RP:A Soured Morning

Part of the Questionable Honor Arc

Background

After everyone's adventures in the Ring of Gluttony the night before, morning calls. For Thistle, it's a chance to get away from Katya and think about everything that had gone on the night prior(plus, she could use some animal sinew for her bow).

For Krice, well, he had meetings with certain shady businessmen to attend to.

Unbeknownst to either of them, a new face had entered land and city, someone who might be dedicated to the Temples in the city. Someone who might just stir things up a bit more than they already have been. . .

Somewhere near the bad part of town, Cenril

Thistle had needed to escape the walled-in space that was her new place to sleep at night. She'd slept light, and when she'd awoken she had chosen to leave, no matter whether Katya would yell at her later or not. A walk, she told herself, and since she couldn't go out she'd try her hand at purchasing backstraps from a deer, as well as food since she was rutting starving. Careful not to think about anything as she walked, Thistle had one hand in her ubiquitous sash as she spent effort putting herself far away from the slums to the south of the city as she could without taking too much time. She'd dressed for a fight, in her worn out leathers and a loose woolen shirt that time and grime had turned an unhappy brown. Her expression was curiously blank, but her shoulders were hunched up high.

Krice was perched on the roof of a building to the south, with his left foot on the frame of the roof, his right down, and his left arm resting over his thigh. He was dressed in his usual black clothes, with his katana sheathed against his back, so the warrior was likely ready for a fight as well--though he wasn't planning on getting into one. With early sunlight cresting the ocean horizon in the east, reflecting with a blue-tinged glow across the right side of his face, the warrior glanced down at Thistle as she ventured along the road. No one else was present, yet, so she'd be able to hear him clearly when he said: " Hey."

Thistle was midstep when Krice spoke, and she stuttered to a stop. It was awkward, that half step, and she pivoted off the prematurely placed foot to look behind her, before her eyes started drifting upwards. She found Krice there, framed by the dawn, and she studied him with a little uncertainty before looking back down the street. There were hollows under her eyes, but then again there always were. "Everything going alright?" The words were couched in a hesitant caution, but the twist of her lips showed her ready to start something if she needed to. On edge, that was Thistle.

Krice watched Thistle silently, without moving, without blinking and, in the wake of her query, he took one step forward - off the roof, into the air. He descended swiftly and landed in a half-crouch, his knees bending smoothly to absorb the impact of boots-to-ground. Silver hair flailed behind him, fluttering down around his face when he landed, and remained in place there as he stood. He seemed to have no qualms about showing his abilities to Thistle. Reason for this remained unknown. Coolly, without intentional arrogance, the man approached the always-threadbare-looking woman. " Going slow, but I think I'm getting somewhere."

Thistle took a step back, and then another. The urge to fold her arms was there, but she held it back. Instead, she cocked the elbow of the hand in the sash outward at a jaunty angle, as if she could ward off their typical bickering with attitude alone. "Hasn't been a week, unless I slept through a day or two. You looking for me?"

"Not intentionally," Krice said, casting a thoughtful glance across Thistle's features. When she stepped away, he remained in place unless he needed to move forward to maintain a comfortable distance for conversation. Speaking, the warrior voiced his reason for bring here with her. His tone was one of information-seeking. " That guy you were ogling last night... Who'd you think he was?"

Thistle twitched a little. It figured. It so rutting figured. "What guy?" Her voice was cool, and distant.

Krice lowered his hands into the pockets of his pants, a smooth, unhurried gesture with his voice punctuating its conclusion: " The stocky guy who approached your cocky friend. The woman who fought."

In the plains and the steppes, it was expected that the most minute of actions would find their way around clan and tribe. News traveled fast. This wasn't steppes, but a city so full of people it nearly burst itself with them, like maggots out of a corpse. A cold feeling slid down Thistle's spine, the idea that people she didn't expect or want watching her through the crowd she'd felt so anonymous and -- dare she think it? -- safe within putting her on edge. She felt unsettled, and she looked up towards dawn. Oh, she hedged. "At the ring?"

Krice studied Thistle unabashedly, his eyes not hard or aggressive but attentive and intense. In a docile sort of way. It was a hybrid expression, one that belied a growing sense of... discontent? " At the bar," he said. Krice elaborated. " Rory and Javed. Who were they?"

Thistle swallowed a lump of something, and did her best not to go stiff. At least, in the steppes, she had the dubious assurance of family. Here, it was just some unwelcome sensation that she was being spied upon. If not that, then the Souls were having a ripe time with her. Her face went rigid, and strained. "If you heard their names, didn't you hear the rest? Why do you need to hear it from me?"

Krice showed no sign of irritation or acceptance as a result of Thistle's bristling. She was still talking, and that was good enough. For now. With his gaze half-lidded but thoughtful, the man said, " You asked me for help locating Jerica. Beyond that, she's a friend of mine so I'm doing it, anyway. I'd like to do it without stepping on the toes of whatever you've established. Let's work together, Thistle. I'm not your enemy." His voice was smooth and relaxed, but low and quiet. People would have to get close - or be supernatural - to hear him. And he wasn't one to let people get close.

Thistle stuck a finger in her ear and waggled it around. Oh, to be drunk again. And, as usual, people showed a surprising tendency to know each other, which did absolutely nothing for her paranoia. "Did you hear what was said, or didn't you?"

Krice dipped his head in a half-nod and answered Thistle's words with a simple, " I heard enough - up to the point when you and your friend left with Rory and his doorman." A tiny insult there. He didn't like these people. Least of all did respect them. His friend was missing, and they were somehow involved - directly or otherwise. " I stayed behind to watch Javed. He seems a more sensible target for my intentions. After you left, did Rory make mention of anything that could hint at his knowledge of Jerica or her whereabouts?"

Thistle would have been content with truth, without the games that implied distrust within the overtures of peace. That was something she was more comfortable with. Overtures of friendship only served to make her wary, and their past interactions had seen fit to make her nervous about any alliances between the two of them. The need that had caused her to talk about Jerica's situation had been one of sleep deprivation and desperation, and she remembered now that Krice was dangerous and incomprehensible. She remembered it well. Her eyes flickered back to his face at his words, and her face stayed stony. "Don't worry about Rory. He doesn't have anything to do with her. Haut Monde was what she was gathering information on -- not Freyel."

Krice studied Thistle with that same obvious steadiness in his eyes as she spoke her response, his own a simple few words of farewell that precipitated him turning to leave the Corner by way of road; not roof top. " Alright, thanks. Take it easy." He had some business to tend to.

Thistle watched Krice turn, and lifted her voice to say, "I'll expect your progress soon. If you disappear, I'll have. . .problems."

Krice slowed to glance over a shoulder and he said to Thistle, " I won't disappear. Promise." His confidence in these words was sound and unwavering.

Thistle watched Krice for a second, meeting that glance, and then she nodded and turned away. She was going to need a longer walk, so it would seem.

A little while later, along a street in Cenril's markets...

Thistle was sure the sky hadn't been fully clear during the day for the last week or more. It wasn't usually something that bothered her, but being damp from a drizzle that couldn't decide between rain and mist was not her idea of a good way to continue a morning that hadn't been great to begin with. She'd needed to clear her head, and had pulled herself out of her temporary home before her bloodsister had awoken. There was much to think about, and so she had wandered over to the awakening Merchant Street. There she stood, streaks of grime striping her face as the drizzle separated the outer layer from the deeper, more ingrained dirt, standing uncertainly at a rag-picker's stall. The man, old and body sunken in the way of the poor, was still setting up, and glaring at her as he did so. "Well, boy? Ye're scarin' me buyers." Thistle shrugged, uneasy, and looked back down the street. There weren't a lot of buyers out and about yet, though it was patently obvious to her that there were other sorts about. She was seeing more of them, sporting their colors and affiliations in plain sight. It made her nervous, more nervous than she had been even a week past.

Kosuke was moving through the streets of Cenril at a lesuirely pace. An aura of serene calmness seemed to radiate from the monk. His steps were smooth and graceful, his steely gaze in constant motion, his long black hair was pulled back into a tight braid that hung down to his waist. Having never been to the city he didn't recognize any of the colors or gang signs, and thought them merely style and fashion, that he didn't understand, but what could he say, people were odd.

The lank hair crowding Thistle's face hid one of her eyes, but she didn't push it out of the way as she looked past the ragpicker down the other side of the street. There were a small cluster across the way, crouching in the lee of a building and scratching at the dirt with some sticks. Their voices pushed back the silence of morning as they started up some sing-song rhyme about bloody smiles. It wasn't too unusual for Cenril's children; the city had a violent past and a violent present, and they adapted to it as they could. "Get ye gone!" The ragpicker barked, and Thistle flinched and took a step back, uncertain what to do with the handful of silver decorating her pocket. She took a step forward, and a group of young men came out of the alley ahead of her, voices raised in laughter. Further down the street, a merchant started to hawk his wares. The drizzle became a little more misty, obscuring sight past ten feet or so, but it couldn't disguise the faint smell of blood. Thistle stopped, watching the young men -- they gave her no more than a few disgusted glances -- and as they swaggered off she glanced towards the alley they'd come from. The smell of blood didn't go away. She hesitated.

Kosuke hear's the man yelling at the...man? Woman? It didn't matter. Stepping forward the monk regards the ragpicker with his calm gaze, "Now good sir," he says his voice holding that same hint or serenity and calm that his body possesses, "Is not anyone with coin welcome in this area?" he asks, "And before you say she has none, let me ask you how you know this? Her appearance? I have seen men that walk around in rags yet have copious amounts of gold hidden simply because they wished not to draw attention to themselves." The smell of blood wafts to the human and he takes a deep breath turning he gazes down the alley and looks to Thistle ina questioning way.

"I'll not have malingerin' about me stall! I know that one well enough, and if 'e ain't partin' with coin I'll not 'ave 'im smelling up me stall." The ragpicker flung out a bony hand towards Kosuke, ill-humored enough to include the man in with his proclamation. "Now get!" Thistle pivoted half way at the raised voices to look back at her unexpected champion, and had only a scowl for the interference. But, at least he didn't tower over her like half the damn city did. Small miracles. She turned back and glanced after the disappearing bodies of the group of men, and hugged her irritatingly damp wool shirt closer to her body as she stepped into the alley, soon lost to the gathering mist. The smell of blood got stronger, that way.

Kosuke eyes the man's hand and sighs resignedly, "Very well." he turns away and lets the pouch of coins jingle loudly. Stepping after the woman he offers her a bow, "I apologize for interfering." he offers, speaking softly in the mist as he follows her, having seen the scowl on her lips.

Thistle stopped walking forward, the sound of the ragpicker's cursing a dim echo behind Kosuke's words. She hated the smell of blood, and the damp, and the way her leathers chafed her skin when the weather was as miserable as it was. Her hair was clinging to her neck, and itching, and the collection of ills affected her expression as she looked at him, some small shade of irritation twisting the attempt at a blank face. Silence was his initial greeting as she took a step forward, towards him. Dirt scraped under her bare foot. "You from around here?" She asked, voice low and vaguely threatening.

Kosuke is still perfectly calm, "No I am not." he answers simply, "I am actually new to these lands in general." His gaze sweeps over the apparent street urchin, "Why does it matter?"

Thistle had marked Kosuke for his cleanliness, for the perfect order of his clothing. She'd meant, more than anything, that he didn't venture into the dirty market way as most who were so well kept didn't; those mostly had servants to do their shopping for them. She was startled at what he admitted, and the irritation soaked back in under her blank face. She studied him again, in silence, and licked her lips. There was a smile then, and it wasn't at all nice. "Y'wanna know what happens when you don't mind your own business?"

Kosuke quirks an eyebrow at the woman, "I assume your going to offer a threat or something." he says simply, not the least bit perturbed by the woman's attitude, people were odd after all. "That threat would be unneccessary."

The smile turned into a smirk, and Thistle shook her head. "Why'd I threaten you? No, can't you smell that? C'mere." She turned away from him and ventured deeper into the alley, the mist making it difficult to see (and starting to make it difficult to smell) what she was looking for. It was true that Thistle didn't like strangers, and obvious enough in her demeanor, but still she looked back over her shoulder to see if he followed her the short few paces in, until she stepped in a puddle that hadn't yet soaked into the soft dirt. The alley back there wasn't quite mud, but it was soft enough to become mud if the alley was regularly trafficked. Thistle kept moving forward until she came up against a wall, but there was no obvious body. She frowned, and moved back to the dark puddle. Stooping, she dipped her fingers into it and came up with blood. "Hey, see? You should get out while you're ahead, yeah?"

Kosuke does indeed follow the woman, "Blood..." he says in response to her question, "I have no desire to leave, nor concern as to my safety here so I think I'll stick around." The monk's gaze sweeps the alleway, his keen disciplined eye scanning for anything out of the ordinary, be it threatening or just odd.

The sun wasn't fully up, and Thistle squinted up towards what she could see of the sky (rutting buildings, anyway) to see where it was at. A couple hours, give or take, would burn off the mist. Until then, it was dawn's light and fuzziness at several paces. "Planning on sticking it out in the city?" She wiped the blood off on her shirt; it bore the dual sins of being undyed and unwashed, and its color was both a thing of many shades and wholly indeterminable. Once her hand was as clean as she could get it, she gave Kosuke a good long look up and down, as if that alone might convey the contempt with which she held him. She shrugged. "Your funeral, not mine." This was slightly ironic of her, considering she'd not lived long in the city herself, and had just been told by a lifelong Cenril resident the night before that she stuck out like a sore thumb. People were people, and Thistle was Thistle, and she was full of her own contradictions. And quite sure of herself, if it came to that. She wandered towards the back of the building that formed the right side of the alley they'd come in on, and formed the border of another alley with the building behind it. This one was narrower, and she had to turn sideways to step into it. There were no obvious signs of dragging. Maybe she would have left, then, but she was cocky in attitude and it was likely Kosuke's continued presence bothered her.

Kosuke says nothing to the woman's comments, staying silent as he followed her. If it didn't seem like this woman would need his assisstance...not to mention she was nosing around in other peoples business as well, he would have walked away but the monk was too intrigued. He stayed a respectful distance away, knowing that he could spring to assisst the woman in less than a few seconds should the need arise.

Thistle sidestepped back out from the alley, flicking glances towards Kosuke every few seconds. She'd prefer a body, certainly. She wanted to know who was involved. She stared down at the bloodied ground, waving her hand as if she could get the mist to disperse on command. It was moments like this she wished she'd followed her lessons in druidic magic, but ah. . .she walked in the opposite direction, where the alley was slightly bigger. Where had the body gone? Different tact. "Why're you here?"

Kosuke simply stares at the woman, "Curiousity." he states calmly, "Wondering what interest you could have in a missing body." The monks gaze never wavers from the woman, his attitude and stance telling the woman she can be as rude as she wanted it wouldn't change anything.

Thistle stared back. The smirk was a little fainter, but still present at the corners of her lips. "I live here. You don't."

Kosuke said, "Yes but it's not your business. What Happens to those who don't mind their own business?"

Thistle shrugged. "How do you know it's not my business?"

Kosuke smiles serenly, "You just have the aura of someone who takes risks with things that don't involve them."

Thistle was easily distracted by any perceived slights to her person, as was evidenced by the way the smile disappeared and her eyes narrowed slightly. "You talk like that to strangers often?"

Kosuke smiles slightly, still perfectly calm, his posture and tone anything but insulting, "No offense meant, just observations."

Thistle said, "Yeah," as she started walking down the larger of the two side alleys behind the buildings. "If I was you, I'd avoid the south part of the city," she lifted a hand dismissively, but didn't look back. She hated mornings.

Kosuke shrugs and begins to move in another direction, away from the woman. The monk glanced back once to look for any danger to the woman, he almost wanted a fight to show the girl he could more than handle himself.

Thistle kept walking, tucking one hand into her sash to be closer to the knife there. She kept her eyes to the ground, as if it might give her the secrets she wanted answers to.

Kosuke continues to walk away, his senses stretched out and looking for anything odd, this city did make him a bit uneasy.

It was a sound that made Thistle turn around. A sort of wet sucking sound, and a splash. She turned in a heartbeat, squinting past the mist, to see a skinny shape near where she'd been, a gangly sort of shape. A short shape, like a child. She started running towards it, and she heard a curse in a high voice -- definitely a child. Thistle was cursing herself a fool for not looking up, not seeing what had been above them the entire time. The body had not been dragged off, no, but in a place where feats of strength were routinely outside of human capability, she should have known better. The shape shot off down the alley she and Kosuke had originally come down themselves, and she slid far as she tried to take the corner too fast, and nearly collided with Kosuke. "Get the kid," she shot at him as she dug in her feet and started to run after said child.

Kosuke hears the sounds and glances in that direction. Pausing a moment he is nearly side swiped by a small figure, only to be almost bowled over by the woman from earlier. Hearing her words the monks eyes pan the area and he dashes forward. Moving with grace and speed of a master martial artist he sprints after the child, few there were that could outrun a monk at full sprint.

The kid made it out of the alley and past a merchant's stall before Kosuke was upon her, and Thistle heard her squealing before she caught up. One of the merchant's displays had been knocked askew, and the wood and clay bead charms he'd set up were littered across the ground; Thistle felt one underfoot before she thought to look down to look. Even then, she only snorted and scowled, sidestepping the mess and the merchant's loud haranguing. " -- going to pay for all this?" The merchant in question, a man with a comfortable layer of fat, was saying, stabbing one finger at the girl in Kosuke's grip. Thistle shrugged as she stalked closer to the two, and squatted so she could be nearer to the girl's eye level. "You see what happened?" She asked, voice low. The girl only stared back, expression going mutinous, and Thistle tipped her head to the side. "Answer," she said.

Kosuke had caught the kid easily and was holing the child firmly, yet not painfully by the arm and was watching her every move, reading her body language. At the merchants words he pulls out a handful of coins and tosses them to the man, "Quiet." he says calmly to the man, his gaze casuing the man to stutter backwards.

The kid in question tried to jerk her arm away from Kosuke, alternating her glare between him, Thistle, and the merchant. "I'll not be treated in such a manner!" The merchant said, stepping around the broken display and bending to pick up what charms had fallen between him and the three standing in the street. While there weren't many people out at that hour, at least not on this street, there were still a few. The ones whose curiosity hadn't been tamped down by the frequent violence in the city were drawn forward to see what the cause of the ruckus was. Thistle tuned out the merchant, and looked out and away towards the attention they were getting. She stood up, and was kicked in her shin for the effort. She scowled down at the brat, and then took a step closer to Kosuke, avoiding a second kick. The kid started to struggle. "Gerrof me! Leggo!" Thistle said in a quieter voice to Kosuke, "Follow me." She turned and started to walk towards the quieter end of the street, and alleys she was familiar with.

Kosuke nods, sweeps the crowd with his gaze and with a gentle push in the right spot on the young girls back propels her in the right direction. Following the woman Kosuke keeps his eyes open for any other surprises.

Thistle took them to an alley further down the street, and then a turn down another one. It wasn't necessarily proof that they wouldn't be overheard, or that they hadn't been followed, but it did get them out of the way. Though, given the way the merchant had at first followed, and then yelled after them, the entire damn street had watched them. The entire way the girl had struggled, kicked and swore at the two of them with such a variety of words in a variety of languages that Thistle was impressed despite herself. Definitely a Cenril brat. "What you see?" Thistle asked, rolling her shoulders back. She didn't like the level of attention, or the fact that Kosuke was the one with the girl. Kinda hard to ditch the man now. The girl, on the other hand, didn't seem to like either of them. She attempted to bite the arm that held her.

Kosuke escorts his charge in the same manner that he had been strolling down the streets of Cenril, nonchalant and relaxed. At the attempted bite he skillfully twisted his arm causing the girl to turn a piroette, then with a quick half sweep to her feet landed her straight on the ground, her arms still clamped in his firm grip, "I would suggest you speak child."

The kid was momentarily stunned before her pre-pubescent ego had her scrambling back up despite the lack of her hands to act as balance. Once up her feet were spread wide, clothing splattered in mud and face a mix of fury and hurt ego. Perhaps it was Kosuke's tight grip, or a wrenched shoulder, because she winced and some of the fury went out of her. A sullenness replaced it, and then a little cunning as she looked back and forth between the two. "Whaddya gimme for't?" Thistle perched one hand on her hip, and scowled at the brat.

Kosuke looks at the girl, "We let you go." he offers calmly, his tone telling the girl that that was the only way she would be released.

The girl opened her mouth, and Thistle took a step forward and slapped her full across the mouth, hard. "I'm not in the mood for your sass," she snapped. "Talk." The girl looked up at Thistle, her eyes a little unfocused, and took a step back. She didn't protest, or cry out. She was Cenril born, after all, and force was only a matter of time. But Cenrilli born was Cenrilli born, and she whispered, "Five silver, and I'll sing."

Kosuke glances at Thistle and mouths telling her he had the money, but this was her show, he was just doing as directed. Not how it would always be.

Thistle didn't even look at Kosuke, her eyes were for the brat. She lifted her hand again in warning, and the kid flinched. "Aright, aright!" Not that the slaps were likely the worst the kid had experienced or seen, but violence beget more violence. That was pretty much the law, in Cenril. "There was men," she said, looking down at her feet in their oversized sandals. The sandals were laced overly tight; likely the only way they stayed on. "A bunch a men." Thistle made a noise, and the girl tensed up. "Did you know which group they were from?" Thistle asked. The girl hesitated, then said, "I dunno. Thorns, mebbe. An' the other one, I don't know nothin'." Thistle forced her face into blank smoothness. "What other one?" The girl drew into herself as much as she was able, head ducking forward. "The shifter they was tryin' t'kill."

Kosuke gives Thistle a questioning look, not familiar with the gangs of Cenril or if shifter meant anything special. The monk studies both females, reading body language and facial expressions.

Thistle's gaze was drawn upwards almost as if she could suddenly feel Kosuke's eyes upon her. The girl sagged in Kosuke's grip, sulking or tired -- Thistle didn't care -- and she gave Kosuke a hard look. He was a stranger to her, and there was no welcome in her eyes. She was tired of strangers, and the consequences and hurt they always seemed to put on her and her own. Yet, somehow, here she was in another questionable circumstance that strained the boundary between what she was and wasn't willing to do. She looked back down at the girl. "Describe your 'shifter'. What happened?" The girl took a few seconds, bit at her lip and pulled with body weight alone at the arms Kosuke continued to hold. "I dunno, he was dark. Docks dark. Had hair in braids. Dressed real strange, wore jewelry. The men, they come upon him, he was lookin' fer something'. They says he was snoopin', and they knew he belonged to the Rat bitch -- " "Did they call him Claw?" Thistle interrupted, her voice a little harder, a little more cold. "No," the girl said, and she had gotten that much more uncertain with Thistle's mood. "They took 'im down with shiny metal, though. Silver. An' when they'd gone, he shifted into a real big cat." Thistle swore, and swung away, one hand going up to her cap. She pulled it off her head, crushed it in her hand. The other hand balled into a fist, and she put it on her hip, looking down and away at nothing.

Kosuke watches Thistle's reaction, "Lycan?" he asks, "Or something else?" He is able to draw that conclusion from the mention of silver. "Are we done with her?" he asks glancing down at the girl.

"Lycan," Thistle spat the word as if it, too, was a curse. The word 'shifter' was a colloquialism in Cenril, used by the lower, poorer classes. They had many such words. "You sure it was Thorns?" Thistle asked. "No," the girl said, and in that single sound there was such sullen rebellion that it would have done an older teenager proud. Thistle's shoulders dropped an inch. "I don't know why you're here. I don't care. I don't know if you're some rich fool, or just some hapless idiot. But you should get out of this rutting, Souls-cursed city, and go until you're somewhere far away." The girl sneered, "You a coward?" Thistle jerked around, and took three big steps until she was looming up in front of the girl, close enough for spitting distance -- which the girl took advantage of. Thistle lifted her hand to backhand the girl.

Kosuke shakes his head, "I am neither a fool nor idiot, merely an interested individual that can handle the risks of meddling in the affairs of other, particularly muderers." he says simply. As the girl spits and Thistle goes to strike the child the monk'a hand shoots and smacks the womans hand off course causing it to swing to wide, with space to spare, "I would drop you attitude child." he says calmly, "Otherwise I might just let her take out the full extent of her frustration." He didn't mean at as a threat, but simply as fact.

Thistle narrowed her eyes, and any vestigial hint of friendliness that might have been in her, might have swayed her towards neutrality, dropped away. Tension, like the mist, thickened the air about them. Thistle, rather than lash out at monk or girl, took both hands and jammed her cap back on her head. It made her already messy hair stick out awkwardly in spots. "Then you are a fool," Thistle snarled, looking first at Kosuke and then down to the girl, "Let the brat go."

Kosuke shakes his head and releases the girl, while slipping her a couple of coins and sneaking a smile. "I have been called worse by better." he states to Thistle, "Now who are the Thorns and why did they hunt a lycan?"

The girl snatched the coins and managed to stick out her tongue at Thistle before darting quickly away and out of easy reach. Thistle watched her disappear around a corner, and her face went back to that stony expression. She looked at Kosuke, looked at him long and hard. Her jaw tensed, and right then in that mist she appeared to be as grubby and unkempt as the street urchin. "I'll tell you for twenty gold," she said with an oily smile. It was an outrageous sum for what was fairly common knowledge in Cenril; anyone aware of the value of information in the city would know its worth was only a few silvers, if that.

Kosuke can't helps but to smile, drawing out twenty gold he tosses it to the woman, "I have no use for coin." he explains, which is true the monk owned only the clothes on his back, that and some weapons were all he would ever need.

The smile went away quickly. "Then why do you have it?"

Kosuke shrugs, "So I may give it to those that need it, instead of it going into the pocket of the greedy."

"And I need it, then?"

Kosuke fights the urge to roll his eyes, ""Hardly, I just think you're more deserving of it than many others."

Thistle bent to pick up the coins with precise, economical movement. She hadn't even tried to catch them. She had to push hair out of her eyes, and when she spoke a fine edge of anger underscored her words. She didn't make eye contact with Kosuke. "Thorns are a gang. They're usually at the docks -- they distribute drugs, have some nice rackets going on. Usually they're not this far in, but if they're hurting people. . .they're pushing. Maybe. Or something happened. I haven't been out that way in a week or so. If the lycan is who I think, he belongs to another gang, but they shouldn't be pushing each other, not here. Neither should have territory here." It worried Thistle. Then again, everything in Cenril did.

Kosuke nods simply, "I understand." he says softly, "How many gangs are in Cenril? Who's territiry is this?"

Thistle snorted. It was a derisive sound as Thistle squirreled the coin away in various places on her person. She wouldn't push him for more gold, she didn't like his righteous attitude about it, but they hadn't bargained for this information and she was ever wary of strangers who wanted to know more. "Why? What's it to you?"

Kosuke said, "Simple curiousity, one should get to know a city that they might be spending time in."

"Might be? Why are you here?"

Kosuke smiles, "There is a temple to Aramoth in your city I believe, I wish to offer my assisstance to the temple. So you might be seeing a bit more of me."

Thistle stood, and brushed at her clothes as if she could rid herself of the stains and wear of too much use and too little mending. There was a clump of hair stuck to her cheek, which did almost nothing for the severity of her expression. "I'll stay out of your way. We won't be, as you put it, 'seeing' more of each other. And you can remember, when the Butcher or one of the Triads, or, Souls, maybe even Pariah comes visit you one day -- this moment. When I warned you, and you didn't even stop to hear it. Get me? This city belongs to the gangs, and all their violence, and your kind hides in your pretty little temples with the gilded merchants pretending the rest of the city don't exist."

Kosuke actually laughs, "I fear no one milady, death and danger are a part of life, by stressing and worrying about it you take away the joy in a life well lived." He waves his hand dismissively, "But no matter, your gangs will learn that a monk of Aramoth is not someone to pick a fight with." With that he turns on his heel and strides away, "Fare well."

Thistle scowled as he turned away. "You think it's that easy? Think you can just walk the streets and it'll all be better? Hah! You should ask your friends about the Butcher!"

Kosuke waves over his shoulder and says nothing.

Thistle decided, at that moment, that strangers in Cenril were all a special type of idiot the Souls delivered to her in order that her day might become that much more intolerable. She stalked off, thinking maybe spending quality time with Katya would have been the better choice, that morning.