faderift | 01

Entry tags:

01 | OPEN

WHO: Lakshmi & You!
WHAT: Out and about events, catch all for the month, etc.
WHEN: Today to the end of the month??
WHERE: Kirkwall and the surrounds
NOTES: N/A at present.

i. ( training )
Each morning, Lakshmi's pattern is incredibly similar: she rises, goes about getting ready for the morning with quiet prayers and as little sound possible to disturb anyone she might be sharing her quarters with, and goes down to the training grounds. It has been years and years since the only weapons she relied upon were sword and shield - if ever. Disliking a pistol in her youth wasn't the same as not having it. Even so.

There is some secret thrill, to having nothing but the joy of Shivaji's weapons, to be like the stories of her grandfather's time. Fighting by Bajirao's side.

But stories they were, and the years since she had been taught the weapons, there had been rifles, thermite and Tesla's electricity to fill the space where those skills had once been sharp. Time to start at the beginning again. First with a spear, dressed to turn the long material of her sari to wrap her legs like pants and tuck the rest in tightly to a waist belt. The Inquisition light armour over the top.

Enough to train in. Taking up the spear first - and beginning to move with it - a series of long movements as she begins to turn it like a pinwheel between both hands, over her head, another full circle. Then again, and speeding up as she goes. Stepping in turns as she passes it between hands, one at a time, puncturing it with long thrusts, the practised strike of a spear into flesh mimed and pulled back from. Feet turning in the dirt in precise movements, turning on her heel the lessons of her father, sharp in her ears, it is speed, more than strength, a fast lion's swipe than its bite is how Shivaji triumphed, and it is - big, flashy, more dance than strict combat. But as much concentration as either. Fixing in the middle distance with the effort of keeping it up. Until the spear in her hand is spinning as fast as she can manage it, from behind her back to in front of her, holding it for moments it above her then, then across from one side of her body to the other as she turns into each step. Breathing hard, the sting of sweat on her brow. Then faster again, until her arms felt the ache of it.

Until when it's over, far more suddenly then how she built up to it, the spear is thrown down, tip to the ground and she bobs down. Arching on her toes, balancing there as she touches the ground, the reaches up to mime the touch near her face. I've gotten slow, father. Rolling up to standing after that, she goes to pull the spear out of the ground. Absent gestures - leaning her face down and pushing her shoulder up to wipe her brow clear.

Nothing for it, she returns the spear to the stock of weapons, then reaches for the sword and shield closest to her own preference - a long eye cast on the other pieces she sees. No, no, not worth it. Not yet, not until she knew her pieces perfectly. Shaking out all her limbs. The long sword was no talwar. This was not the lightness that she was used to exactly. Didn't curve against her palm right. But if this was what was most commonly available - then it was what she was to get used too.

Better than sitting around stewing over other matters she could not change - like still being here, or what Kitty had said to her. And to that - she gladly takes the offer of anyone who might want to the spar. Whether it was overeager Inquisition soldiers ( some she beats, some she does not ). Or other Rifters and her grin is quick and easy -

"And you? Fancy a match?" Her laughter with it, she likes being this - more than she likes just about anything else. It's simple, and easy, and knows quite plainly what and who she is.

ii. ( bathing )
Not a single time after training for however long she does so - that it isn't immediately followed by gladly throwing herself to be clean. Nothing more utterly blissful as that, especially after the recent years. ( Scrubbing in cold water on the worst of winter days left little to be desired. ) So glad that at least here, for all she might not want to stay here, had something decent.

Took the same sort of discipline to it, even if it was a sight more eagerly done than perhaps was necessary. Unravelling all four feet of hair from where it was pinned to the top of her head ( - ought to cut it, like she had before this place sore fit to give her reminders she did not want and with it the memory of why she had not until need demanded it. ) Taking the only truly selfish item she had purchased so far with the gold from trading some of her bangles, the bottle of perfumed oil. Tipping it onto her palm to coat her hands before she cards fingers through all that hair. Kashi would shudder for the rough care. But it was better than nothing. Scrunching it with rough hands at the ends. Whatever is left on her fingers is rubbed into old wounds, the bullet hole above her heart, the lycan bite on her middle, the claw marks on her legs.

Then gladly sunk in down until the water went over her head. Half intent on drowning herself, it seemed. Scarred skin softening with the moisture and all that hair wafting like an ink spill in the water. Only until she can't hold her breath anymore that she sticks her head back up and takes to resting against the side of the bath with both eyes shut. Not intent on moving for a good long minute. Her strange radio firmly discarded. If anyone wanted her, they could come to find her if it really mattered.

At least until someone else does arrive - and she cracks an eye, seeing who it is and whatever they might so, she hums and does her best to move over to give space if they need it. Still early, the sun ought to rise soon but - not busy in the day yet. "I'll be out soon - " in case they needed the place to themselves.

iii. ( lowtown )
A merchant here was as decent as anyone she could find in Hightown, she reasoned, and at least here - there was a great deal less fussing involved. Even if she did dress and behave differently, her veils drawn as ever. If they were going to insult her for the mark glowing in her hand, they would do it to her face.

Which is how things end with this merchant - as it turned out. Most people seemed a little less guarded, the benefit of the tournament. At least meant no one went out of their way to avoid them. But she could feel the taste of being ripped off for the prices she was being offered on the plain bolt of cotton she had her eye on. Something of Myira perhaps, or Bronach, when she felt the urge to sit and sew again.

"That much? That was twice what you offered the man before me. Is my coin not as good as his?" Her voice is pitched, brittly angry. Deliberately loud enough for anyone else walking by. Never suffered anything quietly when it was like this, and it ripples an anger through her. Did they think she was an idiot? The response the same: that was the price.

Her teeth grit, pulling up to her full height. Ready, absolutely ready to pick a fight in the middle of the street. She could be quite decent at holding her tongue, walking away, at least until her temper got the better of her. Her fingers flexed cooly at her side, ready, ready, ready. That flickering dull green light on her palm that apparently what deserved this when she had never asked for it and once more punished for that which was never her fault.

Might be a good time to stop it.

iv. ( wildcard )

Got something else you want to do that we talked about? Want to do something, drop me a pm or a message over at aeneia.

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Myira is excitable at the bestod times and being surrounded by the hustle and bustle of Kirkwall is threatening to overload the bird-turned-young woman. She's darting from one side of the road to the other in short, sharp movements to look at this street vendor or that shopfront and it takes a firm reminder that they're here looking for something specific to get her back on task.

When she's finally centered at least a little, she tags along at Lakshmi's heels, eager to talk about the sights and sounds and just about everything.

"Skies, I never seen so many humans in one place," say says as they finally step off the street and into a shop that boasts fine wares for men-at-arms and others in need of personal protection. She pauses, peering round the shop for a moment and letting out a low, impressed whistle at the variety of arms and armor on display. More than a mere smithy, this place is practically a small armory!

"...whoa." Yes, that seems like the right response. Myira runs her tongue over her lips, not quite sure where to look first. But they're here for armor. Focus, Myira.

Training is familiar to Six now. She might get teased by her sister for the amount of hours she spends in the Gallows - it is a suitable amount, she thinks, and she has no reason to consider it otherwise considering it is the best way to hone her skills - but it is a welcome place. She feels at home amongst the soldiers, as though she has returned to her days as a mercenary, when all she had to do was sleep at night and swing a blade where she was pointed. There's no denying she would never give up her Oath or her role as Sarenrae's Paladin, but she can think fondly of times long gone by.

It's easy to recognise familiar faces as they come and go, and Lakshmi is certainly someone she would not soon forget. Six allows herself to go through her own routines for a little while before she considers bothering the other woman; warming up, stretching, hefting her greatsword and going through practice motions the town guard had shown her almost ten years before now. She feels older than her age, suddenly, as if time has disappeared from between her fingers, but she has to shrug and shake it off. She's barely twenty five and that isn't old at all for someone with elf blood.

The challenge is what gets her, and Six lets her sword rest in the ground as she pushes stray bits of hair out of her face, breathing out and watching with a small smile spread across her face.

"What weapons and rules would you ask, my lady?"

There is a tap...on your back, maybe a bit lower than you'd expect, and behind you, there's a dwarf, looking up at you with a wide friendly smile.

"Beg your pardon miss, but I couldn't help notice the frankly shocking treatment that you've been forced to suffer at the hands of these people, people who are trying to take advantage of your newcomer status." He leans in a bit, not that the height difference makes it easier to hear, but there is such a thing as style. "They know you won't argue and people are shaky with rifters at the best of time."

He takes a step back and holds out a hand. "Barnabas Vilm, I buy and sell rifter goods, and I give good prices. Ask anyone! I'm fairly well known among the rifters, always try to give them a hand. It's mutiually benifical, I buy items from them for a fair price, and then sell it to the nobles who like weird items."

Today Araceli hadn't been looking for a sparring partner though she'd seen someone new who'd caught her eye, a possibility for someone who favours blades. Sweaty and sore herself, towel and a change of clothes over one arm and in her other hand a little basket that clinks and rattles. All the combs, the bottles and pins she could ever want in it that she sets down by the edge before stripping quickly and quietly with the clothes all carefully away because it takes too long for anything to dry here, even the sweat-stained sparring gear. Shaking out her hair as she folds up the shirt, it's maybe not the scars from being shot (shoulder, calves, one that skirts her side where it grazed) but the right calf where something took a chunk out of her, something feral. Or the tattoos. Different people see different things as she glances over, slides in not quite opposite.

Holds her breath for what would be several heartbeats, long enough if someone counted for the lungs to burn (the good burn, the roar in the ears where the world dulls) as she surfaces sucking in a deep breath, slicking her soaked curls back and away from her face.

"There's no need to rush on my account, I'm used to sharing the baths." She smiles, gives a shrug that gets lost because she hasn't propped herself up and she's not of a height in the water where she'd easily have her shoulders out of it without real effort. "If these were Skyhold's hot springs...no, I still wouldn't be rushing you. But I might be tempted. A lady misses those after a long day, outside a good swim - something I wouldn't always recommend by the docks - nothing got rid of the aches from sparring like those."

Lakshmi on the other hand is far more direct. This was ultimately, half as much as London, but a sight less soaked in smog and dirt to stain everything black. Used to it, very much, whether it was here or Delhi, there was habits to moving through a place like this. Making sure her arms stayed close in, to be careful of the pace of the person in front of you. The mild twitchiness when a street child came too close to make sure to check her coin purse. More than once battering a little reaching hand away. The clatter of every kind of person looking for attention - and here especially the sound of metal being beaten into shape. Loud and pressing. Cloying and dirty.

Cities, we're a certain kind of misery and blessing.

When they arrive she thinks nothing of tugging Myira firmly to get her to stop wandering off. The girl had certainly gotten better at her human habits. Pulling her close in and then going to address the vendor of both reasonably priced goods and kind enough to rifters.

"I'm looking for a thick hide chest piece, with greaves and braces to match. Chain, as well."

Her hand stays in Myira to make sure she doesn't wonder off.

Lakshmi's grin is quick and sharp, catching her breath after her last bout. Wiping at her forehead, pushing the tendrils of hair out of her face. Sticking against her cheek with the early warmth of the day.

"Sword and shield, to losing strike, say?"

Easy, nothing serious as to blood, but to the extent of skill.

"Okay."

Church steps into view, a bit grim in countenance for the situation unfolding. He'll make a joke later, as is his way, but Rifter trouble is not trouble that's needed right now. Or ever, but particularly now. He doesn't touch her, but he puts himself into her space, into the space between her and the merchant. Stares at the offender while speaking ostensibly to her.

"There are other fish in the sea, other people selling fabric who actually want business instead of driving it away. Let's leave this asshole to his own unprofitable devices and go somewhere else, okay?"

Myira settles in at Lakshmi's side, one hand on her hips as she continues to gawk at the surrounding racks of armor and weaponry. Like many things in this human world, it's a first for her and she has to resist the urge to simply start touching whatever interests her most. She shifts her weight a little, chewing idly on her lower lip. Her eyes dart to the merchant when he gives a low grunt and nods thoughtfully.

"...We should have something like that. I know we have the chain..." He gestures towards a chain shirt hanging on a t-shaped rack next to other examples of hauberks and gambesons and every other bit of metal armor you might expect.

"The hide? Hrm..." He takes a few steps across the floor, then plucks a thick leather jerkin from another rack and holds it out for inspection. It closes up one side with laces and the rest of is riveted with additional small plates of metal for extra protection--a coat of plates, but light enough for Lakshmi's purposes, perhaps.

"Is this the sort of thing you're looking for, then?" Myira seems to perk up a little. She knows nothing about armor so she's trying to be a good student and merely listen.

"Is that good?" She asks, nudging Lakshmi.

She turns with it - perhaps never the best woman to be sudden with after all these years. Her back straight and stiff with her ire. Whirling at the touch and - oh.

Goodness it was so strange at times to see the face of a man at the height of the child.

At least, below her veils there is no being too rude with it as he speaks. Her fingers curling up sharply on the material. "I was not born yesterday to know some men are simply pig headed, never mind trying to rob me." It's spat not so much at Vilm but at the shop keeper.

"I would gladly give my business to someone who isn't."

It is good to see someone who enjoys training and practice as much as she does; Six has been working alone for the most part, a few scuffles with Korrin to her name, but to find a familiar face who might recognise the same... It is something to remember, she thinks. Perhaps it could be encouraged to be a regular thing, something that they do more than once a month or so. It would certainly help with her own sword arm.

"As you say," she nods her head. Slowly, she moves and places her Greatsword down to one side, picking up one of the Gallows swords and shields before she makes her way back to Lakshmi; the change in weapon doesn't offend her terribly. She is well versed in most arms thanks to the guardsmen and her mercenary group.

"Begin."

Excelent! This way Ma'am, my shop and ice cream parlor are just down the road here." Barnabas heads down the road idly humming to himself.

"So what exactly are you in the market for? Food, clothes, that sort of thing? I will say, while your outfit is quite stunning, an amazing degree of worksmanship and style, all of that gold is a bit...flashy. Are you looking for something more subtle perhaps? And also what do you have in trade? Any Ids? Amazing how popular those are with the nobles, almost a craze, collecting them. Which means they're very valuable."

There were so many tattoos on so many here. Different to the intricate henna and mehndi designs, even the bindi between her brows that she had known from her homeland, and then again to the way the English liked to tattoo their bodies from chest to wrist below their clothes. Or sailors that marred themselves with blue lines and scars the same.

But here there were so many beyond even that. Enough that she watches her idly, watches the patterns move on her skin.

"They certainly can. It is has been some time since I could afford this luxury." She splashes the water in a cupped hand over herself, brushing against her shoulders. "I've not seen a river quite worth splashing about in since my youth."

Her gaze snaps up at him when he steps near her - bristling like a fury, teeth sharp and easy to the bite. ( Another thought, how did this man, in particular, keep being near her at these moments, where she's all ire, all ready to pull sword before thought at others. ) But his presence it seems is enough for her to step back, to settling her hands at her sides stiffly. A spit of words in her own language. She hoped mould got into this man's stores and rotted it all before he could make a coin.

Then turns, direct, offering a hand to Church to lead her by. "Very well. I would be glad to not waste my breath on a rat."

"It is." She nods to the man, leaning forward to take the piece off of him. Her hands are flat and expert in her examination. "I expect it to work, not look beautiful. Fetch me the greaves, next."

She sends him away with a wave of her hand - and glad that he was not curt or rude, as she'd found with a few shopkeepers so far that had ire with a shard bearer. As if this was not proof enough that they were no spirits. Just mortal men and women ( or ravens ) looking to protect themselves. "We want light, for you, and moveable. You are no Knight." She lifts it up and no - the chain is not beautiful. Just rows and rows of flat steel rings that she scrunches together and loosens. Making sure they did not catch against each other, that they could shimmy and loosen about. But mayhap, too heavy for Myira, even if it catches her eye.

Her inspection done, she moves onto the leather, its light armouring of scale. Not to knightly, or even Marathi tastes, but better suited for it. Myira was not a soldier, after all. "Here - arm's up." Like dressing her, but there was nothing light and pretty with this. Layers. "We will look for - oh, what do they call it, - gambesons. To go under it. They ought to serve you in winter as well."

... He was talking a lot, and she is still backpedalling from her blistering ire as she blinks to catch up. Somewhere between ice cream - how did he get that here? She heard they could only make milk lollies in China easily - and - there is no China here - and - what on earth is an Id?

One thing at a time. "Cloth. Unsewn. I do not like how clothes here are." Raw material is her preference. "The gold was gifted to me by my husband's family, and it is a fraction of what I could wear, I assure you. Or do only nobles here like to pretend they deserve beauty for no reason at all?" A necklace, bangles and anklet shouldn't be at least, not to her mind. For Goodness sake, she was hardly a Muhgal, and her temper was already in a foul mood. " - I dress in the manner in which women of my home dress, and the colours thereof." Her teeth snap, brief, and then onwards. "I have coin and I have no idea what an Id is."

"Yeah but what if'n I was a knight?" Myira, always asking the real questions. She shifts her weight a little and holds her arms out to let Lakshmi shove her into the jerking, her nose wrinkling a little as she has to be closed up in the leather. It's supple, but it's not broken in and so has a certain stiffness to it that she's not terribly fond of. There's a faint noise of annoyance from her but she nods her head at Lakshmi's words. What all of that means, she has no idea. She'll trust Lakshmi to do what needs to be done here.

"Oof. It feels kinda clumsy to me..." Myira mutters and twists her torso a few times, trying to see how well she can move in the coat. "Gambeson is um..." She wrinkles her nose.

"I don't remember." As she speaks the man returns to hand over the greaves with polite alacrity. He's keeing quiet--they can do their own shopping without him talking their ears off. Perhaps because he's recognized that Lakshmi knows what she's talking about.

Stretching her arms above her head so that the grey fox and both compass and anchor rise out of the water, reaching behind her for the comb until her hand pats along to nudge the basket, grabbing at it to get to work.

"Skyhold had a river but it was freezing, and I'm not made for the cold. Kirkwall's better. Antiva or Rivain? They'd be better still but if I can get to go for a swim as often as I choose, I count myself lucky here." And luck is a thing to be tucked into a holster (metaphorical, she wasn't dreamt with those by the spirits but the sentiment holds enough that she won't question it further, seeing as she's at least in a warm bath when the early days here were unpleasant to say the least.) "Have you made it out to the Wounded Coast yet? It's not rivers and you need your wits about you for any bandits but after what I saw, you'd be more than capable if you wished somewhere away from it all. It's a good place to stop. Breathe. Take a moment away from the city. We all need that."

Or Araceli certainly thinks so if they want to keep their sanity about them, it's the beauty of having somewhere large enough once they're afforded the freedom of the city itself when the quarantine expires.

"Araceli Bonaventura y Castell, I should probably introduce myself since we're here. In the baths. Together." And to avoid another Herian situation where it was naked in the bath and formal titles because that's how the two of them rolled because code duello meets Amsel's honour.

"Cloth, alright, cloth we can get no problem. Any kind you like, in terms of color, softness and whatnot? Also, I assume you'll need some sewing...gear? Don't know how to sew myself, but I can ask around." The walk leads them to a shopfront, the outside of which seems...mundane. Not a lot of flash out front, just two signs above, one that says "Barnabas Vilm, Fine Rifter Crafts" and next to it a more colorful sign that simply says "Ice Cream and Novelties"

Barnabas pushes open the door and you are struck at once by the smell, an almost overwhelming sweet scent, and behind the counter is a tall girl in a blue dress. "Dolores! How's the shop going, good? This is..." Barnabas pauses and laughs, "You know one of these days I'll need to start actually asking people what their names are. In any case, this is Dolores, she runs the ice cream part of the shop. Another rifter, brilliant when it comes to baking!"

After a moment, Barnabas hands up what can only be described as a cone of sweet pastery with a scoop of white ice cream in it. "Enjoy!"

He has no idea what the hell she just said, but he's pretty sure he doesn't want to know. He also is not initially sure what the hand is for. Is it...proper? To even touch a queen? In her time? Not that that's stopped him before, obviously, but. Sure. Hand. He can take it.

"Yeah, look, some people just aren't big fans of people with glow in the dark hands. But other people are! Other people love the money and weird shit we have to trade with sometimes. I'm never letting go of my dumb sunglasses, though. They're the epitome of 1980's cool. In the dumbest way possible. Maybe 90's? I don't know, late 20th century history, not my forte."

Does he ever stop talking? Signs point to no.

"Fabric's also not my forte, but I'm pretty sure there's an okay dealer around here. Or...here. Overrrr this way anyway."

It's not John's business. Really, nothing here is beyond smoothing over Flint's more abrasive proposals when the time comes to start airing them. But considering how newly arrived they are and how much there is to take measure of before they stick their neck out, John's been very happy to keep to himself.

But apparently, he's picked up enough habit on the Walrus that the sight of obvious trouble inspires enough duty in him to propel him forward (as speedily as one manages on crutches) and catch her wrist.

"Ah, please. Let me."

None of the Walrus men are flush right now. John's winnings are the result of an evening's game of Wicked Grace, easily recouped.

"My purse was too heavy as it was."

She doesn't wait, what was the point - she did not want to best this woman to the death, and she didn't need to circle her and work out every little weakness in her. This was a friendly match.

But it is not less controlled for it, hefting the shield in her off hand, curling the blade. Balancing her weight carefully as she sidesteps - getting used to the pace of it. A fixed gaze, not so much on her face, but on a middle point of Six's body, that she could watch it all without having to dart her attention here and there. Then sweeps down, overhead and hard. One blow that sweeps up and around, into another - to be blocked. A test of reflexes and no more.

It's been a long time since Six truly fought with something that wasn't her greatsword - she had little reason to after she left the mercenaries, and travelling with Adrian had only inspired her to use that weapon more. Training is not the same as an actual spar or an actual fight and she knows that she's on the edge of being disadvantaged, hoping only that it is not to the point where she ends up suffering for it.

Despite her grace and acceptance when it comes to losses, she does not enjoy it.

She grips her sword lightly, giving her space to twist and turn it when she needs to, and it's good - Lakshmi does not hold back and Six has to move quickly. Lifting her arm, she pulls up so that the blade can glance off her shield, her body dropping to the side to arch and move out of the way of the second strike. She's immediately on the defensive, careful as she stares down the other woman, adjusting her stance to be able to hold position should she be hit again. It's a waiting game for now, she thinks, to see what she will do, to learn her movements and then overcome her.

She's used to at this point - how people treat rifters to not want to ask or bother with more than she has too. To go about her business and nothing else, least of all too much commentary. "If you were a knight? Then it's that full plate." A jerk with her head, off to the wall where the armor was shown. Steel and polished. "But you'll never be able to stand that, you would need to start sleeping with weights practically, to get the strength up to fight in it."

Or so she'd been told, from her own experience with knights.

"It will loosen up as you train and it becomes more adjusted to your body. All armour has to be worn in." She steps around her and begins to yank the leather buckles tighter around her waist to make it stay. Then she drops down to her one knee, beginning to strap the leg armour to her shins.

"Oof." Myira looks at the plate armor, unimpressed. "Looks too damn heavy t'me," She mutters, then grunts as she does a few more experimental movements. It's heavy, true, but she can also see how this sort of thing might up being useful. Maybe she can actually get used to this. She glances down at Lakshmi as more leather is strapped around her shins.

"How many pieces do you usually gotta wear to be protected?"

She bows her head. "Just so, I am Jhansi ki Rani, Lakshmi Bai. Or Queen of Jhansi, but Rani will do."

Warmly comfortable and glad for the easy company, to learn as the woman seems inclined to chatter. Always interested in learning somewhat. "Where is Ativia or Ravain? I am still quite new to this place." Her wet hands keep working against her hair. Smoothing with the oil and water that mixed together. "But if they have a river to swim in, I would be glad of it, I have not had that indulgence for many years."

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Page 1 of 3

01 | OPEN

iv. Shopping trip

i.

iii. Lowtown

ii; bathing (flaps hands at rifter negotiation timeline)

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iii

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who needs timelines

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iii

has nothing but gun pictures rip

i have 0 sword icons so we are matched

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