Ruby
08-27-11, 11:23 AM
Once Bitten, Twice Shy (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tl74eBlXmKA)
Closed to Inkfinger.
Takes place during the Serenti Tournament.
2532
Ruby was a woman that never forgot.
Though there were plenty of gin soaked times that she had difficulty remembering, the things that mattered stuck in her skull. She had a penchant for recalling dates and events down to the exact minute of their occurrence. Whilst she often found herself struggling to remember where she had left her reading glasses the night before, she could somehow recall that three years ago on a Tuesday morning, she had said sausage and egg to Duffy whilst holding a blue teapot.
The world was a confusing place sometimes.
She also remembered two years ago when Lucian had exiled her from Scara Brae. The occurrence itself was not the most memorable part of her wild adventure in Salvar. The crenulations and the fine details were of little importance in the red head’s ageing mind. What was important was who she had met there.
Men came and went out of her life, as quickly as the sun rose and set over the clay tiled rooftops of her home. Unlike the sun however, these men did not rise again the next morning. In her youth they had risen, but many hours before she had. Her heart had grown resilient to waking up alone next to ruffled sheets and discarded dreams for it to affect her now.
Cael had been different.
Naturally, Ruby Winchester knew she was married to the man of her dreams. Leopold was everything she could want in a man, and indeed, much more. Arriving in a cold and arid landscape, bright eyed and bushy tailed but oblivious to the world beyond her doorstep had a transformative effect on her. The strange and aloof ink mage had shown her kindness when others would have simply cast her aside or taken advantage of her.
Perhaps, and this was just a cautious assumption on her part, if she had not been married and in love they could have been something. Ruby wrinkled her forehead in deep thought and lifted the cut glass tumbler to her lips. It’s cold and refreshing rim touched her skin and as the iced gin and lime slice cooled the back of her parched throat, she felt the same warmth in her chest she had back then.
They had fought together, side by side. Though she had little choice but to help him in his political endeavours, her fondness for the thrill of anarchy had encapsulated him as much as his smile had her. In the flames of war, in the iron ruins of trains and the rubble of toppled mountains, Cael had been given a special place in Ruby’s heart.
Then he too left before the sun’s halcyon kiss.
Of course, it was Ruby that had to leave. But a woman never blamed herself for a relationship breaking up. It wasn’t the proper thing for a lady to do. Though she cried herself to sleep for many nights upon her return to Scara Brae she seldom showed her anguish in public. She most certainly never confided in anyone about her clandestine thoughts on committing adultery.
“That stupid bitch,” she grumbled. Her glass returned to the table with more force than she intended. The rickety wood rocked slightly on uneven legs.
Skyler was her name, and even now Ruby cursed even the slightest thought of her.
Though his sandy hair and goofy stance detracted from an inner strength and resilience, he had clearly been besotted with this woman. Skylar was besotted with him with equal conviction. Ruby was educated and observant enough to see his heart beat through his chest, even as they had set explosives and taken many lives in the name of governmental ideas and freedoms Ruby had never been without.
“All the good men are taken,” she picked up the glass again and watched the frosted base turn a faint red as it reflected the colour of her hair. “Or prefer to take other good men,” she downed the rest of her drink and rasped as the intoxicating almond liquor made its mark. The glass came down heavier still despite being relieved of its contents.
When Ruby had overheard Duffy talking about a new tournament she had been uninterested. When Arden Janelle had informed her of the roster for the registration of combatants, she had suddenly started to care. She had almost gotten over her infatuation, buried it beneath dead weight and jetsam until it was too deep beneath the waves of her memories to notice. He had said the full name so casually, and it had taken her several days to realise where she had heard it before.
She had left for Radasanth the very next morning by schooner. Its white sails declared her momentary amnesty with the world, a new desire and need replacing all the troubles in her heart with a scream for fulfilment.
Ruby had been too scared back then, too naive to admit her feelings for him. Her resolution to take part was testament to her readiness to confront her past... He would not expect her to appear, and that element of surprise could be a powerful weapon in a woman as endowed as Ruby’s hands.
He would not expect her to appear because she had not registered.
This meeting cost all that remained of her dowry to arrange, but it was a cost well worth it in Ruby’s mind.
To be free of one’s past did not have a monetary worth, even if the cost was deception and lies.
Fighting was not her style. She refused to get her hands dirty to drill her point home. She would not exercise her daemons with a cut of her sword or a note misplaced in a song to crush bone and shatter memories. Ruby would fight her inner conflicts the only way she knew how, and in a way that she could be sure to hurt Cael for every day of anguish he had caused her.
A drinking contest was the natural solution.
The monks of the Citadel had been more than accommodating to her list of demands. Too often they crafted arenas of carnal ruin in their sandy domes, so the change of pace and temperament seemed almost tantalising to the robed and hooded figures. Ruby did not ask how the monks knew about the inside of the Peaceful Promenade inn, but she set herself the challenge of one day finding out.
They had done a remarkable job of recreating Underwood’s premier drinking establishment. Every nook, nick and cranny had been perfectly conjured from the ether that ran beneath the Citadel and powered its profitable enterprise. Ruby had to pinch her cheek to make sure she wasn’t dreaming it was so convincing.
Everything was in place for her quasi-revenge. Surrounded by bearded ladies, golden threaded business men and dishevelled looking town watchmen Ruby waited. The tendrils of tobacco smoke mingled with the melange of bad air in the rafters over head from the blazing fireplace behind her. The cool evening air danced across the splintered floorboards and chilled her slippered ankles.
On the small round table before her were several crucial components for her challenge. At the centre stood a large decanter, able to hold an impressive three litres of spirits. Too heavy to lift due to the thickness of the crystal and the contents it had a small silver tap at its base. Surrounding it rested four small shot glasses. Each could hold thirty millilitres, which was the standard Scara Brae tavern measure, slightly larger than the less worthy Corone counterpart.
Her own glass, a tall beaker, was for her warm up rounds. It still had mint leaves in the base, well sodden with several neat gins and one tall iced tonic. Her nerves were steeled against the coming confrontation, bolstering her confidence and the edge of her sharp and lashing tongue. A few moments of silent contemplation later and Ruby set the beaker to one side so that the table was clear for their shots. A bar tender swept in to clear it away almost instantly. Service it appeared was eternally efficient in the Citadel.
“They got the décor right, but not the staff,” she chuckled, a warm swell spinning in her stomach. She had eaten toasted rye pasta with pesto before departing the hotel for the first round of the tournament, yet the walk had eased it off and she felt slightly light headed.
If this had been the real Peaceful Promenade the glass would have remained on the table till the early hours. She caught the disrespectful glares from some of the more upstanding patrons and smiled coyly back. They were judging her for drinking so much so early in the false evening’s light.
“I couldn’t stand to see him whilst I was sober,” she mused, eyes fixated on the doorways which lead out into the cool evening air. She could pick out the autumnal leaves of the distant tree line that kept beast and man apart.
“I don’t want to remember his name in the morning.”
This once, she would do what needed to be done and then forget.
She crossed her legs beneath the table and rested her hands calmly on her lap. Her hair was perfect, though elegantly dishevelled. Her eyes sparkled in the gloom; her ears remained pricked to pick out the sound of heavy familiar boots on the porch.
“I will not remember his name. But oh boy will remember my name,” she curled her lips with a wry smile and almost seemed to catch fire with a smouldering persona of vengeance, as if the inner phoenix were breaking through her fragile skin. She let her inner energy ruffle the feathers in her hair.
“He will remember it well.”
Closed to Inkfinger.
Takes place during the Serenti Tournament.
2532
Ruby was a woman that never forgot.
Though there were plenty of gin soaked times that she had difficulty remembering, the things that mattered stuck in her skull. She had a penchant for recalling dates and events down to the exact minute of their occurrence. Whilst she often found herself struggling to remember where she had left her reading glasses the night before, she could somehow recall that three years ago on a Tuesday morning, she had said sausage and egg to Duffy whilst holding a blue teapot.
The world was a confusing place sometimes.
She also remembered two years ago when Lucian had exiled her from Scara Brae. The occurrence itself was not the most memorable part of her wild adventure in Salvar. The crenulations and the fine details were of little importance in the red head’s ageing mind. What was important was who she had met there.
Men came and went out of her life, as quickly as the sun rose and set over the clay tiled rooftops of her home. Unlike the sun however, these men did not rise again the next morning. In her youth they had risen, but many hours before she had. Her heart had grown resilient to waking up alone next to ruffled sheets and discarded dreams for it to affect her now.
Cael had been different.
Naturally, Ruby Winchester knew she was married to the man of her dreams. Leopold was everything she could want in a man, and indeed, much more. Arriving in a cold and arid landscape, bright eyed and bushy tailed but oblivious to the world beyond her doorstep had a transformative effect on her. The strange and aloof ink mage had shown her kindness when others would have simply cast her aside or taken advantage of her.
Perhaps, and this was just a cautious assumption on her part, if she had not been married and in love they could have been something. Ruby wrinkled her forehead in deep thought and lifted the cut glass tumbler to her lips. It’s cold and refreshing rim touched her skin and as the iced gin and lime slice cooled the back of her parched throat, she felt the same warmth in her chest she had back then.
They had fought together, side by side. Though she had little choice but to help him in his political endeavours, her fondness for the thrill of anarchy had encapsulated him as much as his smile had her. In the flames of war, in the iron ruins of trains and the rubble of toppled mountains, Cael had been given a special place in Ruby’s heart.
Then he too left before the sun’s halcyon kiss.
Of course, it was Ruby that had to leave. But a woman never blamed herself for a relationship breaking up. It wasn’t the proper thing for a lady to do. Though she cried herself to sleep for many nights upon her return to Scara Brae she seldom showed her anguish in public. She most certainly never confided in anyone about her clandestine thoughts on committing adultery.
“That stupid bitch,” she grumbled. Her glass returned to the table with more force than she intended. The rickety wood rocked slightly on uneven legs.
Skyler was her name, and even now Ruby cursed even the slightest thought of her.
Though his sandy hair and goofy stance detracted from an inner strength and resilience, he had clearly been besotted with this woman. Skylar was besotted with him with equal conviction. Ruby was educated and observant enough to see his heart beat through his chest, even as they had set explosives and taken many lives in the name of governmental ideas and freedoms Ruby had never been without.
“All the good men are taken,” she picked up the glass again and watched the frosted base turn a faint red as it reflected the colour of her hair. “Or prefer to take other good men,” she downed the rest of her drink and rasped as the intoxicating almond liquor made its mark. The glass came down heavier still despite being relieved of its contents.
When Ruby had overheard Duffy talking about a new tournament she had been uninterested. When Arden Janelle had informed her of the roster for the registration of combatants, she had suddenly started to care. She had almost gotten over her infatuation, buried it beneath dead weight and jetsam until it was too deep beneath the waves of her memories to notice. He had said the full name so casually, and it had taken her several days to realise where she had heard it before.
She had left for Radasanth the very next morning by schooner. Its white sails declared her momentary amnesty with the world, a new desire and need replacing all the troubles in her heart with a scream for fulfilment.
Ruby had been too scared back then, too naive to admit her feelings for him. Her resolution to take part was testament to her readiness to confront her past... He would not expect her to appear, and that element of surprise could be a powerful weapon in a woman as endowed as Ruby’s hands.
He would not expect her to appear because she had not registered.
This meeting cost all that remained of her dowry to arrange, but it was a cost well worth it in Ruby’s mind.
To be free of one’s past did not have a monetary worth, even if the cost was deception and lies.
Fighting was not her style. She refused to get her hands dirty to drill her point home. She would not exercise her daemons with a cut of her sword or a note misplaced in a song to crush bone and shatter memories. Ruby would fight her inner conflicts the only way she knew how, and in a way that she could be sure to hurt Cael for every day of anguish he had caused her.
A drinking contest was the natural solution.
The monks of the Citadel had been more than accommodating to her list of demands. Too often they crafted arenas of carnal ruin in their sandy domes, so the change of pace and temperament seemed almost tantalising to the robed and hooded figures. Ruby did not ask how the monks knew about the inside of the Peaceful Promenade inn, but she set herself the challenge of one day finding out.
They had done a remarkable job of recreating Underwood’s premier drinking establishment. Every nook, nick and cranny had been perfectly conjured from the ether that ran beneath the Citadel and powered its profitable enterprise. Ruby had to pinch her cheek to make sure she wasn’t dreaming it was so convincing.
Everything was in place for her quasi-revenge. Surrounded by bearded ladies, golden threaded business men and dishevelled looking town watchmen Ruby waited. The tendrils of tobacco smoke mingled with the melange of bad air in the rafters over head from the blazing fireplace behind her. The cool evening air danced across the splintered floorboards and chilled her slippered ankles.
On the small round table before her were several crucial components for her challenge. At the centre stood a large decanter, able to hold an impressive three litres of spirits. Too heavy to lift due to the thickness of the crystal and the contents it had a small silver tap at its base. Surrounding it rested four small shot glasses. Each could hold thirty millilitres, which was the standard Scara Brae tavern measure, slightly larger than the less worthy Corone counterpart.
Her own glass, a tall beaker, was for her warm up rounds. It still had mint leaves in the base, well sodden with several neat gins and one tall iced tonic. Her nerves were steeled against the coming confrontation, bolstering her confidence and the edge of her sharp and lashing tongue. A few moments of silent contemplation later and Ruby set the beaker to one side so that the table was clear for their shots. A bar tender swept in to clear it away almost instantly. Service it appeared was eternally efficient in the Citadel.
“They got the décor right, but not the staff,” she chuckled, a warm swell spinning in her stomach. She had eaten toasted rye pasta with pesto before departing the hotel for the first round of the tournament, yet the walk had eased it off and she felt slightly light headed.
If this had been the real Peaceful Promenade the glass would have remained on the table till the early hours. She caught the disrespectful glares from some of the more upstanding patrons and smiled coyly back. They were judging her for drinking so much so early in the false evening’s light.
“I couldn’t stand to see him whilst I was sober,” she mused, eyes fixated on the doorways which lead out into the cool evening air. She could pick out the autumnal leaves of the distant tree line that kept beast and man apart.
“I don’t want to remember his name in the morning.”
This once, she would do what needed to be done and then forget.
She crossed her legs beneath the table and rested her hands calmly on her lap. Her hair was perfect, though elegantly dishevelled. Her eyes sparkled in the gloom; her ears remained pricked to pick out the sound of heavy familiar boots on the porch.
“I will not remember his name. But oh boy will remember my name,” she curled her lips with a wry smile and almost seemed to catch fire with a smouldering persona of vengeance, as if the inner phoenix were breaking through her fragile skin. She let her inner energy ruffle the feathers in her hair.
“He will remember it well.”