Heat, Heresy, and Heartbreak

[Roht Mirage]

Closed to Alyssa and Tobias.

Astarelle nervously adjusted her head scarf, its folded edge wrapped tight just above her brow, as she watched a trio of Irrakam guards enter the inn. No one else paid them any mind, to the degree that they were defensively ignoring them. This was the Outlander's Quarter, and it was said that the harshest and most ill-tempered guards were stationed here. Whether that was a punishment for them or simply good planning to use the heaviest hammers on the most unwieldy nails, she had never been able to figure it out. Perhaps it was some of both.

As the most harsh-faced of them gruffly questioned the innkeeper as to some recent incident, she saw one of the softer two cast his eyes around the room. He paused to observe one woman as she flitted by him discretely on her way to the door. Her long, dark, vibrant hair brushed his arm, causing a hand to twitch and his eyes to glace over just slightly with impure thoughts. He was young. Astarelle hadn't realized it until that moment, such was the prestige of their golden-sashed uniform. Quickly, he regained the appropriate composure and finished his scan of the room. His eyes alighted upon her for one brief moment, wrinkled just slightly, then moved on.

Astarelle wasn't interested... but that kind of hurt.

Her own hair, nearly as dark, was trapped under her crimson scarf as far as midway down the back of her head. The visible length hung to her shoulders, mostly. There were many sections that were clearly shorter, their abused ends sticking askew, giving her a tail of limp quills.

“Astelle?” asked the other woman who sat with her on the carpeted and pillowed seating area that took up half the room. The other half was full of chaired tables, making the inn a true mix of Fallien and outsider tastes. It was an appropriate design for any establishment near the docks, but one that placed her practically on the floor with nothing to shield her from judgemental eyes. The state of her hair certainly wasn't anything to regret, anyway. She had gone through a lot in the last year. Battles and deaths, some unexpected victories, and a very bittersweet homecoming. Every bit of the damage to her hair was dearly earned, and definitely not anyone's concern.

“Astarelle,” she corrected with a shake of her head to clear the color from her cheeks.

“Sorry,” Rea said with a small pat on one of Astarelle's curled legs, her fingers sinking into the baggy, golden-hued cotton pants. Her own attire, a loose robe of local cut with a wide silk belt cinching the waist, was the model of Fallien femininity. It made Astarelle's pants and white draping top seem almost boyish, even if a sliver of her taut belly -fair skinned for a fallieni native- was peeking as she sat up on the pillows.

“You were telling me about Corone. My husband has only seen the ports and just a little bit of Radasanth,” the darker woman continued. Her perfect Fallien speech made the names of far off places sound especially alien, so much so that Astarelle felt foreign herself.

“It's strange,” she answered slowly, to which Rea leaned in and almost rolled, cross-legged, off her seat. “It's wetter, of course. At first, it was like I couldn't take a breath without also taking a drink. But, I suppose he already told you about that.”

Rea laughed quietly and crossed her arms. “Oh yes. He could go on for hours about the weather, both on the sea and in other lands. He spends so much time looking at the sky that he never talks to anyone who isn't busy loading a ship. You know the people there well, don't you? What are they like?”

Insane, careless, violent, she thought venomously, but just as quickly countered herself with, Honorable, benevolent, loyal. There was far too much history -very recent history- behind those observations, and she left them unspoken to keep from digging it up. Instead, she gave a bemused smile and said, “They're very much like children, both for good and bad. It's a softer life than here. A lot of opportunities and guarantees. They're almost.... whimsical with how they fill their lives. I've never met a fae, but they must have some fae blood in them.”

Rea's eyes lit up. “That sounds lovely.”

Astarelle leaned in and lowered her voice. “I think half of them are mercenaries. Both the adventurous kind and the... you know.” She made a stabbing motion with an imaginary blade.

“Oh,” the fallieni wife breathed, her enthusiasm dimming. “Do you really want to go back there?”

“There's hardly any place left for me here,” Astarelle muttered, then blinked as she realized she had said it aloud. She covered with a bright and cheery smile that didn't betray the knot in her heart. “It's home to me now, you could say.”

The small woman nodded, her dark features radiating sympathy. “Are you leaving soon?”

“Maybe...,” Astarelle trailed off.

The smell of briny sea air suddenly hit her far more strongly than it should in river-locked Irrakam, making her look behind her just as Rea bounced to her feet and, giggling, wrapped her arms around her young fallieni husband. He squeezed her tightly and settled her flailing feet on the floor, then looked over her shoulder at Astarelle and gave an awkward wave.

Astarelle colored and played with the edge of one long pillow as older memories tugged at her. Old scars; the deepest ones never did heal right.

“How was Dheathain?” Rea chirped up at her husband.

“There was a storm when we arrived,” he responded instantly, “A cold one for the season. And so humid that I could almost swim in the air.”

She sighed and separated herself from him, one hand remaining on his arm. “This is Astarelle,” she said with a wave and a grin, “We just met today. She's quite the traveller.”

He nodded and gave a quiet “oh” as some of the awkwardness fled from his face.

“Do you need a place to stay until you leave?” Rea asked as if only considering it now, and added in a sly whisper, “The inns here overcharge even more than they used to.”

Still seated, Astarelle looked up at the couple. Her gaze shifted between them, then drifted over the spot where her hand connected to his arm. “No, I'm fine,” she lied, and lied well. With a nearly-genuine smile, she took up the long reed staff at her side and used it to gracefully stand. “I was planning to head out shortly. Corone calls.”

“Next time, then,” Rea promised as she stepped from her husband to give Astarelle a quick hug. Then, they walked to the door, the fallieni man-of-the-sea's arm slung around her tiny shoulders.

Astarelle watched until they were swept into the hot, mid-day traffic and the door lazily creaked shut. She reached down for her pack and hoisted it, rocking back and forth as she balanced the familiar weight. Toward the door, she walked slowly, her sandals and staff marking her steps with a soft chorus of step-step-knock. One hand played across her scarf-wrapped brow as she stepped out into the harsh sunlight. She blinked against it, but her eyes were already trained on something far away; a different place, a different time. Perhaps it was true what they said.

You can never really go back home.

[Alyssa Snow]

She giggled at the tactician's kind words.

"Mr. Stalt, you do know this is a professional venture?" Alyssa asked from across the table. She brought a rim of her glass to her lips and let the sweet cocktail slide down the back of her throat.

"What? Two weeks on a boat together and I can't call you attractive?" he inquired with a playful tone.

Alyssa grew rosy in the cheeks. She couldn't determine if it was the alcohol in her drink or the young man across from her, Tobias Stalt. She had to admit, their first meeting was rather abrasive. He kept an arm's length, gave her short answers, and slapped his hand to his sword anytime she brushed against the revolvers on her hips. Getting him to open up was harder than prying open an old jam jar. Though once she managed a smile out of him, he dropped the walls and finally gave into conversation. And recently, he had been a little more forward.

"Maybe if you didn't watch me like a hawk those first days off the dock, Mr. Stalt. You have to admit. It was a little creepy," she joked with a slightly serious inflection. Her hand wrangled a stray wisp of platinum blonde behind her ear for the umpteenth time while at sea.

Tobias let out a nervous laugh and brought his ale mug to his lips to deflect. Alyssa scrunched her brows together. She witnessed his expression change. It looked as though a myriad of pain, anger, and sorrow worked into his eyes. She set down her glass and leaned in with concern.

"I'm sorry, did I--"

The whistles blew. "Land ahead!" roared from above.

Alyssa jumped back at the racket. The other travelers seated around the two began to rise. The sound of chatter, clinking dishes, and shuffling feet abolished any attempts to continue the conversation. She looked to her travel companion and his somber face rose with the others. Shadow hid his eyes as he moved to dump his dishware, and Alyssa sighed. She too grabbed her dishes and joined the others.

"Let's grab our things. I'll meet you up top," Tobias murmured in passing. Alyssa nodded. She dumped her dishes in with the others and fell in line to get further below.

"I don't know why he broods like that," she thought to herself. Her hand wrapped around the knob to her cabin.

"He doesn't talk about it either." She picked up her sling of clothes and basics. Then, she looked to the object wrapped in the corner.

"That kind of internalization... It's bad for him." Alyssa exhaled heavily and fetched the wrapped item. She took one last look at her cabin, nodded, and ventured to join the others on deck.

The sun beat down upon the travelers like a smith's hammer upon the forge. If it weren't for the salty, humid air, Alyssa imagined the boat to light ablaze. Luckily, her current attire (https://farm6.staticflickr.com/5527/14301074213_06f0a333bd_o.png) exposed a litte more skin than her typical outfit. Though it wasn't as freeing as a swimsuit, it provided some relief to the heat.

"All hands to dock!" shouted the captain. "Weigh anchor!"

The deck hands hurried about. The tied and untied ropes, climbed the crew nets, and closed sails. The dock itself came into view. There was only one other ship currently at dock, but then again, Irrakam rarely saw transport vessels of this size. Fallien was very much phobic of outsiders. Everyone on this ship had special pardons or residence papers to even be aboard the vessel. Without them, prison in a dungeon would be the least of their worries.

"Hey," Tobias pipped up from behind Alyssa. She offered him a weak smile. He returned it in kind.

"Steady up!"

"All is well, sir!"

"Welcome to Ikkram! Passengers depart!"

The group began their shuffle.

"Sorry for earlier," Tobias spoke to her. Alyssa felt a pain for him.

"It's alright," she affirmed. "You've got your reasons."

They dismounted the vessel onto official Fallieni land. The architecture was both plain and extravagant. Basic buildings lacked much color and deviation from four walls, but the taller establishments exhibited splashes of unique color, beautiful inlaid glass decor, and curvacious skylines. Just as unique as some of their buildings, the Fallieni people were elegant in their daily dress - even the guards... Guards that were walking right toward Alyssa.

"Halt!"

Alyssa froze, people behind her forced to now migrate around her and Tobias.

"Travel documentation, now!" one of the three barked. His Fallieni accent was as sharp as the blade he drew at his waist. Alyssa grew concerned. Tobias grew serious. She shifted her pack over her shoulder and produced a missive from Leona of the Hierarchy and amendment from the Alerar Republic.

The guard snatched them from her slender fingers and held them to the two at his back. They glanced over the parchment, then approached the one staring down the young blonde and the weapons at her hips with disgust written on his features. Words in Fallieni were mumbled and the guard grew rigid. He brought his blade up to her, and Alyssa stepped back.

"Drop everything and disarm at once!" he shouted. Alyssa's heart dropped.

"Wh-what do you mean?! Those are official papers corresponding with the Jya herself!" she shouted.

"I won't ask again!" The other two guards pulled their curved blades.

Tobias stepped to intervene.

"You too! Disarm immediately! There will not be another warning!"

Alyssa dropped her pack. It fell harmlessly to the ground. Then, she dropped the object wrapped in linen. It slammed against the docks with a heavy thud. The guards grew uneasy, dropping to an offensive stance.

"Tobias," she whispered with a panicked quiver. "What do we do?" Her free hands hovered over her revolvers to either disarm, or to draw.

[Tobias Stalt]

"Easy," Tobias said, lifting only a single hand to dissuade them from violence. He kept himself from reaching for a weapon- that made him seem more cooperative. Body language was everything when negotiating, after all. "Why are we being stopped?" The inquiry was one very traditionally used when dealing with authorities. An individual had the right to know why they were being stopped, and if they were free to go. And if they were being detained, they had the right to know why. "And why are we being disarmed? We have given no inclination toward violence-"

He got cut short by the blunt end of a sword to his gut. "No words, outsider," the guard hissed. "We are giving the orders. Drop your weapons, or we will consider you hostile." Tobias, still reeling from the blow to his stomach, hobbled back from the violent guard.

"Bloody kind of you," Tobias muttered. He caught himself in the act of reaching for a dagger and thought better of it. "Just tell us why. We're not saying we won't comply." He began to loosen the straps holding his weapons to his hips. It gave the illusion of compliance. "In civilized nations, people have the right to know the crimes of which they are being accused."

He let the biting words fall where they would, and he could see the guardsmen seething at the implication of Fallien being uncivilized. "You have ill humor for a prisoner, boy," the rattling voice of another guardsmen accused. "Suppose I cut your tongue out? How would you feel?"

"Like your primitive punishments justify my statement regarding the civility of Fallien."

The hiss of steel leaving scabbard echoed in the wake of Tobias' quip. The former soldier offered only a smile in response to the threat of lethal force. He glanced sidelong at Lyssa, who the guards had all but forgotten in their rage, and he threw her a wink. He had bought her ample time to escape, or to find help if there was any nearby.

Both of Tobias' hands remained neatly in front of him, as though they were bound by cuffs. He made no motion to draw a weapon or flee as the guards encircled him. "Lots of manpower for a single fugitive," he observed. "Whatever I've done must be absolutely awful."

"You know what you did, Alerian," the first guard responded accusingly. "Your people entered our nation and desecrated holy land. You stole from us, then lied about it. You crossed our borders and breached our trust." The guards held their weapons out toward him. "You are most lucky that Fallieni law dictates due process, or we would execute you right here. More justice for you than a civilized nation would afford a traitorous wretch."

"You must think yourself quite clever," Tobias remarked. Anger swelled once more, and Tobias gave a laugh to incite them further. "Now," he said, "if you're finished with your false accusations, I have business to attend."

"You're not going anywhere," a third guard said. "You are under arrest."

Tobias rolled his eyes.

[Roht Mirage]

Astarelle watched much of the scene unfold. She had initially approached to inspect the ship, the largest that had arrived in some time. When she had to travel over water, she always preferred the vessels that had as many walls between her and the wet void as possible. This one was a promising opportunity. The disagreement that bordered on a skirmish was an even more promising -if fleeting- opportunity. By the time swords were drawn, she was moving in the opposite direction.

Just past the inns was one of the many bazaars in the Outlander's Quarter; narrow street upon narrow street of stalls, bodies, and the overpowering clamor of thousands of wares being boisterously hawked. Some of the stalls, though outside, had the appearance of wealthy vaults, for the second story of the buildings was more often than not built to span the merchant corridors. The worst of the heat and sunlight was kept at bay. Yet, even the darkest of recesses glowed with supposed treasures.

In one such sheltered thoroughfare, the woman in the red head scarf walk as anonymously as any other. The sand that blew through in her wake, however, was anything but discrete. Merchants and shoppers, locals and outlanders alike all cursed bitterly the desert's intrusion. Though unlikely among the most prestiguous spots in the bazaar, the sand did have a way of making itself known. All the gold and gems in the world could not deter Fallien's bite. For one poor merchant, that bite was particularly hard. He squinted tearing eyes and covered his face, jostling the glass beads all over his clothing. A thick-armed local, bearing the grit more sturdily, remarked that the Nirrakali must not see proper sandstorms in the glass fields.

That was the wrong thing to say.

In the early volleys of insults -not even reaching the worst of the filth that Fallien's lovely language could aspire to- the rack behind the glass merchant rocked ever so slightly and shed two decorative drapes. Then, the woman who had drawn the storm disappeared as quickly as she had come.

Back at the docks, the guard repeated himself as the man stopped just short of disarming. “You're under arrest, I said! Resist, and you'll see how hospitable we can be.

“What is this madness?” came a shrill voice as a woman stormed from the direction of the bazaar. Her speech was in Fallien, specifically the sharp dialect of the Nirrakali. That alone made the softer guards stand straighter as if their backsides had been whipped. Their captain, however, only scowled as the woman placed herself between him and the duo. In response, she squared her shoulders. All the glass adorning her, small prismatic cones on her long shawl and opalescent beads on her thick head wrap that draped well past her shoulders, was set a-tinkling angrily. “I am expecting these two. You have no business questioning them, least of all arresting them,” she snapped, voice low as if she did not have to shout to match their strength.

The guard captain shuffled his feet once, and only once, then steeled his jaw. “This man is wanted,” he informed her. He pulled a piece of parchment from his sash, then motioned for his fellows to return the woman's documentation to him. They did so as best they could with swords drawn. The merchant stepped forward, utterly unmindful of the wavering blades, and curtly took the entire mess of papers from him. “He was to be travelling with this woman, on this ship,” he began.

The merchant cut him off with a venomous, “I can see that.” She flipped through the paperwork, then glared at the guard. “Where are his papers?”

The guard gestured flippantly to the man. The merchant turned and gave the Coronians a much softer expression than she granted the guards. She lifted one hand as if to tuck a strand of hair back under her wrap, almost accidentally hovering it over her mouth as if to shush them. She then held her hand forward. “Your papers, friend,” she requested in a harsh, clumsy, purely-Nirrakali attempt at Tradespeak.

He eyed her for a moment, considering. She lifted her brows in what could only pass for, “Do you want help or not?” Without breaking eye contact, he produced his paperwork and offered it tentatively to her hand.

She snapped it up, drawing the eyes of all the guards. In one hand, she flipped the page open. In the other, she held the orders that the guard had handed to her.

“He's using a false name,” the captain informed her as he tried to look over her shoulder.

She waved his own paperwork before his face. “I can see that you were told that,” she said dismissively, “Alias of Ar- Arnald Zurich, correct?” The name sounded absolutely alien on her tongue. The guard nodded as he colored in anger. His hands seemed to itch at the idea of snatching all the papers from her. But, his eyes trailed over the expensive glass adorning her person and a hint of doubt tugged downward on the corners of his mouth. He needed not worry for long, though, because the merchant quickly held both pieces of paper aloft for his inspection.

“This man is not Arnald Zurich, alias or otherwise,” she announced. Even if the foreigners didn't understand her language, they would certainly understand the way the guards deflated like torn sails. Their captain resisted a moment longer, reading the foreign man's papers over and over again.

“Not him,” he breathed bitterly, then added with a sneer, “And a stupid name at that.” Again, though it was in the Fallien language, the message would be clear enough. The merchant gathered the papers messily and plucked out his orders as if performing a card trick, though with more smugness than any magician dared betray. He accepted them, eyed the page, then shook it back at her. “Our sources said that the fugitive would be travelling with this woman.”

The merchant turned. The woman had been on the periphery of the incident, but now she gave her a proper inspection. Her attire was... non-traditional, and at her belt was not one but two guns.

What kind of lunatic needs two guns?

With a disparaging look of, “You owe me,” the merchant spun back upon the guard. His men were on the cusp of sheathing their swords, but they waited for the final order from him. Swords and guns... As much as she had already done, the scene was still only a few misplaced words away from a massacre. The lady of Nirrakal stepped forward, her ornamented head wrap hiding the sweat on her brow, and spoke almost in the guard captain's ear.

“Consider the source of your information, and how many questionable passes they might see in a single day.”

The guard paled to a shade of stripped bark. “Stand down,” he ordered his men as his sword slunk into its sheath. The others followed suit with leathery whispers.

The merchant nodded, smiled a brilliant smile, then moved as if she might step right through him. He stepped out of her way, his demeanor respectful even if his face didn't match. She motioned for the two foreigners to follow, then strode off toward the obfuscating noise of the bazaar.

[Alyssa Snow]

Alyssa's hands hovered ever so carefully over her revolvers as the guards conversed with the strange outsider. A wave of relief washed over her when the guards seemed to settle after just a few exchanges. It looked as if the three had been caught red handed in a sting as they handed her papers over. The look on their faces were an array of anger, frustration, and slight intimidation. Whoever this woman was, she commanded power. Alyssa's hands relaxed.

The ornately decorated and dark skinned woman gestured to Tobias for his papers. Alyssa noticed something strange in her gaze to him. It was as if a trickster was trying to convey a hint. The mage gunner narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brow. Not even five minutes on foreign soil and now two parties were mysteriously vying for their travel documentation. The woman seemed the less threatening of the two, but Alyssa felt unsettled.

"Already I feel like this trip is going to end with me stripped bare and buried in the desert," she thought.

Only months ago, Alyssa and her crew of Hierarchy operatives had come to this desert nation. Their first experience there was pleasant and welcome, thanks to Leona's well orchestrated politics. This trip did not have the same amount of planning; it was personal. The last trip also didn't have Tobias. The young blonde sent her companion an analytical glare. With his hand still cupped over his midsection, he met eyes and shrugged.

Shlink.

Alyssa's icy stare snapped from Tobias to the guards. They had returned their weapons to their sheathes and pulled away from the strangely dressed newcomer. The mage gunner furrowed a brow, and the merchant woman gestured to the two.

"Uh... now what?" she whispered to Tobias.

"I think she means for us to follow her," he returned.

The woman began to step to the bustling market streets.

"Besides, she has our paperwork," Tobias continued.

This was true, and they needed those papers for not only their return, but to pass any gathered "evidence" pass inspection prior to boarding. Alyssa scowled, grit her teeth, and picked her mysteriously wrapped possession off the dust wooden docks.

"Out of the pan and into the fire," Alyssa mumbled as she shifted the weight of the sluing object over her shoulder.

"Let's get a move before we lose her." She nodded towards Tobias and quickened her pace after the stranger. As she passed the guards, they scowled towards them. The leader of the three spat at her feet as if to say, "this isn't over foreigner."

They finally left the rolling waters of the sea only to enter a sea of moving bodies and hum of strange tongues. The exotic wear and colors of the locals made following the woman that much more difficult. Luckily, she kept to a slow stride.

"What do you suppose she wants? I don't recognize her as one of mine," Alyssa asked to her colleague.

"Judging by the hospitality of the guards, it's either our money, our belongings, or our heads," Tobias stated too calmly for comfort.

"Great..." The mage gunner's shoulders sloughed forward and she rolled her eyes. Just then, the woman they followed pulled the elegant fabric from her frame. Beneath it, she wore a loose pair of dark mustard pants and a short, white top which modestly displayed her tanned midsection. The Fallieni stranger flagged down a young girl in the streets in her native tongue. The girl seemed confused when the woman placed the ornate fabric in the her arms, patted her on the head, and hushed her away with more foreign words. The girl went from confused to exasperated and skipped merrily into the sea of moving bodies and out of sight.

"What do you suppose that was about?" Alyssa asked.

"Keep on your guard. I think we may need to worry more about this woman than the guards." Tobias' tone was firm and his eyes remained locked on the Fallieni woman as though prey would watch a potential predator.

"I don't know, I think she might be helpful. She saved us from being skewered..." The Fallieni woman continued weaving through the streets and the two followed. "and those clothes didn't look cheap. She just gave them to that girl. That seems like good will to me."

"Where do you think she got those clothes in the first place? Do you think she bought them?" Tobias shot Alyssa a smug look. He did have a point.

"Always so negative Mr. Stalt. I don't know, I think we should ask her to help." Tobias chuckled at the suggestion.

"Sure, let's bring the potential thief which we know nothing about on an already deadly trip. Oh yeah, and to one of the most sacred areas on this island. Brilliant idea. You're too optimistic Ms. Snow." His words dripped with sarcasm, and his condescending stare did well to take Alyssa down a notch. She returned a sharp exhale of frustration.

"I prefer a native to guide us if at all possible. I've been there once, but once you're out on those sands, the four cardinal directions mean nothing, dust storms block the sun, and if the heat doesn't kill you, the fauna will do it's damnest to." She folded her arms over her chest and broke eye contact with him.

"Fair enough, but first thing's first, we get those papers." Tobias quickened his pace to the Fallieni woman. "Hey, I appreciate the help back there, but we have some important business to attend to. Those papers you have - we need them back."

She did not reply and kept walking.

"I know you speak trade."

No answer. Tobias backed off.

"Listen," he spoke quietly to Alyssa over the chatter of the surrounding merchants, "as soon as we get her to a secluded area, we'll take them by force if necessary."

Almost as if his timing were planned, the three of them emerged from the sea of bodies into an opening. In front of them stood a massive archway which opened to the endless expanses of sand. On their right against the wall, several robust, muscular horses grazed on dry hay in their stables. The stench of manure proved a rough transition from the exotic incenses, perfumes, and aromas of cooked food from the marketplace. The Fallieni woman stopped in the midst of the clearing. Tobias and Alyssa halted just a few feet behind her. The tactician shot the mage gunner a glance. Alyssa nodded, and Tobias stepped forward.

Spoiler below is for thread writers only. If you don't want elements spoiled for you, don't peak!
Hopefully all bunnying was accurate to the intended storyline. Tobias, if you see any issues in dialogue, copy and paste my post, edit it, and send it to me in a PM or email so I can submit the edit. From this point, you can engage in a little conversation with Astarelle or we can have Roht post first and you can follow up after that.

Also, if you want me to trim back some of my post to leave a little for you to post into leading to this point, let me know. I'll trim out whatever and you can post after me. Let me know what works best for you.

[Roht Mirage]

If Astarelle had known that Alyssa's first impression of these sands was “endless” she would have thought the poor woman just adorable. To her eyes, the sand were incredibly finite. At a good distance out, just past a slight rise in the sand's subtle roll, was the telltale fronds of river-side bushes. Irrakam being an island city, it had little more than a skirt of actual desert around it, and the horses stabled here never actually went anywhere.

Back in Radasanth, Astarelle had seen one of those Coronian fairs. Amid the lamb-on-sticks and hawked Citadel memorabilia, there were tethered pony rides for the youngest of children. This was the same, though the clients weren't children but sheltered foreigners who couldn't tell a proper desert from an abnormally long beach, nor a nominal fee from extortion.

Everyone said they lost weight on a trip to Fallien. Only the locals knew the true measure of it; a little from the walking, a little more from sweating it out, and the majority from their coin purse.

She gave a fond look toward the horses – little more than fat, old ponies compared to the steeds that glided over the desert proper. Their owner, Yashar, was nowhere to be seen. It was high noon, and he had no intention of watching customers drop from the heat because they wouldn't remove their fashionable jackets, so he was likely having a drink at one of the inns. As for leaving the horses unattended... Well, a theft was always hilarious. The last attempt had been by a young local boy trying to steal away on an adventure. His pilfered horse got him as far as the river, dumped him in, then wandered along the perimeter wall before coming home for dinner. Even the ponies in Fallien could hold their own.

Her smile faded when she finished turning back to her 'guests', the stern-faced man of whom was approaching. Back to business, she mused, With less chance of being shot or stabbed, at least. A glance at his expression, however, told her that she might be wrong. That didn't temper her bravado, though. “To answer you,” she began, theatrically shifting her accent from Nirrakali to high-born Irrakam and finally to the chimera Fallien-Corone voice that had become her new norm, “I do speak trade; eloquently. And if I may, I would like to offer a word of caution.”

Astarelle shifted to ensure that the man's body blocked any prying eyes from the archway and the bazaar beyond, then produced his paperwork from where it had -at some discrete moment- disappeared under her loose shirt. “Most of the people who will sell you these,” she said shrewdly, rapping a finger sharply against the pages, “Will also sell your information to the authorities here if they smell even a hint of profit. I guarantee that this welcoming party was planned before you were halfway across the ocean. Now, I don't know what they want you for, and I don't quite care. Just know that if you try to cause trouble, Fallien can give it right back three-fold with a rash that lasts for weeks.”

Before he could get a word in edgewise, she took a step forward and stopped teasingly short of handing the paperwork back to him. Her grip on it was visibly tight as a vice. “I fixed yours so that you can avoid their warrant without losing the authority it bestows to you – that part is done very well, by the way. You got sold out by a professional with standards. You, however...”

She looked to the woman, sparing a quick glance for her rather intriguing attire and a longer one for her guns. Two. Bury me.

“I couldn't get there before they saw yours,” she said with an apologetic shrug, a small one, but clearly kinder than the attitude she had thrown in the man's face, “If you're lucky, they'll assume your name just got thrown in by a shady informant. They're supposed to pursue counterfeiters, not line their pockets, so they'll keep quiet.”

The woman seemed unsure of what to say. A meager, “Thank you,” escaped her lips as she seemed to debate whether or not she meant it as a question.

“What do you want?” the man asked while Astarelle paused for a breath. His eyes darted from the offered papers to her own grey irises and back again. Suspicion circled around him like flies near the back ends of the Fallien ponies.

Astarelle gave him a sickeningly sweet grin and realized that she really had missed games like this while doing knightly business in Corone. “You both still have your boarding passes for that ship. They're not here, at least.” She waved the papers flippantly. “All I ask is a minute alone with one of them, and you can have these back. I'll even let you hold them while I do my thing.”

Always feel free to message me about changing bunnied dialogue. I tend to err on the side of bland.