents as the woman navigated like a ship nearing rocky shores.

For hours, she wandered the city, and eventually, there came a longing to the woman, like a pain that bubbled and roiled, a gnawing sensation at the outer edges of her awareness. The sensations went unnoticed by the woman, taken in with amusement at the simplicity of the surroundings before her, until there came the odd scent that made her nose crinkle. It niggled at the brain, the vague familiarity, and the murmur of conversation, broken here and there. Three things hit her at once as her head turned towards the building door she had started to pass. The scent was of alcohol, she was next to a bar, and she was, of all things...hungry.

Light splashed as the door opened, into the darkly lit building. For a moment she stood in the doorway, dark eyes looking over the main room before, with a mental shrug, the woman entered and raised the shaft of her weapon up so that the bladed end above her head dropped in time not to bump the top of the door in her passing, and made her way to a table being cleared off in the corner.

Letting the towering instrument rest in the wooden corner, Reva took the chair to the cleanest table, watching the server stack the dishes. The woman had asked about food first, ordering something like a soup before it came down to the drink. It was perhaps a curious conversation, the strongest alcohol clear in color and the sweetest of fruits.

With the orders in, the woman gave hardly a glance to the room as she removed her cloak and let it hang off the back of her chair. The fabric, which was the color of dirt, left her as appealing as a sack of potatoes, obscuring the woman in a shapeless mass; however that clearly was not the case. The leather of her pants showed clearly the curve and swell of her thighs and rear. Against the flame red of her shirt , the black swath of leather plainly displayed the narrowing of her waist and lead to the deep V of golden flesh of her chest. None of that was important to her however. It simply was the image of the body she had once held, a shell that allowed her to interact with the world around her. The visage of outer appearances had lost it worth to the woman, the deception they could hold were as numerous as there were stars in the skies above.

From her pack at the side of her chair, Reva's hand fished within the contents, a bound silk square was touched upon then passed over for a smaller balk.

The woman who had hardly been glanced at before pulled out a deck of cards, and broke the seal. She paid no mind to the eyes that now rested upon her. Instead, she shifted through the cards, removing two before she began to shuffle, a clear thought within her mind. Which way was next? Four cards were laid down in succession, North, South, East, and West. Beside them the deck was placed and hands rose, lifting heavy black strands to find the knot of leather cord at the base of her neck that held the bear tooth upon her neck, flanked by red.

There was a chuckle as a pair made their way over to the woman's table. They looked at the cards and the woman and elbowed each other with lop sided grins. The smell was upon her before the men, and the rumble in her stomach had had little to do with hunger.

"Look at the little lady wit the big stick, Clem. Pretty thing, too. You would think a pretty little lady would invite some of us over, finest of sera...scara...Scara Brae, to come and play with her a bit!" There was a bit of laughter from the first as he nudged his friend, and the other started to laugh as well. It was hardly likely "play", had anything to do with cards.

"Well if she's looking for the finest, I'm pretty sure she's looking in the wrong place. Don't you both agree?" The newest voice wass a great deal clearer, and made the drunken pair give pause. The new voice belonged to a man, who, if anything, should have been in uniform - he just had that look. The other two bade their goodbyes, and stumbled back to the bar. He wasted a smile on the woman who regarded him silently. Something in her face made it appear as if she was laughing at him.

"I think I went ahead and put my foot in my mouth, didn't I? I beg your pardon ma'am...may I make it up to you?"

The woman was quiet again, as the server returned with her tray. "What's the best way to get to know people?"

The words had been spoken softly...but somehow a group had been gathered at the table while the woman had quickly broke apart the pork meat ball, and ate it with the soup it was served in. By the time the table was filled and the cards dealt, there was but her her drink, with it's berries swimming in the clear alcohol. The cards were dealt, and in this game, only a 'friendly' bit of coin was going to be offered up - but that was a start.