An Attitude of Draconic Proportions... (Open)

[lokath]

A bronzerider clad in a gray, sleeveless shirt and brown pants strolled through the Gather, gazing into various stills for only a moment before continuing on. At some of the stalls selling finer works of art, he paused for maybe a minute, not quite long enough for the keepers to inquire whether he planned to buy anything, before moving on to the next stall. He never spoke to anyone, though perhaps that was because no-one had yet spoken to him, aside from a few over eager crafters, plainly younger apprentices who did not understand patience. As he walked, he carried in his right hand a glass of wine, although he did not sip from it.

R'el hadn't bought anything so far because he had no money. His rapid flight from Benden had left him with little but the clothes on his back, and a few knick-knacks he had on him at the time. He hadn't even bought the wine - someone had left it unattended for a moment, and he had snatched it up. Speaking of which... R'el took a sip from the redistributed wine glass... A strange look crossed his face before he violently threw the glass in the direction of the nearest stall, wall or person, whatever was handiest, shattering the glass and spraying cheap wine and glass shards all over it.

Of course, now R'el was furious. The wine was horrible! It didn't make a difference that he had stolen it, it was simply repulsive for someone to have been selling such a glass of wine. It didn't help that people were beginning to stare at the angry rider. He glared back at a couple of them before most got the idea and started skittering off on their own. A few, however, might have stayed to stare at, wonder at, or even harass the bronzerider with questions... Which was likely not a smart move.

[Requiem]

R'el had a tail. In truth, F'ur didn't find much interest in men of that bulk and demeanor - you know, that look that said 'get the shards out of my way or I'll stomp on your face and eat your gizzard' - but he had a reason for following this particular ogre. You see, F'ur wasn't much of a one for drinking, but he did indulge occasionally, and it was ever so annoying when a man couldn't put down a glass of cheap wine for a moment to haggle with a particularly wholesome young peddler without it walking off in the hands of a hulking behemoth. It wasn't even the 'good stuff.' F'ur, who had never had an abundance of means, had come to very much like the more economical vines for sale.

Plus there was something vaguely familiar about the bronzer, and that in and of itself was enough to merit close scrutiny. Familiar meant northern, and familiar without recognition? Most likely not Fort. His eyes narrowed for a moment behind the half-veil.

Oh, no no no. He did not just throw F'ur's wine aside like that. The ruffian! The thief! If you don't like it, just give it back! That did it. The tall, grey-clad half-stranger was going to get it. He was officially F'ur's new project. Feeling Innocenth stirring at the back of his mind, the bluerider smirked mildly, even as he pranced down the street and flung himself on R'el's arm. The slim figure was clad in silks and bangles, barefoot and wearing a half veil, the curls just long enough beneath the head covering to suggest longer hair without that being the actual truth.

"Don't mind the poor lug. He's just a tad besotted, aren't you, dear? I'll be sure to keep him away from the wines." Running his hand up R'el's arm, F'ur smiled up at him, adding beneath his breath, "Silly northerner, making a scene. You'll bring them all down on you. Selenitas isn't safe for your kind. Shh. Come with Gisela. She'll fix you up."

Oh, did F'ur love skirts. That and a slight adjustment to your tone of voice, and he could pass as a female readily enough...so long as no one looked too close.

[lokath]

R'el hadn't noticed he had been followed, most likely because he didn't care either way. Anyone who needed to sneak about and tail someone else was far beneath even his notice, save as a prospective recruit. And the bronzerider was in no mood for recruiting. Not even bothering to listen to the words of whoever had taken a hold of his arm, he shook them off and strode forward again. Only to spin about, a scowl on his face as the faux-woman whispered in his ear. He spoke with an obvious Benden accent, and his voice was tinged with superiority. "I'll decide what is safe for me and what is not. I don't need some flouncy drudge telling me what to do."

R'el looked the disguised F'ur up and down for a moment, scowl remaining plain on his face. Kreyanth... Something is wrong with this one. I sense it, too, R'mine. I cannot tell what, but I advise you remain wary. Remember the rule. Never trust anyone from Selenitas... The rule had proved useful on at least one occasion before when someone had decided it was their duty to chase him out of the Weyr, or at least subvert his loyalies. Which as far as anyone here knew, lay with Kaegan, no matter what anyone might suspect of him. And perhaps they did. Obeying the cowardly Weyrwoman might yet serve his purposes.

R'el continued staring at the costumed F'ur for a moment, a curious look on his face. He studied the (wo)man carefully, trying to note any odd features. Then, as suddenly as he had thrown the wine-glass before, he turned again on one heel and began striding quickly towards the nearest ledge. Instead of trying to lose the strange person by weaving through crowds, he simply plowed a path through anyone slow or dumb enough to be in his way. Besides, he was tall enough that it would be near impossible for the tail to lose him.

[Requiem]

Absolutely no doubt now. The man was Benden. It was utterly irrefutable, even if he hadn't spoken with such an atrociously thick Benden accent. No Fort bronzerider behaved quite that perfunctorily...at least that F'ur had observed. He snatched his hand away before the brute could become too violent, knowing all too well that even the small amount of concern that Fort gave women was nonexistant at Benden. It was entirely possible that the man could strike him, even not knowing who he was, and F'ur would rather be prepared for such a blow than caught flat-footed. R'el was, after all, significantly larger than he was.

There was a dangerously serious gleam - a touch of challenge - in F'ur's eyes as he met R'el's appraising look, one that accompanied the following words well enough. "This 'flouncy drudge' merely thought to warn you. But clearly you think you can take on the whole Weyr without breaking a sweat. Well, have at it then." He waved the man on dismissively, in a jangle of clanking bracelets. "Just allow me the luxury of watching when they tear you apart."

Quite rude, this one! Just turning and stalking off, and running over people no less. Pragmatism demanded that F'ur leave off this crazy game while he was still perceived as she, for there was no love lost between Fort and Benden and the bluerider had killed more than his fair share of Bendenites. Enough even to be noticed, which wasn't common for blueriders. But he did not like having this man here, at Selenitas, clearly acting as if he had no idea he was no longer in the north. What was the man up to?

And how could that question be answered, but through observation?

So it was that as R'el turned, F'ur deftly sliced through the thong on the man's coinpurse with a knife from a hidden sheathe, catching the purse and pocketing it...well, goodness, no wonder the man was stealing cheap wine. The thing was practically empty. A quick escape, or was R'el just frivolous with his marks? The bluerider considered. If he'd left Benden in haste, he was doubly dangerous. Enemies to Baith would be the only ones fleeing now.

Waiting an appropriate space of time, the disguised Fortian pranced in R'el's wake, dancing daintily through the crowd and offering soft apologies as he went. He paused to help up a child who'd been knocked clear off her feet. Sharding bronzerider needed to be taught a lesson, he did. F'ur's blood was slowly coming to a boil, but he held it in check.

"Sir, if you'd slow down just a bit - !" F'ur caught up, making a show of being short of breath. Always appear weaker than you are. "You dropped your purse. With so little, I can see why you're in such a foul temper, and forgive you." The bluerider flashed R'el a frankly dazzling smile. "Though that doesn't justify stealing my wine. I'm poor myself and that was a tenday's savings you shattered. A polite dragonrider would offer to replace it." F'ur watched him expectantly.

[lokath]

A waved hand of dismissal, eyes still focused on the ledge where Kreyanth was even now waiting, was R'el's response to the 'Gisela' woman who seemed intent on following him. He had managed to miss the look in her eyes, focused more on her body, and still did not realize exactly what he was dealing with. "I have no intent of taking over your petty Weyr. Selenitas is little more than a Weyr full of refugees and outcasts. Being Weyrleader here would be nothing compared to holding even a Wingsecond position at Benden" With a scowl on his face, he continued to march forward. "I can't even decide which ranks lower, Fort or Selenitas. At least the pale bastards at Fort still have the guts to fight."

R'el took the brush at his waist to be little more than a final attempt at grasping by the poor woman, stepping away deftly, walking briskly again towards the ledge. Perhaps now he could finally escape from this accursed gather. If everyone at Selenitas was like the woman back there, this Weyr was worth less than he had been willing to afford it, and that had not been much. Selenitas was a last choice, when R'el had been faced with death. Or at the least, assimilation into the ranks of the Fort outcasts. Benden had been tainted, both by the Fort riders and the Weyrwoman who had plotted C'leon's death and allowed the takeover.

Even the thought of Fort, and the recent takeover, always made R'el irritable. This, added to the fact that he was already fed up with the fool Gisela's antics, had put him in quite a bad mood. Thus, when the woman came up behind him, he ignored her until she told him of his purse. R'el reached down to where he usually kept the (currently empty) leather pouch tightly tied, feeling the frayed ends of sliced rope. He turned around slowly, looking at the woman, before reaching out quickly in an attempt to grab her shoulder. "I don't like thieves," he spoke simply before reaching forward, trying to pull the mask from Gisela's face.

[Requiem]

Trust a Benden bronzerider to completely misunderstand his meaning in such a manner. Take over Selenitas? Clearly, R'el wasn't clever enough to appreciate a little subtlety. The point had been that the man was Benden and not doing nearly well enough at hiding it. His accent, his behavior. That he transferred now meant he was one of C'leon's...or cut from a similar cloth. Otherwise, he'd have no reason to flee Benden during the upheaval following the siege. A more intelligent person might be wary of the reaction he'd receive from Selenitas. But, oh, R'el probably didn't consider a single person here to be a threat, eh? A perverse part of F'ur wished to prove him wrong. And, really, it wouldn't be so very hard to convince himself to do so. After all, F'ur had more reason than most to hate those of R'el's stripe.

The bad blood stretched back turns.

Pale bastards, was it? The smile that flitted over F'ur's face was downright creepy, all too similar to the one he wore when bathing in the blood of his enemies. Fortunately, the expression was muted by the veil/mask he'd chosen. Ah, shards. So the bronzerider actually did have half a brain? Unfortunate. The bluerider knew what was coming the moment the man turned with that queer expression on his face. So, it hadn't been the best of his ideas, but it had served its purpose, such as that was. F'ur now had his undivided attention.

The bluerider was swift, arm snaking up in counterpoint to the one grasping for his shoulder as he stepped back and away from the attempt to unmask him. "And rude, too. This is a masquerade, good man." R'el's wrist was caught in an unyielding grip, F'ur's fingers naturally finding the pressure points as he torqued the arm just enough to be mildly uncomfortable...unless the bronzerider attempted to break free, in which case it could become very uncomfortable very quickly. "Quid pro quo, my man. Quid pro quo. I'm quite certain you northerners understand that. It's all right now for you to steal what's mine, and waltz in here as if you own the place - as if your fellows hadn't very nearly massacred half the people here, most of which have never taken up arms in their life. But Faranth forbid I steal an empty coinpurse to help facilitate conversation. Faranth forbid. You've no manners, sirrah. None whatsoever."

F'ur simpered, releasing R'el's wrist.

[lokath]

"I don't want you to facilitate any damned conversation. I want to leave." R'el frowned at the woman. "Besides, an unattended cup of wine is highly different than a coinpurse attached to my belt." This woman was an odd one. For one thing, she seemed drawn to him, simply for the purpose of annyoing with him. For another, she knew he was Benden, or at least northern. That was odd in and of itself. For one so unimportant to know a northerner by sight or sound seemed odd. Refugees, perhaps. But the thought of accents brought something to R'el's attention He had been able to tell that something about the woman was very off, but...

Very off did not even begin to describe this. R'el, not quite used to Selenitas accents, had not even thought about the woman's odd way of speaking, but the truth was that it was identical to a Fortian accent. Not just any Fortian accent, however, but that of a male, raised an octave or so. It was blatantly (and disgustingly) clear, and now that he had noticed it, R'el was extremely surprised he had missed it in the first place. No wonder the man was hiding behind a mask, and was afraid to lose it.

R'el's appraisal of the situation changed immediately. Suddenly, he was considering the man dangerous, and a wary look spread over his face. But perhaps it would be better if he did not show his hand. He grabbed at the coinpurse the man still held, growling under his breath. He spoke loudly and clearly, obviously trying to draw attention. "Give me that, you two-bit whore. As you can obviously see, I don't have anything for you. Peddle yourself somewhere else."

[Requiem]

He'd seen the flicker of something dangerous cross R'el's face, but it vanished so swiftly that F'ur wasn't entirely sure of what he saw...Oh well. Most likely his imagination. Or, considering the words the bronzerider uttered next, it could merely be a look of utter disgust. F'ur was rather disgusted himself. Benden bronzeriders - and, admittedly, most of the higher-ranking male dragonriders in the north, Fort and Benden alike - treated women like common whores. To be disgusted by one seemed highly hypocritical.

Not that F'ur had intended to come off that way, but if R'el wanted a whore...well, F'ur could pull that off, too. It wasn't as if anyone here would do anything but give the fictitious Gisela judgmental glances. The bluerider affected a pout, releasing the coinpurse to R'el. "There's no need to insult me, simply because I want you to replace the drink you stole, sir," the bluerider responded, just as loudly. He didn't mind if they gathered a small crowd of observers; it limited any acts of violence the bronzerider might be tempted to commit should F'ur's true identity be discovered.

R'el seemed to forget that, Gather though this was, it was being put on by a weyr. The people here weren't typically put off by blatant displays of sexuality or affection. They simply didn't care. "Though if that's what you truly want, I'll allow you to buy me a drink and we'll call it even. Gisela does know how to entertain a man, she does," he added, his voice dropping into sultry tones. F'ur's hand ran up R'el's exposed forearm lightly - even expertly. The bluerider was, after all, somewhat experienced, particularly at getting a man to respond when his mind stood as a barrier.

Cocking his head to one side, he queried, "So what do you say?"

[lokath]

R’el looked down at the faux woman with a grimace on his face. This was little more than a task to deal with for him. A chore, of sorts. And it was always best to do your chores with a grin on your face. It often gave you the greater rewards. Not that R’el would immediately turn cheerful, that would no doubt alert the man that something was wrong. No. He would… slowly but certainly come around to the man’s propositions. The woman went by…? “Right. What was your name?” He still glared down at her, trying to seem intimidating, at least at the moment.

R’el had actually been one of the most polite riders in Benden. It was necessary to have allies in the non-riders of the Weyr, especially the women. Pillow talk, as it was called, was one of the most efficient modes of gathering information. In fact, he would likely have responded better to Gisela’s approaches had he been in a better mood. The disastrous incident with the wine had ruined that, although without it he likely would not have realized the man’s true gender. “Right. Sorry then. I’ve just got quite a head of steam built up. You need better tastes in wine, miss.”

Used to the social atmosphere fostered by Benden, R’el had been stumped by the woman. Usually, such a one would not even dare to challenge a bronze rider, let alone demand compensation. He would have been well within his so called ‘rights’ at Benden by threatening to have Kreyanth eat the girl. Mine, I am on the ledge, and I have been waiting for quite some time. Are you going to come, or can I just go back to my weyr?[/i] Grunting at the sudden interruption, R’el replied. Feel free to head home, Krey. I may be some time here. With nary a sound, Kreyanth dove off the ledge, snapping his wings open and gliding to the weyr they had been given.

Turning to focus once again on the woman, R’el replied. “I suppose I owe you. I’ll buy you one drink, and that’s it. And it will be higher quality than that swill.”

[Requiem]

What was the name I gave him, again? How should I know? Not very helpful. You must be getting old. Didn't you tell him what your name was just a few seconds ago? Oh, shut up, F'ur responded good-naturedly. Well, if the man was asking, he couldn't remember either. (Or he was testing F'ur, but what could you do? If you could remember what you forgot, then it wouldn't be forgotten, now would it?) "Galatea." It was a 'G' name, of that much he was certain.

"Oh, I assure you," the faux woman responded pleasantly. "I have better taste in wine. I just can't afford them." He waved an arm around, the bracelets jingling against each other with the movement. "My talents aren't much appreciated here, you see, so I find myself looking at a dearth of funds." What talents those were F'ur hadn't decided yet, but he'd figure out something if R'el asked. Hopefully. Definitely not turning tricks or dancing, because if the bronzerider wanted a sample he couldn't really supply it. (Of course he could always say it was teaching a new fighting style, but that wasn't very ladylike, now was it?)

Kreyanth has left. The barest flicker of a smirk twitched at F'ur's lips before returning to the soft, pleasant smile he was currently displaying. The little bronzie had no dragon to back him up, now. Having decided it would be beneficial to put a little fear in R'el should they get off on their own anytime soon, F'ur's mind ran through the possibilities. Ah, but he was counting his eggs far too early. Best to keep such pleasant thoughts under control until they reached that point.

"Oh, pet!" F'ur clung to R'el's arm and bounced slightly in excitement, before standing on tiptoe and planting one...well, on the man's jawline. He was, unfortunately, too tall for F'ur to reach any higher. He proceeded to pet the bronzerider as he grinned up at him. "You don't have to be so generous!" The bluerider's mind was working, however, at a solution. He...really couldn't hold his liquor when it came to the more expensive vintages. Then again, in all likelihood R'el wouldn't waste his marks on anything too high-quality for the gypsy-woman. It wouldn't take much to be better than the wine F'ur had bought originally.

"You're going to have to tell me your name, too. Fair is fair."

[lokath]

With a rather intuitive grasp of names and faces, R’el had not forgotten Gisela’s original given name. He had asked the woman again due to a growing suspicion… both testing the man’s memory, and his grasp of the entire situation. It also fit well as an introduction to his illusion of growing relaxed. And his physical body now was. His mind was anything but, however. A gaze that seems to be a roving eye, appreciating the woman’s features, was checking the transvestite for any sort of weapon, for dangerous expressions, for any sign that the man was growing tired of the game. He might seem harmless enough at first glance, but there was good reason to suspect otherwise… he had seemed to be female enough at first glance.

But back to the matter at hand. With a nod and the barest hint of a grin, R’el replied, “Thank you, Galatea. I am usually quite at a loss for names and faces.” Or at least he pretended to be. “That’s… a very good thing. Nobody should enjoy such a horrible vintage as that. I’m afraid I’ll not be able to buy us something truly superior…” Benden wines were still the best on Pern, and R’el was slightly spoiled on them. He doubted he’d ever find them at Selenitas, yet another reason the Weyr was truly inferior.

With a deep sigh as Galatea/Gisela planted a kiss on his… jaw line, R’el placed his right hand on the transvestite’s shoulder. “Look… Galatea. I’m repaying you for your wone. Nothing else. If you want anything more, talk to the boys you undoubtedly already know.” R’el chuckled internally at that line, thinking how true it actually was, no matter the gender of the person he was talking to. “And my name is R’el. Now how about that wine?”

[Requiem]

Galatea wrinkled her nose at him, plucking his hand up by the wrist and dropping it as (s)he might a piece of dirty laundry. "No worries, sugar. I was merely expressing my gratitude. Don't think I can be bought by a pretty face, a few misplaced muscles and a bottle of wine." There was a teasing lilt to her voice, but it still suggested that she wasn't joking about not being interested in R'el in that manner. "You do think quite a lot of yourself, don't you? I'm surprised, actually." And here his eyes narrowed, a touch of slyness adding depth to F'ur's smile. "Don't northern bronzeriders pride themselves on their fighting prowess?"

Before he could react to that, 'Galatea/Gisela' was already stepping daintily ahead, the sway of her hips exaggerated. In the loose clothing, if you didn't know what was underneath, the illusion of femininity might be quite convincing. She cast a glance back over her shoulder. "Well, the ever self-possessed and angry bane of helpless wine bottles R'el, are you coming? I'm curious to see what you can procure with such an empty purse...or did you plan to buy it with smiles and promises?" She winked at him.

You're toeing a dangerous line, F'urMine, Inocenth commented blandly. He wasn't worried about His, but he still felt the need to mention it, if only so he could say 'I told you so' later. He's more or less harmless. So I'll just play with him, push his buttons. Why not? Because wine tends to go to your head and it makes me most uncomfortably unsteady? Mm. I'll be careful. Sip at it or something and encourage him to drink more. Good luck with that. I doubt he has your problem.

[lokath]

R’el grinned lightly as the woman proceeded to examine his hand, for Faranth knows what reason. He waved his hand dismissively at her words. “No worries, I was merely establishing boundaries. I find it facilitates a conversation when both parties know what lines not to cross.” Giving her a solemn look and a nod, R’el responded to her questioning in a mildly cheerful tone of voice. Nothing to suggest he was enjoying the conversation, just the tone most riders seemed to adopt at Gathers. “I find it hard not to think well of myself, but in truth no one thinks badly of themselves, do they? We all want to think inside that we’re perfect.”

“Fighting? I don’t do that. Both me and my bonded find the idea of harming another dragon or human… quite disgusting. It was… a misfortunate circumstance that I was born and Kreyanth Hatched at Benden. We never fought in the wars.” He laughs, nodding at the woman. “Wine! Yes, I have many friends in this weyr already. I’m sure we can find someone willing to advance us a bottle, eh?” The bronze rider seemed to grow cheerier at every sentence. He could only hope that his attempt to impress the man/woman with the idea that he was a flighty fool would succeed.

Taking long strides in a smooth, relaxed gait, R’el quickly caught up to Gisela/Galatea, and lightly laid a hand on the impostor’s elbow. “This way, Gala. You don’t mind if I call you that?” Without waiting for an answer, or even an affirmation that she would follow, he turned for a wine-stall close to one of the exists to the hall. If things turned bad, he could get out in a hurry. After a short discussion with the stall keeper, who seemed to be quite friendly with the Benden rider, R’el made a promise to the man, and a wine bottle was handed over. Examining the bottle closely before handing it to Galatea, he nodded. “Does this suit your tastes?”