[SEMI-OPEN]

[acreage]

WHO: Amos Burton, James Holden, Wysteria, Ellis, and YOU
WHAT: Two spacemen fall out of a rift, later explore scenic Kirkwall
WHEN: Nnnnowish? Waves hands
WHERE: The Wounded Coast, then Kirkwall
NOTES: A closed arrival thread, plus open individual threads for meeting Amos and/or Jim after their quarantine period.

Comments

[innerharbor]

"So you got 'em by two hooks," Amos says, nodding. "What's Carta? Sounds like a gang."

Except they pronounce it wrong for Belter, but he's really gotta stop thinking about Belters, no matter how spindly the limbs on elves are. Adapt, don't get stuck in the past.

[okayimin]

“It is.” Though it feels like a small word for what the Carta is. “They run the lyrium smuggling rings mostly, but they’ve got their fingers in everything down in Ozammar.”

Which is bound to bring up its own questions and she has no idea how much this Rifter knows. “How long have you been here?”

[innerharbor]

Amos nods, getting it slowly. "Lyrium's the magic uranium," Amos says blithely, "Orzammar's...?"

Sounds familiar, but in the way any word might in a situation where you know fuck nothing.

[okayimin]

She doesn't even have a chance to feel relieved that she doesn't have to explain lyrium. The same ridiculous jolt she felt when she saw the Casteless brand drawn out on the introductory pamphlet still hits her. "Underground dwarven city," she says, trying and failing not to sound short, "It's where I'm from."

[innerharbor]

"Oh," Amos says, heedless of her discomfort (he can sense something's up, but it isn't him, he's pretty sure), brightens with new understanding. "Smuggling gangs, yeah, I can get that. Are they rough on kids?"

[okayimin]

"How do you mean?" The question feels like such a non sequitur, it knocks her straight out of the weird mood.

[innerharbor]

"What do they do to kids who join up?" That's the first major metric of any gang, Amos figures. Next is brothels, then gambling. Every gang that's worth anything has to have its hand in some of that shit, and you can learn a lot about them by how those factors interact. It's like math, but the equation's all bodies.

[okayimin]

That doesn't clear up anything, but Sawbones is starting to suspect this is more of a surfacer/Orzammar divide than just a Rifter thing.

"Kids don't join up," she says, almost automatically, "Suppose they must have surface kids running for them, but Orzammar got the Caste system. If you're Casteless, you join the Carta."

[innerharbor]

"Casteless?"

That sure wasn't in any of the introductions he got about this place.

[okayimin]

Fuck.

"Dwarves who're rejected by the castes. Forbidden from doing any work that a Caste dwarf could do. So it's join the Carta or pick trash." She tips her head back a little, defiant even though it doesn't mean anything up here, it won't mean anything to him.

[innerharbor]

"Oh, yeah. Got a different word for that, where I'm from."

But it all makes sense. This planet is unerringly unfamiliar, except people, even if they're four feet tall and built like Martians, seem to always follow the same patterns. Power, fear, hunger, gangs, it's always there.

More importantly, though, he notices her look. The way she's daring him to say something. "So you're casteless, huh."

[okayimin]

She does not flinch, because that means nothing on the surface. But she turns her head a little so he can see the brand on her cheek fully. She couldn't hide even if she wanted to.

"I am. Branded and all."

[innerharbor]

"Those fuckers brand you?" Something like anger wakes in his gut. Nothing to do about it now, but he'll keep an eye out. "What about the kids?"

It keeps coming back to that. Why pretend otherwise?

"That burn looks pretty fucking old. Fuck. In Baltimore they just forget about us."

[okayimin]

Something in her relaxes a little, even if his anger is unexpected.

"They don't let you forget in Orzammar," she says, with a bit of a shrug, turning her face back to look up at him, "They brand us when we're children. Soon as you're old enough to survive it or whenever the guards catch you."

[innerharbor]

"'Nother fucking planet, same old shit," Amos murmurs, unable to quite keep whatever's in his chest down, a strange dark tension he'll work out later. "Sounds a lot like places I've been. Real shitholes."

[okayimin]

Planet she can't even begin to fathom, but it doesn't surprise her that this Rifter's seen similar. The little twist of a smile she gives him is humorless.

"Suppose it's the way of things no matter where you are." She takes a step, gesturing for him to follow, "Come on, the road's no place to be talking for long. Where were you headed before this?"

[innerharbor]

Amos shrugs. The anger in his gut is quieted-- for now. "Trying to get a good look at this dump. You got any tips, Sis?"

[okayimin]

She huffs at him. "You go calling any of the other Sisters in Lowtown that and you're liable to get smacked," she tells him, "The taverns are a good a place as any to start with, just be careful if you go near Darktown. You're more likely to find a fight than a drink there."

[innerharbor]

Amos tsks. "Darktown's more like Baltimore than Baltimore."

But he considers it. "Whatever you say, Sis."

[okayimin]

It's so much like any number of Dusters she's stitched over the years, that it's easy to fall into the old rhythms.

"Baltimore can mind itself. I'm the one who's gonna be stitchin' you up if you catch a knife in some nug trap around here."

[innerharbor]

"Duster? What's that mean here?"

Because he's betting it doesn't mean Martian, for all the horses at Pimlico.

[okayimin]

That one's easy enough to answer: "What we call each other. Casteless live in Dust Town, so."

She shrugs. She hasn't really found a surface word that fits the same.

[innerharbor]

"Christ," Amos rumbles. "I owe whoever names things on this planet a kick in the teeth."

[okayimin]

"And yours are better?"

[innerharbor]

"We don't call Baltimore Crime Town."