No Man's Land

[Ruby]

Ruby’s spoon was the only movement she made any effort with as she listened to Cael’s reply. She sipped the liquid, occasionally slurping as she dabbled in the bottom of the bowl and pieced together a picturesque scene of modern Salvar. Down to the valleys of sand her fortunes went, drowning in the golden sea of arid waves; she felt a tad disappointed, but as the Shrikes came into the canteen, and he joined the flow of conversation, something kindled in her heart, something she had longed to test in a true environment.

When her spell singing had burst into existence, it was sad for many that several members of the audience had also ‘burst,’ along with most of the merchant ship the Floating Fandango and her crew. Whilst she’d remained anonymous up until now, having been the back end of a cow at the time, she couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before she was found out, how long it would be for her ‘talents’ to get her into trouble she couldn’t escape.

“Saboteurs you say?” She looked down at Cael and raised an eyebrow, finishing the stew and combining both threads with a neat little wink. She looked back over her shoulder at the five wild sprite like creatures, and noted how ordinary they looked devoid of the garb she’d first come across them in. The Portal and the worlds beyond seemed so far away now. The alienation, the sincere loneliness she’d felt on their journey to the hideout was slowly fading. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but it almost felt like a home to these people. Funny how home, how life itself is found in the most desolate of places…against all the odds.

“It is a pleasure to meet you all. Although I dare say if your reputation does not precede you, I have a lot to do to prove myself to you all,” she watched Urthur’s somewhat fortitude testing display of food consumption and rolled her eyes. “As Cael says, we have no choice in our meeting so pray let us work together.”

She flicked her hair from her eyes, adjusted her dress once more and slipped sideways and lifted her legs up and over the bench in a delicate movement. A single red feather fell over her forehead, and she slowly ran her fingers over it. “In case you are wondering why I asked if you’re fireproof, it is because I have an unusual talent that I am…unable to control. The measure of success depends on the dedication to the trigger which causes it, but it is not something I wish to demonstrate here; you might claim that they are fireproof,” she jabbed a slender finger to the group, “but as you say, you most certainly are not.”

She stood up and stretched, her arms arcing over her head and her spine curving like a ballerina with clubfoot. This was the border and the grace note for a new song, and Ruby was becoming tantalised by the prospect of conflict. She had the same thrill during the finale of a play, or when delivering the last stanza of a particularly brilliant poem. The only difference here was that she could make her own fame, write her own story, and maybe stop relying on the empathy and brilliance of others to corner her niche.

“Now which of you wonderful gentlemen is going to find me something more comfortable to wear? I don’t think whatever use Cael or your commander wishes of me will be helped by waltzing around the land in a ball gown; especially one that accentuates certain…prospects. I have already done away with the need to sing for my supper, I sorely don’t wish to have to sing for some sewing needles and wool, you might lose an eye,” she winked at the Shrikes, and looked at Cael expectantly, tossing her head to and fro between the mage and the martyrs of flame, foot tapping on the cold stone floor.