Arms. Like. Noodles!

[Shadar]

((Closed. All bunnying will be discussed and okayed by both parties. Abuse of this will result in me sleeping on the couch.))

The Citadel had never seemed so imposing, Brigitte though nervously as she leaned back to look at the vaulted ceiling of the building's massive antechamber. Sunlight lanced down from the numerous skylights, forming bars of visible dust motes that had no opportunity to settle in the crowd below.

With an audible creak of her neck, she brought her gaze back to the disjointed clusters of warriors. Three pike-men glanced at her lecherously from the nearby wall, attracted to the long crimson hair that her ogling had set free from her travelling cloak. Her emerald eyes, just as strikingly beautiful, had the opposite affect as she glared them into a state of awkward shuffling. Fortunately, all other eyes were drawn to the brawny, armored giant in the middle of the room. His massive, all-encompassing suit of gold filigree and polished steel was difficult to look directly at, and his entourage was no easier on the eyes. One of them was a bumpkin squire, perpetually hunched in preparation to polish dust from the hero's boots. The other seven were vixens, radiantly dressed and made up, but glancing around with the territorial fury of wild cats. “This is our hunky treat,” they seemed to say, “Get your own.”

“I have my own,” Brigitte mouthed silently to herself, then blushed and looked at her feet sheepishly. Her hair fell over her face, and she shook her head in a forceful, practised motion to right it. “You won't come in?” she asked aloud to the man at her side.

Shadar ran a gloved hand through his silver hair, pity flitting behind his eyes. “You've got to get used to them, somehow,” he said with a shrug that set his long coat swaying. “It's been months, and they're still...”

He didn't continue, but Brigitte knew what he meant. Her arms hung with a slackness that made them look paralysed. How did people do it? Throwing things, catching things, gesturing like hurricanes when they talked. She had to consciously remind herself that the arms were there before she could so much as wave. For the umpteenth time, she regretted giving up her wings. A wave of shame also hit her for the umpteenth time. The wings weren't exactly gone, though they weren't in sight, and Shadar had worked so hard to make her the lovely arms. Diamond Jackal, her original creator, had always called her ungrateful.

“I've heard how parents teach their kids to swim,” Shadar continued as he warily eyed Mr. Brawny and his gossiping brood, “They just throw them in. The kids have to learn quick.”

Brigitte gasped, “What if they drown?”

Shadar raised an eyebrow. “I never considered it. I wonder if the parents considered it. How many kids are we missing today because-”

“That's him,” a gravely voice suddenly echoed around the antechamber. Brigitte looked up to see a group of Ai'Brone monks, their robes flapping as they strode quickly out of the main hall.

Shadar sighed, more resigned than surprised. “They've got good memories.”

“Are you sure?” asked one of the younger monks.

“Yes. He's even wearing the same clothes,” said the first.

Shadar spread his arms, looked down at himself, and chuckled ruefully.

Confused but ready, Brigitte widened her stance. The fighting was intended for the arenas, but it seemed to be conveniently coming to them. She had no qualms. A bag pressed into her palm stopped her, though, as Shadar pushed together the fingers that should have closed reflexively. “Go get yourself something at the Bazaar to protect your arms.” She tried to protest, but he shushed her. “Jackal's old business. Guess I need to answer for it.”

The gold seemed heavy. She wrapped both hands around it as she took a tentative step to the stairs. The monks had gotten themselves hung up on the entourage that spontaneously decided to enter the hall, some of them disappearing entirely behind the gloriously pompous knight. “If I'm occupied when you get back,” Shadar added as he waved her away, “Go ahead without me.”

Brigitte walked with her eyes more over her shoulder than ahead. She saw him submit as trained, dangerous hands seized his arms. He even kept that tilt of his head that she knew implied a smirk, and she could barely hear him saying, “It's been a while, guys. Years, even. Too long.”

~ ~ ~

Brigitte couldn't read. That was normally easier to forget than her newly-formed arms. But, wandering the Bazaar alone, she was distinctly aware of how it blinded her. After what seemed half an hour among the bustling (mostly literate) masses, she finally came to a window display that spoke her language. Arrayed from left to right was a whole spectrum of mannequins in every conventional attire; nearly-noble dresses and suits, on through loose leisure wear, then to fitted and protective adventurer gear. The leather bracers on one blank-faced model looked very promising.

With a second of forethought, Brigitte lifted her hand to the well-worn door handle and let herself in.

[RumpleGrumblePuss]

The mid-summer sun beat down, warming me past my tolerance for heat. I slid the hood back, slipping my robe off and shook out my long white hair, hoping to cool my skin even just a bit. What is it about summer that makes people come out en mass? I wondered as I stepped around a group of raucous young men. Over heating and parched, the press of people as they hurried about on their errands was quickly becoming overwhelming. Ducking into the entryway of the nearest shop door, I sighed at the cool caress of the shadows in the small alcove. It was a welcome relief.

“Come, look around. We cater to both human and non human clients.” A quiet voice murmured just behind me. Biting my tongue to stifle a yelp of surprise, I whipped about to look at the owner of the voice. For a long moment, I stared at the petite man. He was dressed in elaborate clothing of muted color that fit well with his dusky skin.

“I...I'm not shopping today. I was just...” The man cut me off, waving a heavily ringed hand about to dismiss my protests.

“Come, you never know what you want until you see it.”

Sighing, I allowed the man to herd me into the shop. I glanced over my shoulder, looking back out at the crowded street just as the door closed. I have the feeling my purse is in danger of getting much lighter before today is done. Inside, the shop was cool, playful currents of air teased the hem of my pants. Curious, I glanced around the shop, cream colored walls were half hidden by numerous dark wood shelves filled with more items then it could possibly look through in a single day. Under the thin soles of my shoes, I could feel the lines and grooves of intricately cobalt tiled floor. My gaze was caught on the enchanting sight of brightly glowing glass orbs. I noticed that they were hung by silk strands, rather than floating as I had first thought.

~

Three hours later, I found myself staring at my reflection in the fitting room, annoyed at myself for getting talked into the outfit I currently wore. It was lovely, if a bit on the severe side; a white vlince coat with black cuffs and collar, and panels that split into quarters from hip to knee. The black pants, though, were where my irritation lay.

“Caters to inhuman clients indeed...” I grumbled as I redressed in my own clothing. Thankful to be free of the pant leg, my tail draped itself up over its customary shoulder, the tip flicking idly every so often. Coat and pants in hand, I hurried out into the well lit shop to find its owner.

“Your tailor forgot that I have a tail. I'm not buying these until I can actually wear it with out having to stuff my tail down a pant leg. It's very uncomfortable, especially when the damned thing has a mind of its own most of the time.” I looked up from the mini rant at the owner as I realized that I wasn't the only customer in the shop anymore. Sheepishly, I smiled at the woman with brilliant red hair standing under a cluster of the enchanted, illuminating glass globes. I was embarrassed to be seen with anything other than good manners.

“New tail... still getting used to it.” The tip of the tail flickered up as if giving a tiny, lazy wave. I rolled my eyes, mostly convinced that Perth had given it its own brain. As if I had just commented on the weather, the woman stared at me blankly.

“New arms. Same,” the woman said quietly as she shrugged. I nodded automatically. A moment later, my brain caught up with the improbable sentence.

“What?”

[Shadar]

Dammit, I said something wrong, Brigitte silently scolded. She forced herself to look away from the pale woman's wide eyes, though she spared a glance for the luxuriously plumed tail. It really was lovely. Unable to form a sentence that wasn't “Can I pet it?”, Brigitte looked around the shop. To the left was a sea of mutely-colored jackets and riding dresses. At center was what appeared to be peasant clothing, but it was so precisely tailored and embroidered that it was more a mockery of the low class rabble she had waded through outside. To the right was the practical gear: travelling cloaks, belt pouches, light protective leather. Not a bright color among these, either. Brigitte blinked to reassure herself that it was a fashion trend instead of a sudden vision deficiency, though it could just as well have been the fault of the hovering lights.

Going on tip-toes to get closer, she noticed that they were suspended on barely visible wire. If she had remembered her arms, she might have poked at them... and lost all Shadar's money paying damages. A part of her did want to break a few, though. The placid shine from them made her feel drowsy and irritable.

The woman with the beautiful tail had apparently lost interest in her, so Brigitte took the opportunity to shift toward the right wall and put some clothing racks between herself and the people at the counter. “If you can't fix it yourself,” she heard as she glimpsed a flashing, angry gesture, “Just give me the scissors and some ribbon. I'll do it myself.” Brigitte found herself appreciating the woman despite the bewildered glare that had hit her earlier. Between the shoulders of two mannequins clad for exploring, she saw the back door of the shop creak open. A high-browed man of middle age stuck his head out, nose in the air and pins sticking from his clamped lips. The tailor, she assumed. His expression was so scandalized he might forget and swallow them to disastrous affect. Brigitte shouldered flaps of clothing out of her way as she stumbled, giggles straining to explode. Her target was the shelf stacked with leather pieces, but a memory suddenly screamed at her from the front of the store.

On a peg display just to the side of the counter, were their eyes stared with the predatory allure of impulse buys, were a collection of animal-themed masks. Silver-feathered birds, pigs with crumpled snouts, demure felines- and canines. “Jackal,” she hissed without thinking. The ears were too pointed to be reminiscent of a dog, the expression too flat and benign to be the face of her creator. But, it was purple. Of all the colors in the canine set, the mask in the very front was the only purple one.

With a creaking of polished wood, the cone-like snout gaped open, baring two rows of polished guillotines. She hadn't commanded her arm to reach for it, but the mask was now in her hand as if by its own accord. It smiled with Jackal's dark promise: As much as he enjoyed creating, he enjoyed destruction even more.

Brigitte's grip either failed or she tried to throw it down. She didn't know which. Strangely, there was no crack upon the tiles, no splintering of thinly-painted wood. Expecting the mask to be floating like a specter, she looked down in spite of herself.

It was indeed hovering, but not by the will of her maker. White fluff encircled an ear and protruded from one eye. With a shiver, she found herself coming back to reality. The mask was as benign as any other accessory. “Thank y-” she began as she looked up, but the woman seemed too surprised to hear. Her hands were outstretched as if she had intended to catch the mask with them. The tail, unbidden, had beaten her too it.

Gingerly, Brigitte extract the mask from the appendage's strong grip, reassured herself of its frail construction and completely nonthreatening nature, then placed it solidly back on the peg. “You're better with your new part than me,” she remarked timidly as she willed her arms to relax after so much activity. “I was just going to the Citadel to, you know, practice. You have to jump in to learn to swim.” It was still a disturbing theory. Did parents really...?

She abruptly realized she was rambling and glanced at the woman's face, ready to accept the embarrassment of another bewildered stare.

[RumpleGrumblePuss]

Though partly distracted by the tailor's outraged and horrified expression as he tore the pants from my grasp, I kept a eye on the fire haired woman as she slowly edged a few feet away. Torn between the peculiar reaction of the woman and the amusing tizzy the tailor was working himself into as he stalked away muttering about 'scissors shouldn't belong to just anyone,' I found it hard to not smile.

“... jackal.” I heard the woman say quietly. A brow arched of it's own accord when I looked over to see the purple dog mask in her hands. The mask slipped from her hands, jerkily I reached out, certain that I would miss and the mask would clatter to the floor. My hands closed on empty air. Inches away in the fuzzy grasp of my tail was the mask. How did I, it catch the mask? I wondered combing my fingers through the soft fur to smooth it. Wandering back towards the dressing room, I paid little attention to the woman as she drifted through the store, the owner hovering over her shoulder and offering suggestions.

It was a guilty pleasure when I finally got the altered clothing and just nodded to the tailor. The effort to not laugh at the man's crestfallen expression made my sides ache. I wondered if he had been expecting me to hail him as a genius of cloth and thread. At the counter, the owner was sweeping the woman's gold into a pouch, I leaned to the side a bit and looked at what she had bought. A pair of unadorned bracers lay on the counter. An adventurer? Not likely from the looks of her, wrong stance and attitude for someone who travels around looking for excitement or trouble. Maybe it's a gift for someone.

Without grabbing the bracers, the woman turned, looking at me.

“Could you help me... put then on?” Bewildered, I nodded at the unlikely request.

~

New clothes paid for and carefully put away in my pack, I braved the streets with the fire haired woman. As we walked silently, I watched her from the corner of my eye. She seemed even more uneasy with the surrounding people than I was. My curiosity was killing me, I really wanted to ask her every little question that flew through my mind. What I really wanted to question was her comment on 'new arms'. Though I hadn't exactly hung around long enough to ask the insane old man that created my body, I wondered if others had often changed their physical bodies too.

Distracted with my thoughts, we reached the Citadel quickly. Raised voices caught my attention and pulled me away from my thoughts. Off to the side, two of the Ai'brone monks held the arms of a silver haired man. Another monk dressed in robes that were a little more elaborate (the head monk I guessed) was talking loudly, almost yelling at the man.

“I didn't know the Ai'brone could even get angry.” I muttered to my temporary companion. Though I couldn't quite make out what the man was saying to the head monk, his frustration and exasperation was clear as a bell on his face. At the mouth of a hall another of the Ai'brone beckoned to us.

“I guess we're not supposed to watch the floor show.” The woman took a step towards the irate monks and man, stopped and hovered for a moment before turning towards the monk waiting on us. As she passed me I heard her muttering about someone still causing them trouble. I felt a brow inch it's way up towards my brow line. Curiosity strummed through me, plucking nerves until I fairly hummed with the effort it took to not ask questions. She knows the guy in trouble with the monks?

“I haven't introduced myself yet, I'm Kahlina. I wonder what sort of arena we'll be given? It's always different for everyone...” I caught up with the woman and the monk as he opened a door. I groaned when I looked in at the dark, rain soaked street.
“I really, really don't like rain.” I grumbled, walking trough the door.

[Shadar]

Back at the shop, while the woman was helping lace her bracers of arctic leather tight, she had offered to be Brigitte's sparing partner. A nod was all she had been able to get out, and the walk back had been silent as the crypt. At any moment, she expected another confused stare to drive the poor woman's white eyebrows right off her face and send her running.

Somehow, they made the whole trip without her committing another inexplicable breach of etiquette, and found the antechamber crowd glued to the Shadar's exchange with the monks. Browbeating was more like it. Again, Brigitte itched to knock their heads around, but Shadar saw her and discretely waved her away. She headed for the hall obediently and a bit annoyed, cursing Jackal quietly.

Bits of conversation drifted to her before she moved out of earshot.

“I'm sure people blaspheme against your gods all the time.”

“You assaulted two of our gods!”

“Okay, fine. Sorry. I was a bit crazy at the time. Had a demon in my head.”

“That's the third time today I've heard that excuse.”

The monk that led them down the hall retained the usual Ai'Brone calm, though his eyes strained like caged animals to watch the drama. Brigitte intercepted his line of sight with a very dark glare, to which he coughed, faced forward, and gestured silently to the door they approached.

At Kahlina's introduction, she forgot about Shadar. Twenty minutes into their time together, and they were just getting around to names. Brigitte colored visibly. If it weren't for her stone cold silence, they might have had a nice conversation on their walk back, like normal people. Now, she was about to spar with a woman about whom she only had a name and a glimmer of attitude. “I'm-” she began when Kahlina stepped across the threshold into the steady drum of rain. Instantly, her snowy hair was plaster to her skull and her tail lost nearly all of its volume.

Suddenly, the rain stopped. Not entirely, but in the area that Kahlina occupied. Brigitte stood next to her, smiling companionably, as an ethereal wing stretched from her back. It phased through her cloak as if an illusion, but it was solid. The rain pinking off of the dense feathers highlighted every contour of the limb that would normally have been nothing but a distortion in the air. As her own hair became sodden, she summoned the other wing and bent it over her own head.

“Brigitte. Nice to meet you,” she said without the dread of committing another faux pas. If she received yet another bewildered look, she could just step away and let Kahlina's shower resume. Weight down those eyebrows, she thought to herself, realized she had almost said it out loud, and giggled sneakily.