RP:Abandonment

Part of the Questionable Honor Arc

Background

After Ranok saved Thistle from a couple of hobos with a taste for the fish she'd caught, she'd declared herself an honor debt to the man. He'd gone on home, thinking Thistle nothing more than a crazy girl he'd never see again.

Thistle, however, was serious. And though the death of her brother Leaf had caused complications to the method by which she'd planned on settling said debt with Ranok, she still intended to pay it off.

Trial by Fire

A large figure was making its way through the crowd. A small part in the people gave tell his passage, as the throng was moving aside, or shoved on occasion, for the smith to reach his destination. Familiar in the ways of Cenril's not giving a damn, Ranok upholds the tradition by giving anyone he might have trampled down a particularly nasty scowl. They usually ended anything that might have happened then and there. Side stepping around the traffic jam, then taking a moment to straighten his duster and fix his hat, a glance was all that was afforded the argument before he moves along. Waiting for those two to agree would probably have taken forever, just about. Ranok's eyes were on the storefronts, reading the names as he passed. A furniture place...one for flowers...weapons...pawn...and more then a few looking hollow and empty. Cenril had seen better days, that was for sure. Halting as his eyes catch one in particular, his journey ends. It was a fairly reputable, if old, jeweler. The storefront was sturdy, and bars over the door and window. Thieves wouldn't have an easy time, here. Without any preamble, nary even a single skulking glance around to see if he was followed, his hand goes to the knob and in he goes.

"Would you listen to me for one rutting minute, Iron?" Thistle had gone into the shop, following behind a larger man who had on the creased and stained tabard of a local delivery group. One of the few delivery groups left standing unmolested by the crime rate, due to the fact that they kept minders on their men, those whose sole job was to look dangerous as deliveries were made. Iron though, was the actual deliverer of goods, and as he put down the order in the shop's front desk, Thistle was dogged at his heels, ignoring the shopkeep's disproving look. Iron, too, focused on his job, though it was obvious he heard her. It was in the redness of his complexion, the tension across his shoulders and the way he kept shifting his weight. Thistle knew it by the way he tossed his head and tapped his fingers on the cloth wrapped item as he settled his due with the keep. Finally though, when Thistle crowded too close to the side, the man at the desk leaned sideways. "If you do not have business here, I'm afraid I must ask you to leave." Thistle recognized that tone of voice. It was an order, something backed by a threat that she couldn't afford a retort to. Not with Iron listening. Not when she needed him to look at her and acknowledge her. "O-okay," it was hard, swallowing her pride instead of showing the man her disgust with him, "I'll be outside, Iron. All right? We need to talk." And she turned, though reluctantly, and came face to face with Ranok as he entered from the street beyond.

Ranok would have nearly bowled Thistle over, with her in the doorway like that. Only a hand shooting out to grasp the first bit of her ragged deel that came into reach would have stopped it. A gesture born of instinct, some primal need to be polite. Really, one might have expected him to simply knock them over. He wasn't offering an apology, however, so some of the shininess of the gesture was rather immediately scrubbed off. "Kareful." was all that was spoken, instead, a clear rebuke. A step to the side as he releases Thistle, his eyes moving off of her. Perhaps he'd already forgotten the bedraggled girl clinging to a fish next to the docks. The man's hat is kept on as he goes to the counter, waiting with a somewhat grim expression as the keep makes sure that Thistle leaves as he'd demanded. Having seen nothing of the reason, Ranok was neutral to her plight. Only the metal of his finger meeting the counter in a steady rhythm indicated Ranok's impatience. Beyond that, he might as well have been made from stone.

Thistle cringed, though it wasn't because of his size, the near fall, or the rebuke. Iron had banned her from returning home until the girls had had time to 'ease their hurts' and unless she wanted to waste time putting his face into the ground -- which she didn't, and the girls needed his income from his newly gained job, whether or not Thistle wanted that dirty money -- she wouldn't be going there any time soon. Conundrum. She needed to talk to Iron, but too she needed to reaffirm her honor with Ranok, bugger the man, she knew he'd put her off soon as he'd left her eyesight, but she had a grimmer stubbornness in her than that. She wouldn't let it go so easy. So, she did step outside, confrontations being too long to take considering the few she'd already had, and waited for one or the other to come out first. She knew Iron's route, had gotten that much at least, and so perhaps she could have both ways, if it came down to it.

Ranok took his time about his business in the shop. A long discussion with the keep about the quality of specifically cut gems, in certain shapes. He was asking for some phenomenally large rocks, though with the gold that was piled onto the table for the transaction, there was an equally large bounty at stake. Their purposes were held to Ranok alone, as the shopkeep knew better then to ask. One did not keep profitable in Cenril for so long and not learn when and when not to keep one's mouth shut. The business wasn't overly long, luckily for Thistle, though Ranok was told he needed to visit on the morrow for some of the things he wanted to pick up. And like that, the business was done. Without exchanging anything in the way of pleasantries, a curt nod was awarded the shopkeep and the man was moving out the door, eyes on the street. The throng from earlier had cleared some, as the day waned. A watch, golden, was fished out from a pocket and flicked open. Its back was clear, the mechanics that made it work clearly visible. Some men had their small prides, and that was one of Ranok's, much in the same way he wore his hand so openly. Thistle wasn't even noticed, just another down on their luck person in the streets of Cenril.

Iron had come from the shop first. Thistle had followed him half down the street, arguing with a face that showed as much emotion as his namesake, until finally his minder had shooed her off with the threat of violence. It bothered Thistle, to restrict herself from fighting, but she would need her strength. All of it. She checked the sun as she walked back to the store. It was nearing night, and soon she would have to find a safe place to hole up in. It had been a very, very long day. As she returned to the shop she peered through the windows to ensure Ranok hadn't left, and contenting herself with his blurry large form through the glass, she settled to waiting. No one bothered her. The street was too busy for toughs to molest her with their threats, and she looked too poor for street thieves to attempt to lighten her load. The bow she'd bought was on her back against the wall, safely strung and settled in its scabbard. Ranok left the building. Thistle couldn't remember his name. She had a hard time remembering any names in Cenril, or nearby cities; they were in foreign tongues and without meaning they were just so much nonsensical babble to her, impossible to remember. But she jogged up behind him, stomach roiling against the man's ego. It was hard to forget a man so tall. Her life would be easier if he wasn't so recognizable, and she could just helplessly forget him. Another lifetime, that. "Hey," she said, as she moved abreast of him, staring up that impossible height. "I owe you a debt. You were going to visit my home. Not! Not tonight. But in a few days I want to find you again. It's important." To me, she finished, unspoken, because the man had no honor and such a plea was not likely to impress someone who'd ditched her the last time they'd spoken. Truthfully, if a foreigner came up to her with something near as like, she'd likely try to dump them too. It still wasn't likely to deter her from this mission.

Ranok tilts his head down, his face marked with confusion. A hand had been moving to part hers from his person. An automatic gesture from living in a world where pickpockets and the like littered the streets. Not that they'd get much from Ranok's duster. It took a map, a candle, and a bit of prayer to navigate the clutter of that otherworldly space that denoted the place called 'a pocket'. In a fair nearly literal fashion at that, too. More then once Ranok had stuck his arm into one up to the shoulder looking for something packed deeply in the weird thing. His brows were furrowed, and the free hand straying to his waist in case it needed to draw something pointy to make an equally sharp reproach to a would-be thief when he realized he remembered the girl. Did he even give her his name? He couldn't remember. In his haste to simply leave to catch that boat, not giving it out wouldn't have been strange. He did remember that there was none given to him at all. Or, if it had, it'd fled his mind as much as her face had. "In a fev...gurl, Hy'm not zum servant, at you beck und kall. Visit hyu in a fev days for vat? To go und eat dinner at you house? Vy not now?" Not that he had a pressing want to do it now, it was just his quarrelsome mood and nature asking, truly.

Thistle slowed, and almost stopped at the question. But Ranok was moving, and not the sort to stop and wait patiently for something he'd so obviously put off as not worth his time. Best to keep pace with him, or be left in his dust. There was a good reason for not wanting him at her home at present, but . . .Iron would be making deliveries for awhile. The girls would be weeping, or trying to hide their weeping. They'd end it soon enough; they'd been raised better than to waste time shedding precious water. "Then now, if you'll follow me," she said, clenching her teeth down on top of the words.

Ranok instantly regretted his words, not something that he often did. Unapologetic to a fault...but sometimes words could be thrown back at him. As luck would have it, though...what he'd discussed with the jeweler today wouldn't be ready tomorrow. Two trips from Cenril to Rynvale and back again saved if he stayed on this side. But whatever Thistle had to offer couldn't be much better then even one of the more seedy Cenril inns...probably. Not that he needed to sleep. Even so...gathering himself up, he turns to tower over Thistle. Adopting the scowl he wore so well, his arms and chest settled into the most aggressive dominance stance he knew. Any more and he'd be looking like he was about to hit the girl. The point was intimidation. Strangely, his eyes had gone to a dark gray, like an oceanic storm about to break hell. The hair on Thistle's body would raise. Not by being scared, though that was what he was trying to do. Instead, the air was filling with static, and tiny licks of electricity dart from his body, though mostly through the hand that was metal in make. "Und hyu vill not release dis fooleesh notion hyu hef uf a debt und let us both a night in peace, den?" He was hoping she'd back down and make the night easier, at least.

Staring up at Ranok was like staring up at the tops of buildings. It felt pointless, and hurt her neck for extended periods of times, but she did it anyways. Wondering, as she did, what the world would look like from up there. After the past day, she wondered what he thought his threatening posture would gain him. Would he seek to kill her? That didn't worry her so much. Nothing could be worse than Iron's face when she'd told him. She was too tired, too worn out, too emotionally exhausted to feel more than a very brief nod towards fear. After everything, there was not more she could imagine that he could do to her, and despite his disagreeable nature she knew the accomplishment of completing her debt would make her feel better. Ha. Yeah right. You had what you had. That was it. Thistle's chin couldn't be lifted much further, not with her staring up the steep cliff of Ranok's body, but her expression stiffened all the same. "If you'll follow," she repeated. Stubborn.

Ranok couldn't help but feel just a smidge - tiny, near nonexistent, of respect for the girl. Not backing down no matter what was a sentiment few could follow. Foolish, since it'd probably get her killed, but rare. Too few people stood for what they believed in. His arms fold across his chest, and he concedes defeat. "Very vell. Lead me to dis home uf yous. If Hy get fleas, Hy'll be...shell ve say, onpleasant." He got enough jokes behind his back about the ears without lending any shred of truth to the matter. Jaw set, he waits for Thistle to lead on.

Thistle sniffed, and turned to lead him through the streets. Of course she could make no guarantees against fleas, or lice, or rats. No matter the battle one took to the innumerable pests in the forsaken city, more crawled in. That was part of the problem of living directly on the dirt between buildings: you lived where the pests made their home. That was it. Thistle took Ranok past the yet profitable shops and storefronts, towards an older section that was under the sway of one of the numerous gangs. As the quality of construction deteriorated, the number of ne'er-do-wells increased, too. Thistle kept her hand tucked in her sash where she kept her dagger, and her demeanor changed into something a little more furtive, a little more hunted rat. Finally she turned into a narrow gap between two buildings, and edged past several makeshift huts on her way to the one she called, and had called for a long time, home. Actually, she didn't really call it that, but it was where she slept and where her belongings stayed with her siblings. Made of pieces of scrap, it faintly resembled the yurt tents of her people. If you looked really hard. She paused outside the old blanket that served as entry flap and turned to Ranok. "I keep my sisters well, but they're not for selling, trading, or bartering. They're respectable, and I'll not have any. . .misunderstandings. Hear?" The words were sterner than her tone, but even so she watched Ranok with implacable eyes.

Ranok followed the stickly girl in near silence, his demeanor sullen and surely. The slums of Cenril were like any other city's, truly. Dirty, filled with the desperate, sick, and downcast. Deep down, Ranok pitied them. He'd been there once. A lifetime ago, it was. But that doesn't mean he was going to give out alms. It was futile. Help one, and ten were left out. There was wealth to him, a rather intelligently spent accumulation that didn't seem to run out, but even he couldn't help everyone. Better to change the system then pick up the twigs, in his head. That said, he kept his pockets well tended. Some people looked tempted, perhaps because Thistle made for an easy target, but picking the pocket of a man that could crush the bones of your hands into dust with a crunch of the fist? Not wise. There'd be a great number of hollow eyed stares, hungry or otherwise, however. When they arrived and Thistle spoke her warning, a look of rage seeped into Ranok's face. His hand reaches out to clasp her by the shoulder tightly, on the verge of painful. "Hold up, a second." Bending down to get face to face, he says dangerously, "Hef zum respeck, hyu liddle putreed pile uf krap. Hy reached out to saff you life, vich schtarted dis nonsense. HYU forced me here by sheer persistence. Do hyu not tink dat Hy kould simply leaff at vill? Hy don' kare vat sort uf part uf de kity dis iz. Hy've done my deeds, und Hy'll not take dat sort uf accusation. Hef zum respeck, gurl. Hy've earned it." His eyes bore into hers, to drive the point home. Sure, he'd spent most of their time interaction trying to bully Thistle into giving up this debt nonsense...but this was the first time he was angry. It wasn't just merely annoyed or inconvenienced this time.

It was unexpected how that simple stooping to her level made her feel like a child, again. Anger should have naturally followed, because if there was one thing Thistle wasn't and hadn't been in a very long time, it was a child. More like to pull out a silly grin from her, though, than anything too intense. She was still swimming in denial, in shock. The warning was par for the course, nothing more or less, and she stared at him, frustrated and confused and hating the thick accent that made his words so hard to understand. The wind came out of her a little, unable as she was to match him, and it was her who looked away first. Should have been angry. Maybe she couldn't tear herself from his grip, but she could thrust open the blanket with a muttered, "I've cause to play it -- " Mouth open, lips forming a word, her voice suddenly stopped. She blanched, which turned her a sickly sort of color that might look tanned on another person. Twisting to get away from Ranok, she ducked her head, eyes frantically moving over the small interior. It was empty. Not just of her siblings, but of almost everything but a very pointed pile in the middle of the space of her belongings. Thistle closed her mouth, and opened it again. "Fatherless son of a dry mare," she swore, but it didn't make her sisters reappear, or cause Iron to appear and explain himself. "Rutting--" nothing else. She had nothing else. She sagged.

Ranok let her go easily. He'd have hurt her by now if he wished to. The day where he shed blood over insults were far in the past, as well. So many things sunk into the mire of time. It was hard to remember, but somehow he did. Fools pulled steel over words. But often the blood shed was as pointless. Words were said and couldn't be unsaid. Punishment might be in order, but was death appropriate? A life for a lie, it was. So much wasted life. Ranok's nostrils flare but once, and the anger was released. Sinking into the depths like some fish released from its line, just as quickly it disappeared and his face was reset to neutral. The point was made. Hopefully Thistle would remember. Following Thistle into the tent, he stooped to make sure his head wasn't hit. Thistle's back was to him, so he couldn't see the distress on her face, so he remarks, "A bit empty, hain't it. At least dere's plenty uf room." Head tilts as Thistle grasps for her words, and his eyes flicker around the place, actually looking this time. It seemed to him as if there was marks where things had been, and he understood at least partially. "Hy suppose a tent vith no locks iz like to be robbed. Hy'd hef tought hyu'd know at least dat."

Thistle said things then, quiet and intense, that were even less welcome in polite company, and not welcome at all in front of a guest. She knew she was being rude, but there was something after all left to her stomach, and it bubbled up her throat and tried to wrest control of her face away from her. Upset. Frantic. Helpless. "Not robbed," she managed, finally, face still pale as she went to that small pile of belongings. Her small, beloved silk pad and the fetishes to the Souls was on top. Beneath, her tools for keeping weapons sharp and effective. Her woolen foraging bag. Her roll. Her extra blanket. The lump of iron she'd won as trophy for a feat she'd performed while in the Kin. Her over-vest, for winter. Her personal belongings. It was a message. "He took them," she said with such a look of despair that she turned from Ranok on purpose. "I have to find them." She should have stabbed Iron last night, when he'd taken his fists to her again. She'd been lax with him, felt sorry for him and his flush of manhood under a Nameless as family head. Too late.

Ranok got a feeling he was being drug into something once more. Whether or not he'd let himself depended on how convincing Thistle was. Again his arms cross over his chest, he waits for her to get it all out. Some quality cursing going on, though he supposed it was from being in Cenril. Sailors always knew how to swear the best, traveling all over as they did and gathering them up. Might even remember a few of those; cursing to unknown gods was just about as effective as cursing the supposed 'real' ones, at least to him. Moving up behind Thistle and her little pile of belongings, "Dem beink you siblinks, Hy'll gadder. Vith...hall uf der items? SCHtrange dat dey'd leaff you tinks. But vy deed dey go vith him und leaff hyu behind?"

Thistle swallowed. Swallowed again. She felt dizzy. Sure, Iron had told her to get out, but given the cause of his mood, she'd been willing to give him some space, and the girls. . .they didn't need to see her arguing with Iron. "They're my things," she said, after a long pause. "Iron, my brother -- my other brother -- took them and everything else. This is the message he left me. I'm not welcome to follow." More words up in her throat, pulsing through her head. She held them back with some effort. She had nothing. Having refused a typical job for the sake of her Tribesman pride, she'd made few enough contacts, and what little coin she scrounged together always went to the bribe of the local gang that lorded over the area. That was it, then. She either had to work, or forget ever seeing any of her siblings ever again. She knew Iron. Thoughts pecked at her from every angle, and only long practice let her settle her features as she turned to Ranok. Deep breaths. "They've taken the food, but sleep is safe, here."

Ranok says, flatly, "So hyu're gunna go on a rescue mission. Alone. Against...vat. Dis brodder uf yous. He vanted hyu out uf his life, but didn' schlit you troat vile hyu schlept. Dat iz a schtep up, at least, from normal Kenrilian business." Eyes glance around the room again, "Furddermore, hyu ekspeck me to schleep here. Alone. Dat's herdly henny sort uf hostink at hall. Vy, Hy kould get de same tink by schleepink in an inn. At least dere, de vind vouldn' try to get into de room." A snort, and he says with contempt, "Do hyu even know vere hyu're gunna schtart? Gunna go to find dem? Vat if he hes help? Hyu're a schtick, gurl. Hyu'll get shenked for de kloddes uff you back here at night. Hyu dem near died over a feesh. Don' be schtupeed."

Thistle straightened her back, and began to order her belongings. The roll was unfurled on the masculine side of the approximated yurt, along with the blanket. "I would not leave my guest." She had herself now, and was in control. A proprietary smile, a little too possessive to be aimed at a welcomed guest, was offered to him in lieu of further explanation. "I apologize for my lack of means. Tell me of where you hail from." Thistle didn't give two stones about Ranok's home, but she could very well pretend she did. All the while she thought of what had trickled down the rumor mill in the past few days. Who was hiring? Who was paying well?

Ranok doesn't budge, "Hy don' buy it for a second, gurl. Dis iz hall nonsense. Zum odder night, vatever. Or if hyu insist, gimmee a kracker from you pocket for me to nibbel on und den Hy kan leaff, hevink schpent time onder you rouf und eatink you food." He liked small talk even less then this charade, were it possible. Talking about his past was a currency given out in a miserly form. It wasn't about to be doled out tonight, not even to pass the time. A finger flicks, "Hy'm gunna presume dis heppened suddenly, given you reaction. Even de best actor kan' kontrol de flush uf blood like dat, Hy tink, so Hy'm inclined to tink dis iz real. Vastink a night iz also fooleesh. Vat if he takes dem across de sea? Go. Ask de pipple around. Surely vun sav zumddink. Hy'm sure hyu kan grease de palms enough to help dem schpeak."

Thistle said, "I don't have anyone to ask. You don't get it. They're gone, by now." Even speaking with care, her voice was tight. "I won't find them tonight. Nor tomorrow. I'll need money, and for that I'll need to take on work that pays well." Her lips twisted over that, and she didn't quite meet his eyes. "You don't know Iron. And Harmony, Citrine -- they wouldn't -- It's fine. This isn't fit for a guest. Leave."

Ranok arches his eyebrow. Just like that, huh? Drug all this way and nothing? Trawling through the slums? He was pretty sure he stepped in someone's chamberpot dumpings on the way in. And he *liked* these boots. In a moment, he decided he'd be damned if it was all crushed into futility. A heel turns, the man turns crisply out, pushing aside the tent. But he didn't depart the slum. Gray eyes pried at the shadows, the human misery all around. A likely target was selected. Some small boy, looking malnourished. Not quite ground into the pavement by life yet. Left hand extends, the dark metal of the hand looking like the grim hand of fate as it points, "Hyu. Boy. Kome here." The lad jumps as Ranok's voice booms out, looking for the source. When he found it, eyes grew wide. "Yah. Hyu. Boy. Here. Now. Dere iz gold to be made for hyu." And there was. The glint of promise in that hand, which turned palm up. An opportunity that was rare as finding the metal itself in the ground. Deciding to take the risk, the boy comes here. "Tell me. Do hyu know de group dat lived in dis tent?"

Thistle clenched her teeth as Ranok left the makeshift yurt, breathing shallowly in through her nose and out through her mouth. That was it. She'd washed her hands of him and she'd never have to see him -- she heard his voice. Outside. Talking to one of the brats who probably still had parents, even if very poor ones. She was out of the yurt in an instant, bare feet scraping over the brackish, damp dirt. It was always wet in the slums. It always smelled, in the slums. The boy was speaking, replying to Ranok after a brief and awkward silence. "I knew -- there's one-a them!" And seeing Thistle's hard eyes, the set of her jaw, the boy backed up and then stopped like he was on a tether and had reached its limit. His eyes shifted back to Ranok, calculating. He wanted the money. They all did, in those parts. "This isn't your business," Thistle was getting in front of Ranok, between him and the boy. "You've fulfilled my request. Leave, then. I don't need you."

Ranok says, evenly, "No." The point might be afraid of Thistle, but if push came to shove, well...he was fairly sure he could beat out the girl on intimidation. But, one caught more flies with honey, as they said, and Ranok held a special place in his heart for street rats and the like. "Hy'm doink dis for me. Henny gain on you part iz purely koincidental, Hy'm afraeed." His powerful hand reached out, grabbed onto Thistle's shoulder like a vice. He'd tug her away whether she liked it or not. "So hyu hef a choice, gurl. Hyu kan be dere ven Hy find dem. Or hyu kan be here in you hut ven Hy send dem home. Choose. But don' in de vay uf my business." Three more coins appeared in the hand offering them. Metal fingers met metal coins as they walked them over its surface, dancing along the knuckles. A neat trick - especially because it made the offer glint as gold was wont to do. "Hy pay vell for information, boy. Hy em a generous man. But, Hy need not say how terrible uf vun Hy em if misled, do Hy? Hyu're a schmot lad, hyu'll pick de right choice."

Thistle stumbled as Ranok pulled her out of his way, and she almost bared her teeth at him like a feral dog defending its hard-won scraps. But she was not a dog. She was a person, and one well versed in manners. Rutting manners, what'd they ever do for her? The struggle was internal as her face went neutral, and the boy took one step closer, looking back and forth between them. Ranok was large, armored, and stubborn as any mule Thistle had met. He outclassed her, laughably outclassed her, in weight, and Thistle had seen enough wrestling matches in her homeland to know what that size difference would mean if she tried to take him on hand to hand. The streets were too narrow to properly use her bow, and she doubted he'd give her the opportunity to get it aimed at him. As she thought, the boy had leaned forward to look at the coins. It was probably more money than he'd ever seen. They were used to dealing with copper bits in the slums. Never heavy gold coins. "Those real?" he asked in his gutter accent, words all slurry with greed. Thistle's shoulders hunched every time she tried to straighten them, as if her body recognized the battle lost. "You won't find them," she said, the faintest hint of a snarl curling her upper lip. "I know my brother, and even if this kid saw them go that won't tell you nothin' about where they went."

Ranok bent the golden coin between two fingers. A task that most flesh hands couldn't accomplish, but could be done with the vice like power of mechanics. some days he toyed with the notion of enchanting the metal to look like flesh, just to accomplish amazing feats like this. But honestly, he reveled in showing off his skill. It was not just an arm, it was a firm middle finger to the fates that took the one he was born with. "Real gold, lad, und hall yous if hyu help me." A look was shot to Thistle, "Hy do not ekspeck him to hef every ansver, but men talk ven dey do not know dey listen. Children like dese, dey are invisible. Perheps he let schlip vere he might be gun ven vun uf you sisters asked. You house literally hes paper tin valls, it hain't eksactly herd to hear zumddink. Tell me everyddink, lad. Do not displease me." Ranok's head had swiveled back to the boy he'd selected for information. All he needed was a lead, which was a hell of a lot more then an empty yurt.

The eyes of the boy went wide, and wider still to see the malleability of the coins. But those same eyes darted to Thistle and back again to Ranok, the coins. Thistle, the coins, Ranok. The coins. The hunger was there, she could read it in every minute change of his body language. Anyone could, and it pained her to see it there, but he was not her own and she had no responsibility for him. Would not pity him, or feel sympathy. Everyone had their own life, and their own struggles. She closed her mouth and folded her arms, not showing the anger she felt roiling deep within her. If the man insisted on bucking into her life and playing games with his obvious wealth, fine. "This is on your own head," she said so crisply the words might as well have been laundered and pressed. "If you get hurt, I'll have no part with it." She'd use him then. She'd paid off the honor debt. She didn't owe him. The kid was watching, and listening, and once the shadowed threat of Thistle's interference had diminished he eagerly leapt into his part. "Left here last night," he began. After the argument, after she'd told Iron. Thistle closed her eyes a moment as the pain rippled through her. Rutting Iron! "Went up that alley, and turned 'round back out south. I was wondrin' if they'd got out, made it big somehow, so I jacked after'm. Slipped on 'till he turned t'Merchant Street, an' I stopped there. One a the gangs're staking ground there, an' I wasn't gonna risk it." Eyes glued to the gold, the boy shrugged and grinned. "They was movin' -fast-."

Ranok gives Thistle a queer look. Did she think these scars were given to him sweetly? If he was afraid of being hurt, he'd obviously picked the wrong career choice. Multiple times, at that. But he ignores her warning with an obvious dismissal. "Movink fast und takink everyddink vith dem. If dey'd left it to be schtolen, you tinks vould not hef been ontouched. Not easy, karryink hall dat schtuff. Probably hed to be klose, or maybe dey schtashed it zumvere. Karryink you vorldly possessions in Kenril iz a goot vay to lose dem." Unless you were strong enough to defend them. Was this Iron strong enough to stop a band of thugs from grabbing several girls? Time would tell. "Hyu've done vell, lad. Now vun more tink. Vo vas de gang dat vas schtakink dat territory, und are dey dere now?"

Thistle wrinkled her nose up, and then relaxed her face. Her jaw was aching with the strain. "There wasn't much to take," she said. She didn't like the way Ranok looked at her. Or the way he talked to her, though she could do nothing about either. Instead of the obvious, she looked away, down the alley the boy had indicated. He had poked his finger in his ear and was wriggling it around, muttered something about Ranok talking funny. "Iunno, word spread 'bout Craven's Crew goin' soft, so this new group, Red Jaws or somethin' stupid like that, pushin' out. No big group yet, jes all the poor men with knives. That's what my mam says. Jes angry young men out t'prove a point, who don't wanna be starvin' no more. There's been some watchin' the street. Waitin' t'see if they'll be challenged for pickin' territory, but that's all I heard, mister."

Ranok wraps the coins up onto a strip of cloth and presses them into the boy's hand. That way only the people that saw the exchange and the boy himself knew that he had them. Riches were dangerous, especially when you were too weak to defend them. "Best find a goot place to hide dat, lad. Hyu know de reason. Hyu deed vell." Maybe he'd lied to him, but it was more useful to treat an informent decently. Being cruel spread, and then no one wished to come to you. If he'd been lied to, he'd be back, and he was sure the boy knew it. Even so, there was still that soft spot. There was even a silver slipped in among the gold. Hands go into his pockets, "Red Javs? No name nobodies. Dis vill be easy." Mostly he was deciding how he wished to approach. Ranok wasted little time in moving out, too. He was already heading towards the indicated street corner.

The boy was gone without further prompting, vanishing into the mess of alleyway dwellings and around a corner. Thistle's attention was caught by his flight before Ranok started moving, and she found herself having to trot after him. She was not fond of people with longer legs of her own, especially when they had a tendency of moving past her so she had to catch up. Mostly when they used their long strides to outpace her. "You're not thinking of -- what, beating up gang members? Are you crazy?" She kept her voice low as she neared his side, dodging dwellings and the occasional cluster of people as she worked to keep beside him.

Ranok sorta just pushed through the crowd. Anyone that wanted to stay in his way, well. Likely wouldn't be for much longer. "Go in veapons svinkink? Don' be preposterous. Hy'm not a barbarian." Looking forward, eyes were kept sharp to ensure that he saw the gang members lurking and skulking around before they did see him. "Ve're gunna ask politely first."

"Negotiate?" They were nearing Merchant Street, had only another turn before they hit the last alley between three buildings that emptied out into the main street. "With thugs. Negotiate." Incredulity faintly colored her voice; her own experiences as a short, skinny person were very. . .specific when it came to violent people. "Even the little dens made from street children don't just talk, and you and I both know what that leads to." They were at the mouth of the street, then. People with coin mostly walked it. It was definitely a large mouthful for any small gang to try to take over, and Thistle put on her gameface, shaking her head. "Crazy man."

Ranok says, with what only could be a wicked grin, "Hy kan be very konvincink." Hey, she was free to stay back and let him do all the work. Once the gang was found, Ranok wastes absolutely no time in openly approaching them, despite glares and any weapon rankling. The man's hands spread wide, empty save for one thing - his coin pouch. "Gentlemen. Vould henny uf hyu like to gimmee zum information?" Ranok was wearing a smile, though there was a rather ill meaning twinkle in his eye. Maybe he just couldn't smile toothily without looking like he wanted to hurt someone. "Hallow me to schtart us uff on a goot foot, no? Hy heard dat hyu hef a fondness for schiny tinks." Ripping the coin pouch open, money was dumped onto the street. It wasn't all gold, mostly copper coins, a few silvers, but the glint of the good stuff was bouncing freely amoung the rest of the the coins. The sound of metal meeting the ground was unmistakable. Ranok was rather hoping that the scary gang would keep most of the passerby from scooping up easy coin, but some being taken wasn't much of an issue. Once the bag was free, then Ranok's hands were empty and he was disarmed.

Thistle wasn't so easily shaken when it came to members of her family, few though they might be. She grimly followed along behind Ranok, occasionally slipping to the side of the road through the thickest parts; he was tall enough to see even when she wasn't next to him. They walked to the edge of the street, where the less well-to-do stalls were located and less likely to have actual guards patrolling. The easiest place to get a toehold, to bully some of the poorer merchants. Sometimes violence was power. Sometimes it was just a gateway to getting a whoopin'. Thistle took the bow from her back -- already strung, always strung when she had it in its scabbard -- and casually slung it over her left arm. She'd hang back. This close it would be damn hard to miss, even with her yet-weak muscles. Ranok's face wasn't visible from where Thistle stood unobtrusively, a passive observer until the situation merited further action. She wasn't involved! But she was. She was no coward to stand and watch a man against further odds, but maybe she'd underestimated Ranok. Maybe, those scars were more than a rich man's game. The coins glittered where they lay on the street, but this side of the street was steadily becoming known as the bad half, as the Reds and their malingering started new rumors and whispers. No one stooped, or tried to snatch, because this small crowd of young men were a nasty bunch. Had to be to carve your way up the ladder, to contend with the big dogs. No one moved for the coins as arrogant and hard eyes were directed up and down Ranok. "Whaddya want, ol' man, besides a beatin'?" Weapons were out, playing showy tricks. Nothing was serious yet, but the pride of youth was easy to insult, to rile over small things, and they were well prepared to be angry. Thistle pulled three arrows from her quiver, held them in her right hand and played with the fletching. She was too small, too deep in the shadows to be noticed so soon.

Ranok wasn't phased when his offering wasn't taken. The coins weren't poisoned, nor tricks of any sort. Simple metal, was all. He did suppose that a sudden offering of money was suspicious, but that was neither here nor there. Ignoring the insult, the smith steeples his hands together, flesh against the metal. "No need for veapons, gentlemen. Hy'm here to ask hyu a fev qvestions. Dere vas a man. By de name uf Iron, Hy belieff. He vould hef hed several gurls vith dem und hall der vorldly possessions. Dey passed right trough here, kouldn' hef missed dem." His head inclines slightly, and one hand gestures, "Help me along my vay, gentlemen, und ve hall leaff heppier. Dere iz alvays more gold vere dat kame from, no?" His smile had grown slightly darker. There was a palpable buzz in the air, that made the hair on the arms stand up. Perhaps it could be seen as intensity of the situation, though there seemed to be glints of light in the air, even, too. "So vat vill it be, friends? A simple ekshange, hyu tell me vere dese pipple hyu don' know hef headed, ve hall valk avay in a betta place. Sounds goot, no?"

Silence, for a time. The younger men exchanged looks with an air that could pass for confused. There was no insult to them in the asking, no assumed weakness in the way Ranok had addressed them. Information was lifeblood on the street, and worth value, but monetary gain had already been offered. They didn't have much to lose. They could, of course, jump Ranok and pilfer his corpse for any manner of useful things, but Ranok was showing both weapon and armor, and none of the boys was willing to risk themselves on a mark that may or may not be able to cut them back, even if they were able to take him in the end. "Saw a few men with girls, eh?" The one who responded was the most aggressive looking of the bunch, had a big scar on his right hand. He looked right at one of his buddies, and they snickered together. "Think they was whores, most of 'em," another piped up, and by their general body language seemed to think themselves right clever for their obscurity." Thistle edged a little closer, hissing to Ranok, "Two girls, he would've been with two girls in strange clothing. Not whores!"

Ranok takes the opportunity to light himself a cigarette. It wasn't so much the need for the smoke but the way he did it. Eyes were off the thugs. His hands were occupied. His manner was that absolutely zero damns were given that these guys were in any way dangerous. It was a gesture of confidence, superiority, and the exhibition of both. While some would bristle at the insult, anyone on the street would be familiar with showmenship and posturing, as well as knowing that sometimes, you just didn't mess with the top dog. "Hy'm afraeed hyu gentlemen vill hef to be more schpecific. A hyungeesh boy, kome last night. Tvo gurls, also hyung. Vearink schtrange kloddink. Like de lass here vears." A hooked thumb at Thistle, with her deel. She might have resented being spotted out, but the way Ranok was acting demonstrated that he thought he had the situation handled. "Tell dese gentlemen vat dey looked like so dey remember." A hand crooked to indicate she was to come forward.

The attitude had been noticed, calculated; how could it not be? The laughter died down, and the potency of tension went up, and up again. The men's eyes were all focused somewhere, be it on Ranok or past him, ever balancing the circumstances. Their one benefit to youthful stupidity was that they had grown up on the streets, and what brashness they had was tempered with years of hard fights and getting the shit beaten out of them. They were young wolves, stronger together in a pack but not more reckless for it. Their attention turned almost as one when Ranok pointed at Thistle, but rather than step forward she stepped back, air hissing through her teeth in an inhaled warning. Her bow, her arrows, were noticed, but rather than giving them something to worry about her presence, or lackthereof really, seemed to amuse them. She didn't step out. They waited, and she rewarded them with a very reluctant: "Their hair. You'd have noticed their hair. It would have been wound with bright blue and yellow." Some jeers were made. Thistle responded with muttered insults they couldn't hear, and the intensity between they and Ranok dissipated again, somewhat. "Saw 'im go down that way, though if y'asked me them girls looked like foreign whores." A thumb was jerked eastwards towards the more moneyed section of town, better proof against involvement of the gangs. At that Thistle did step forward, arrows slotted between her fingers, the foremost between forefinger and thumb. "What'd you say?" She asked, voice sharp.

Ranok clicks his fingers at Thistle, like she was a dog. Perhaps the shock of the gesture would reach her. In a game of intimidation and chest pounding, the person that swung first lost. They'd succumbed to the taunts, showed their fear. Plus, it wasn't professional. "Enough. Put dat down, gurl." Head swings towards the thugs, taking each of them in. One hand goes up to fetch the cigarette from his lips, dropping ash onto the pavement. And he takes a large step forward. "Now, gentlemen. Lemmee tell hyu zumddink about my patience." Left hand extends. There was a subtle crackle and a snap like static discharging. One of the gold coins flies into his hands like he'd yanked it on a string, though the mechanical appendage didn't even so much as stir. "It iz rare, like gold. It schould not be onvisely schpent, de same as gold. Und hyu'll be in deep trubbel ven hyu run out uf it." The golden coin was held up between thumb and forefinger, the example made, though he didn't drop it to the ground. "Hyu'd dem vell best schtart tellink me zumddink useful before Hy'm forced schpell it out in you blood on de schtreet." That was the gloves off, now or never. The proverbial chest beat and the step into the ring.

The one in the lead had taken a step forward towards thistle, lips turning upward, when Ranok made his gesture. "I'm not your rutting dog," Thistle said in a low and dangerous voice, but Ranok was speaking over her, giving her commands. Her eyebrows went up. Had she submitted to his command? She didn't remember doing that. But she was not so young or stupid either, and if she hadn't given him her allegiance, she had followed him on his jaunt. This was not her hunt to control, to give the orders on. She didn't put her arrows or her bow away, but she lowered her hands and retreated. The men had for the most part looked away from her anyhow, back to Ranok's more openly cool and menacing body language. But, fear was a strange thing, and sometimes too much of it had an opposite effect of what was desired. The men moved a little, nothing more than a few shuffled steps or loosened arms. "We ain't in the habit of followin' pissin' beggars, mate. We weren't buyin' and we got no reason t' skip up an' down Merchant Street." Bad idea to go wandering around willy-nilly when you were part of a gang, especially one low in the ranks, but they weren't about to say that. They were closing down now, bit by bit, the good-natured chattiness they had been close to sharing with Ranok going the other way again. Thistle wobbled the arrow between forefinger and thumb, eyes narrowed as she looked between the men and Ranok. She was stoic, but not stiff; she was ready for action, too.

Ranok says only, "Bad khoice." before he made his own move. Threads of electricity lance through his hand, throwing off light and crackle. The golden coin in the grip would turn hot, near melting, but not before it was suddenly flying through the air, kicked by magnetics and braced against the weight of Ranok's body, used as an anchor. The target: mister leader's chest. Not the face, as that tended to risk a little more fatal injury, and he needed the jaw intact for him talking. Coin was not flung with enough force as a crossbow bolt or an arrow, more prone to denting plate or chain then penetrating it, but against flesh it was fast enough to lodge or break bone. Of course, the opening gesture wasn't the only thing. As soon as his hand was free, both go palm up, and then he gave a second wave of undistinguished magnetic force, much like a wave. Again the flash and lance of elecricity as its power was discharged. Ranok's boots throw their heels against the cobblestone, providing a sudden and somewhat more sure foothold. His body was the linchpin of the force, the coins he'd scattered previously the major target, though any metals the thugs had on them would be similarly pushed. In effect, Ranok just slammed all of his strength against those coins, which then would impact legs, torsos, and in the unfortunate, higher, and then begin to shove onto fleshs as if he were standing on every one. A lesser man would have been bowled over by his own attack, but Ranok was large, strong, braced, and most importantly, perhaps, letting a flash of his anger slip. Over and done in moments, a single destabilizing attack, but he wasn't done. Looking like he'd just throwing several hundred pounds of deadweight as his palms made their pushing motion, he takes another step forward, drawing the baton to take on anything that still stood.

The young men were just that: young men. They'd made an opening sally into taking territory as was a common thing for young men to do against other people who were simply people. They fell in the way shocked people do, who do not understand the pain or where it'd come from, the damage and why there was damage. In Thistle's logical estimation, it was a rather ridiculous move, one overbearing and unnecessary for the task at hand -- she'd not sensed lies from the boys, or misdirection -- and the emotional reaction, which was spiteful satisfaction and cold. She'd figured Ranok for a warrior, given the way he moved and his size, but the power implicit in his movements indicated something a little deeper, a little more twisted. Given their roughshod interactions, it gave her pause. It gave her a reason to fear him, and to tread more carefully. She'd dealt with bigger men all her life, and had some tricks in her when it came to staying out of their grasp. Magic was something else altogether. Yet, even with that reason to fear and to tread caution, Thistle had her own stash of bravado to use as necessary, and at a moment like this she'd need of it to stabilize her own shakiness. "Pointless," she said, just loud enough to be heard over the moans and gurgling of the sole man for whom a coin had broken something bad in his chest.

Ranok did not bear magic himself. Merely the tools made and used. That was what he believed in, truly. His tools and weapons. Where the strength laid, too. Without them, he was just a man, unlike any mage that could rely on their memory or spells. As for the men before him, most of them were like to be as good a liar as you could expect. Guile, meanness, and cleverness, that was the rules of the street. Anyone worth their salt could tell a decent lie on the street, or you died. "No. It put de fear uf gott in dem. SCHtund on de ground if hyu know vat's goot for hyu, boy." Thistle's judgement of him wasn't all that far off. There wasn't any mercy in that tone of voice. Stave elongates, turning into its full height as Ranok presses the runes that told it what to do. The latter statement was aimed at one of the boys that had recovered faster then his compatriots, nearly ready to get back up. To press the point home, Ranok applies the stave to his chest to push him back down. Hopefully none of them would be stupid enough to try yet again. To the leader Ranok goes, crouching down, stave clutched in one hand. The other goes to the lad's shirt, gripping it to bring him face to face with the smith. "Hy varned hyu, fool. Und uffered kindness vere odders vould hef schpat. Now de gluvs are uff. Hyu vill tell me vere dese gurls vent, und trust me. Lie to me? Hy'll find hyu. Hy know every liddle hole in de vall healer in dis section uf de kity. Hyu go to vun uf dem, Hy'll know. If hyu don'? Dat hole in you lung vill kill hyu." No one could accuse Ranok of being the most diplomatic of men, after all. Small wonder he wasn't exactly exhaulted in Rynvale. Statement about the healers was a lie. Cenril wasn't his city, like hell he knew where all the little holes were, but they didn't need to know that. The bit about the lung was the truth, though. Disease ran rampant, and a hole in the lung was no small matter.

Thistle rolled her eyes, though it was less about exasperation and more a calculated maneuver to bring herself some peace of mind. Something similar, remembered on hunts when her master had decided to show off to bring levity to something that otherwise would have been dull. Ranok wasn't joking around. Thistle knew that as well as she knew anything else, but it took her back to a level of callousness that she hadn't realized she'd need when following Ranok on his taken errand. Her eyes moved from that hulking form to the ones scattered on the ground, and even from where she stood she could see that most of them were dazed or unthinking, reacting purely to those darts of hurt: fight or flight, and given the option most of them would have chosen flight. The smart ones. Thistle knew how men were when they saw themselves on top of the pile. She'd interacted with cruelty and spite, and had seen only boredom in the boys. She thoroughly doubted there was much they were holding -- "Gerrof, y'ol'tranker!" More cursing. "Saw the man goffing it up with one a the runners from Freyel's group, alrigh'? They went downstreet an' that's all I saw. That's all I saw!" Or maybe they did have useful information. Thistle let out an unhappy breath. Freyel held a courier service, a brothel or two, and had tie ins to the more powerful in the city. If Iron had taken a job with the group, it was likely then that he was going to get lodging through them, too. If he was getting lodging through them, though, asking questions was going to get the wrong sort of attention. If Iron found out people were looking for him -- and he wound, given the sort of reputation Freyel's web of people had -- he'd just disappear again. Cenril was a big city. There were a lot of places someone could go to ground. She turned from Ranok, looking down the street.

Ranok pats the kid's cheek in a manner most condescending. "Good lad. A pity hyu didn' realize sooner, but Hy hain't so onkind. You life." Shoving off the stave to stand fully again, a clink of coin hitting the ground showed what he meant by 'your life'. There was enough gold in there to get a respectable healer. Way more if they went to a shady one. That wasn't even mentioning the money that had been turned into a weapon, though it was a tad scattered at the moment. Who they selected wasn't much his concern. Every choice they made wasn't his responsibility. Present the offer, outright state the result if it was declined. A jerk of the hand and a twip, his weapon was back to a form that could be stored easy. Without a word, it gets tucked in and the man goes off, moving up the street. Smoke wafts from the end of the cherry red tip and his expression was one of grimness. Once out of earshot of the boys he'd thrown to the ground, the man spits on the side of the street, removing the cigarette to do so, "SCHtupeed kids. Tought dey'd hef more sense den dat. Hy kan only hope dis serves as a lesson. It vill make an interestink schtory tonight at least." A glance at Thistle, "Hyu do not looked pleased at dis nev revelation uf information." It's intonation phrased it more as a statement of fact then one of uncertainty.

The young men didn't have much in them at the moment to present much opposition to Ranok's offer or condescension. There was a bit in some of their eyes, but most of them were more keen on getting the coins and getting the injuries seen to. There would be friction between them, once all was settled. Wasn't much else could happen, given the way they'd been so thoroughly kicked down without any of them having lifted a weapon. Gangs didn't survive without displaying strength. When they couldn't conquer the world at large, they turned inwards with a viciousness and a will. That was how it was on the streets. Thistle herself was tucking arrows back where they belonged, the bow settled carefully back into its scabbard. She followed behind Ranok without a word or a backwards glance, scanning the street with maybe a little more care than was necessary. She didn't look at Ranok. "Freyel's men are a bad sort. Should've seen it when I ran into Iron earlier, he was wearing that tabard. He'll have switched jobs by now though, he'll know I've been back to the yurt. Questions'll have to be careful or you'll drive him deep enough that you'll wreck what chances I have to find him." Still wasn't looking at Ranok. Was thinking, instead, of that strange and magical power she'd seen him use. "Look, you've been helpful enough. I can ask the questions from here. I know this city and its factions better'n you. I've lived here." There was an upwards intonation in the last word; a hinted question, a questionable assumption that Ranok lived somewhere else, in another city.

Ranok grumbles something, and rubs his nose. After a moment, he says, "Hy get enough vebs und politics as it iz. You brodder messes vith dangerous pipple. Hy vonder if he knows de price he iz payink." Back to normal, at least. Normal for Ranok, that was. Grumpy was the byline by which he typically operated. "Hy know dat Hy kannot kick down de doors uf dese men und do de same as Hy deed to doze boys back dere. Mayheps Hy kould schlay each man dat viddheld information, but dat hain't how dis kity vorks, dat much Hy know. Perheps Hy hefn' reached de end uf de chain vere Hy kan go, but perheps hyu are korreck." Perhaps that might surprise Thistle, but Ranok did try to mind his weaknesses. Sometimes subtle was required, and when Ranok was involved, subtle took preparation, usually. On the fly, he tended towards brute force, ingrained habit of his life time. "But de fact remains dat hyu askink qvestions vill get hyu no vere, too. Hyu are schmall, in more vays den vun. No influence, no gold to grease de veels, no muscle to push vat needs to push. If Hy leaff hyu now, hyu vill fail."

Thistle was surprised, having expected Ranok to force his way past her opinion as ever, eternally graceless. She'd judged him hard, put him into a category pretty far down her list of dislikeable traits, and him jumping out of the box she'd so carefully caged him in made her temporarily speechless. Into that speechlessness, when he spoke again she actively listened rather than get her feathers ruffled over something she took from his words that wasn't there. For all her dislike for him, the forced interaction her honor had demanded of her, he was right. Given that, she still wanted to bristle at him for calling her small -- she didn't 'like' her height or lack of muscle -- but she didn't. The name that'd been mentioned by the downed gangmembers had taken more out of her than she'd care to admit. She pressed her lips together, looked down at the ground, took two steps for every one he took. "It'll take more than a day," spoken after a long silence, and a deeper consideration. "You're right, I don't have money. Iron, for all his bits, has something a little better for the girls right now. I need to be prepared to take them back, in more ways than one." The harder part, next. "You're right. So I'll accept your help in this, just this once." The words felt like they were still crammed down her throat, and it showed briefly in her face as she gave him the single glance he was owed, the acknowledgement that he was there. Hard thing to do, pretend a giant like him wasn't there, but Thistle was more than capable of managing it. "I'm not sure who to go to for information first. I don't have. . .many. . ." Letting that sentence die was so much easier than saying the words. She didn't have allies, or friends. All she had was her family. She sealed her lips shut, and slowed. They were halfway down the street, and she was aimless.

Ranok inhales on his cigarette, a long drag. It was more time to give himself some space to think then anything. The smoke from the thing drifts through the area. That was no tobacco in the thing, some heady herb or other that had a bit of spice to it, exotic and sharp. Just a whiff might get the brain turning a little faster. The cloud of smoke that he exhaled churned, no doubt like the inner turmoil Thistle was experiencing. "Hyu're not gonna like dis, but. Maybe hyu schould let dem go. Dis Iron managed to vork his vay into a faurly powerful organization. Dat hain't easy. It's a tight rope he valks, but if he kan pull it uff, he'll giff dem a goot home. Or he tumbles, und tinks go bad. But iz it really much betta den vat hyu kould giff dem?" His gaze casts onto her expectantly, like he was waiting for something.

Now was the time for Thistle to go bull-stiff, the stubbornness that'd gotten her this far in life coming to the fore and dragging her down with the ferocity of an alligator bite. "He doesn't have the patience for them," she said, words gone distant in the none-of-your-damn-business sort of tone reserved for nosy strangers. "And he has a temper." Sure, Thistle'd lost hers more than once, but she'd also never hit any of her siblings as punctuation to hot words. She wasn't going to tell Ranok that, however. He'd have to trust her if he was going to offer his help, butt in on her life and walk with her through it. "Not to mention I doubt he's the dedication to see to proper marriages," that she muttered down at the ground, lips tugging downwards in a brief frown. Her girls would make good brides, and they deserved men who'd make them happy. They deserved freedom, and Iron had taken shackles for himself. The same wouldn't happen to her sisters.

Ranok was pleased by her response, "Goot. Hyu're gunna need dat fire." Dropping the spent cigarette from his fingers, having plucked it when he'd finished with it, it was ground under with the heel of his boot. "Alvays hef kertainty in you actions. Chustifiable noddink. Hyu hef to be sure in vat hyu do or else hyu'll find you konviction lackink de moment hyu need it. Might hef to get a liddle dirty to fineesh dis, vun vay or anodder." Did a ghost of a smile grace his face? Maybe the chance to get his hands dirty pleased him. Or he liked a challenge, "So ve're schtartink dis from de bottom, more or less. Organizations dat big, dere's alvays holes. Zumtimes high, but usually low. Ve'll hef to gain access to it, zumhow. Bribery only gets so far. Gold talks a hell uf a lot, but zum men's prices hain't in metal." Sometimes favors, sometimes blackmail, sometimes they were implacable. Nearly always troublesome, too, "So hyu get in on de bottom und poke around. Hy'm sure hyu know how much de hired help kan hear, in de right rooms. No body tinks about de kleanink lady. You alternate iz to outbeed you brodder. Find zumddink dis man vants und ekstract you price in information. Neidder hes no risks."

Again, surprise. Thistle had gotten used to fighting Ranok on, oh, everything, and the sudden capitulations took her further than they should have. Again, she was listening to him without miserable inflections when he spoke, and was doubly surprised to find that she agreed with his take on things. It took her back, made her realize just how much she was willing to entrust to a man who was still a stranger, still just someone who'd taken pity or worse on her, who would be in a ripe position to take advantage of her in the future. Betrayal was a funny thing, something that stuck to your gut better and longer than any food, and the second look she gave him was something a little street, a little warrior. Coolness settled over her. "I will," she said, the two words simple and without reluctance. What followed was likewise given, freely and without any negative inflection. "Before I start saying 'we', though, I want to know why. You talk about the street like you know it, have been on it. So, why?"

Ranok drawls out that word, stringing it out long and hard, "Vhy, hm?" A snort, though it wasn't an insulting one. More an explosion of air, nearly a laugh but not quite, "Hy'm gunna assume dat hyu mean 'vy are hyu doink dis?' Vell, to be honest, Hy'm not entirely sure. Und vat Hy do know hain't eksactly a lot uf tinks Hy tell pipple, honestly. Hy kan see hyu don' trust me. De vay you schpine schtiffens ven Hy talk, und how you eyah schift. Dat's alright, gurl. A liddle mistrust iz healddy." A pause. "But it hes to schtart zumvhere. My name iz Ranok. Vy do Hy know dese tinks? Hy lived on de schtreet, vunce. Vild, as it vas. Vat Hy fell into to escape hes hed konseqvences dat Hy'm livink vith to dis day. Mayheps Hy'll see to it dat zum gurls don' hef to say de same tink." A broad shrug. Sometimes you had something you weren't quite sure why you did.

Thistle gave away a plethora of minute tells as Ranok talked, though she did attempt to close down hard. Relax, she told herself, but the human face is meant to be expressive, and she was not entirely stone. Especially not at that moment, with the thoughts of her siblings so close to the surface. There wasn't a whole lot to like in what Ranok said, from his accurate observations to the very brief story outlined in bold strokes that gave utterly nothing away. Lots of people spent time on the streets. Ranok's admittance didn't earn him much, maybe a little more respect for all the things he seemed to carry, for the confidence and more that he wore. Thistle didn't get it. She hadn't been born to the streets, had grown up in a very rigid society where everyone had a reason and a place and a duty to fulfill. What she did have were interactions to fall back on, memories of people and the things they did, things to frustrate her. Things she didn't understand. Given that, it was easier to take Ranok at face value, though she still wouldn't. Like he'd said, it tended to be unhealthy to trust too easily, and she could take his help without giving in to the rest. Something twisted her lips into a sour expression as she tongued one of her molars in thought, but it smoothed before she looked at him. "When this is over, if all is well," if he didn't betray her, "I will settle up with you, over a bowl of kumis. . .or beer. I will owe you the lives of my sisters and don't -- " her head jerked to the side a little, eyes widening that tiny bit in anticipation of a struggle, "don't you dare tell me what my honor is or isn't worth. It's something I would. . .I want to do." Not really, but he hadn't understood before so the tiny white lie wouldn't hurt either of them. She inhaled through her nose, and breathed it out through her mouth, bending her body in a slight bow. Three seconds she held it, not really a great show of respect, but something. Everything started somewhere.

Ranok gives a shake of his head, taking off his hat to run fingers through his hair. The gesture seemed mostly absentminded, and the hair obviously suffered, what with hat head and then this abuse, too, "Hy honestly hef no idea vat kumis iz, but Hy imagine Hy've eaten vorse. Saff de victory plans for later, however. Best not to kount chickens before dey hetch, as dey say." He'd have consoled her over the reluctance to share secrets, but he was a secretive man. And if he was one thing, it was unapologetic about who he was. Some pills had to be swallowed, and Ranok was typically in the rare position that it was his pill that had to be taken and not the other way around. Which is usually why he was grumpy when he was forced to concede, really. There was a bit of a wry grin as he probably would have told her there was no debt to settle, though, "Already hyu know me vell, lass." A hand reaches into a pocket, pulling out a golden watch that showed the gears and mechanisms that operated it behind a small glass pane, "Chasink leads und knockink tugs down really does vile de night avay. Are hyu gunna be hokay? ...gun back to dat hut uf yous?"

Thistle watched the watch, having never seen one before. Her curiosity didn't last long, and her head tilted as she moved her gaze to his face. "I don't know," she said, only that. It was the truth, something she'd been dreading facing since seeing the emptiness inside the yurt. Which lead to another unpleasant thought. "Where'll I find you, once I've got more information?" Strange, unsettling thought, to have someone to rely on other than her siblings. She didn't like it, not at all, but she kept that feeling as far from her face as she could manage.

Ranok hms, patting his pockets as he considered, "Never leaff Kenril, Hy'd bet. Und bird und mail iz far too schlow, especially as duties press und de ocean heaves. Lemmee see." A small bottle was taken out, smaller then his pinky. Which might have made it about as large as Thistle's index, though it was still small nonetheless. "Heh. Didn' know Hy schtill hed dis." Bottle was promptly offered to Thistle, "A bit uf a prototype, but valuable. Hennyddink schtuck in dis appears in anodder dat Hy hef. Und only dat vun. Message in a bottle, as it vere. A liddle valuable. Hy chust...uh, hef to find de odder vun. Hy tink Hy recall vere it iz eksactly..." As he pondered, he rubbed thumb and forefinger together absently. Ranok liked to pretend he was of stone, but even he had those little ticks that made him...well, human.

Thistle took the bottle carefully, as if it was made purely of sharp teeth and a cranky disposition. Once in her hands she looked down at it dumbly, a single brow rising up and up as Ranok talked, rather without her strict desire for it to. She mouthed Ranok's words, repeating them, the phrase 'appears in another' seemingly of great concern. But, she lifted her shoulders as if in a sigh, and then tucked it into the pocket made between sash and upper flap of her deel where it settled without too obvious a bulge. Her shoulders descended, but didn't relax completely. "You have my honor," she said, backing away from him and the general area of thoroughfare, back into the lee of large buildings. She didn't want to be the one to turn away first, was busy looking him up and down like she might never see him again. Who knew?

Ranok didn't mind being the one that turned away first, though he does half turn a moment, holding a hand up in a loose point, "Chust, uh. Do not drop it herd enough to break. It miiiight eksplode. Possibly. Hennyvays." A tug of the hat, and he turns fully, striding down the street with hands in his pockets, his way intermediately lit by those same trio of lights that might have been glimpsed earlier.