(no subject)

[truth_is_cold]

Who: Gaheris Rhade and Open
What: Rhade takes a break from city searching
Where: Outside of one of Gediron's temples.
When: A couple of days after his arrival
Warnings & Notes: Some almost violence. He's still at sort of an angsty place in his lift too, so it might come up in thread. Note to mods: if anything is off, I will be glad to change it.

He was scouting the area of the city near the inn where he'd been recieved. The intention that day had been to go to the unemployment office (it was bizarre that, after so many years as a commissioned officer and one expecting his life to end, that he'd find himself in this position). Unfortunately, outside of one of the temples (belonging to the god of war, he thought?) there was a heated game of chess going on with an intent onlooker.

Rhade never shied away from strategy games. He'd played them to conclusion almost daily for over four years, and the last year of which against an artificial intelligence. Successfully side-tracked, he waited his turn to sit at the table against the reigning winner. He could always continue with his mission once he'd won a game and perhaps he could acquire information. So he asked for a turn, and took the place of the losing participant who joined in observing.

The only thing he learned was that he should be dedicating his victories to Gediron. Very well, there would be no expense to him in doing so. And he did. And the next one after the insistance for a rematch. And the next one. By that third, his oponent (a rather sturdy bodied, red-headed and ruddy faced human with a fair share of scars), who had been entirely too underestimating, stood up and his hand went back as if to reach for a holstered weapon.

Before he could even wrap his fingers around it, Rhade's own arm was up, boneblades out and near the increasingly nervous man's throat. He would have been much more cocky, confident about his swift reaction, if the man's friends that had been watching didn't suddenly look keen on joining in on a fight.

He was new to the area. He couldn't imagine anything good coming from this when he killed someone. And he knew he would kill someone if they came after him. The idea of interrogation and the need for self-preservation was enough to stay his hand. Lowering his arm, switched to raising his hands in a vague gesture of surrender and backed away from the table, away from the temple, even if his expression remained daring.

It would be a miracle if he could stay out of trouble past the first two weeks. He despised backing off, but he would take it as his cue to tend to priorities.

Comments

[truth_is_cold]

"The doctor with the expertise in xenobiology?" He'd seen her advertise on the network. "She's not from my universe I don't believe. But I know other experts in xenobiology. They're usually quite adaptable to unusual anatomy.

For a moment his nostrils flare. He's not quite ready to press her for the differences but he's not above testing the air to see if there's much different from a human scent.

"It's good practice. I'm not too proud to go to a physician. Repairing a weakness is much more intelligent than facing what seems to be a dangerous city with a concealed one."

[rhinemaid]

As convincing as her appearance can be - mostly to humans who are used to explaining away the oddness about it, the way her illusion almost seems to be colouring outside reality's lines - she isn't human and doubtless a scent reflects as much. She's a river faerie, Wagner's predatory and playful rhinemaiden, and while her bloodline is proof that the species are compatible enough to procreate...well. They aren't the same, and there's little human at all left in her after the storm of her world.

(She's wearing perfume, as well, a Jean Patou.)

"I've had a good luck, so far, but- let's not get cocky, right?" Every now and again she makes these genuflections in the direction of pragmatism, as if she can rationalize the rest that way. (Exactly like that, that's exactly what she's doing, and at least in her own head it mostly works. Not discussing her justifications with anyone else helps.) "I think all cities are dangerous, but Baedal pretends not to be less than some."

It does have its share of pretense, that said.

[truth_is_cold]

He mostly smells the perfume. An undercurrent of something inhuman, which might be part of the perfume, and the scent is not offensive in general so he doesn't hesitate.

"When you forcibly combine individuals from different societies with different standards, expect some to take subordinate roles and give advantages to others, and mix carnivorous races that feed off sentient beings into the fray then it would be laughable to assume that such a place wouldn't be dangerous. Such a pretense would be useless."

There probably weren't good ways of covering up what was in the fog, either.

[rhinemaid]

"The pretense is always useless," Ilde counters, less argumentative than conversational; picking at words and meaning and people is habit, and when she retreats behind 'I'm only making an observation', it's almost invariably exactly as much as she intended to do. Just observing, and remarking, as long as she doesn't see a good reason not to. "Pretenses aren't meant to be practically useful in a genuine way, or at least that kind aren't. But people tell themselves stories to live by."

They make up rules for the world around them and tell themselves following these (frequently arbitrary) rules makes them good and being good makes them deserving and being deserving- these things can become so powerful because it's so tempting to have that assurance. It isn't always a bad thing, Ilde thinks; people can't live always on edge.

[truth_is_cold]

"Frequently pretense is used to make people feel safe. Comfortable. But if anyone actually believes the rhetoric effectively keeps them safe it would be laughable."

Still, he was willing to dedicate his victories to a god just to see if the god would react. It would be hard to say if he would. But being that Rhade is accustomed to living on edge (most of his kind is) the pretense's are just there for him to find loopholes in. At least they keep him creative.

"I hope individuals like that don't make up the sum of the War god's followers. If that's the case I find him unfortunate. They weren't promising specimens."

[rhinemaid]

"People are funny that way." Laughable, funny, whatever; Ilde's sense of humour is a little warped at the best of times and the things other people tell themselves to make it through a day only bother her when they inconvenience her. (She has her own share of less-examined illusions, but most people do and her own don't interest her as much. They wouldn't work so well if she picked them all apart.) "But I doubt it. I've seen some of the fights at the arena."

[truth_is_cold]

"Where is the arena? My people regularly compete, and I wouldn't want to fall out of practice." He would hope that he wouldn't be in any skirmishes like he had been in for the past few years in this place. The arena sounded sensible and civilized.

(Sensible and civilized as he defined the concepts.)

[rhinemaid]

"Griss Twist," she supplies, holding her purse strap with one hand and tucking the other into the pocket of her coat. (Black taffeta with a tulle underlay around the hem; she's fond of it. One thing she won't complain about in Baedal is the ability to rebuild her wardrobe, however temporary she expects this to be.) "It's a dirty great stone Roman thing, you can't not see it. You might find Sonja there."

4th wall day at my other game always kicks my butt.

[truth_is_cold]

"Sounds impressive. Most of my people are named after warrior figures and conquerors." He sounds proud of that.

"What are the rules there?" Rules, to him, were games within games. You played with them. Bent them. Broke them in secret. You weren't offended when you were caught because they were supposed to be watching for it. If you couldn't do it so you wouldn't be noticed, you were the failure and the other party was superior.