RP:Probably Something Overly Poetic

From HollowWiki

Summary: Ranok's inventions and snow don't seem to mix well. He finds himself in need of a Kanna's assistance, though it turns out to his surprise that this aid is rendered under duress.


Kelay was the perfect sleepy town to anyone that laid eyes upon it. Chimneys quietly drawing lines of smoke up over the skeletal branches of the trees, intermixing playfully. Of course, it was only sleepy to those who did not know better. More blood had been shed in the tavern and the space around it then most battlefields, and the place itself had seen many dramas played out year after year. But somehow, the town kept on in its sleepy ways. The air was crisp and chill, some degrees below freezing. A night of rain had turned into a night of ice, and a thin coating over all of the buildings and stone transformed sleepiness into a crystal kingdom. Even with the sun's watery light in full brightness, the ice was refusing to budge. But the air was still, and that gave a deceptive warmth to the air. With no wind to steal the heat away, those so equipped might find what could almost be called comfort. Provided, of course, they weren't out too long. But life had to go on. Twinkled sunlight spread down and what might have been a whimsical atmosphere is crisply shattered by a long line of brutish swearing. Drawing the eyes towards it reveals the culprit. A man, clad in a leather duster that was so scarred and sewn back together that it was questionable whether any of the original garment still existed, towering over a cart, tied heavily down in both a tarp and ice. The reason why wasn't hard to guess. When the rain had fallen, the cart had sunk into the muck at the side of the old stone road, traveled so worn with movement between the cities. And when it had frozen, the mud turned to frozen stone and the ice sheet covered it. It was now a task to free the thing without cracking an axle, and it seems that tall smith was none too happy. Or, perhaps, his face was just stuck like that. Either way, he seemed to be glaring at the stuck cart as if his gaze would be enough to return it to its freemoving ways.


It had been some time since the bardess had been in Kelay, what with her newfound schooling in Schezerade. However, a promise was a promise, and onward she trekked with a book tucked in her rucksack. It was strange that "Crazy" Maude would ask her to find books about the Archmosian Empire, but she had been so gentle in treating the wounds on her hands, that Kanna could not possibly ignore the request. The cursing had been intriguing her for a while, what with how the voice carried nearly to the Xalious pass. The freckled human pulled her scarf tighter around her neck for comfort when it occurred to her that her path was likely going to cross this frustrated voice. Cornflower eyes rested on the source of the cursing, then over to the sunken cart. Ah, that was it. Without a way to melt the ice, it was undoubtedly stuck. Strange, why did none of the nearby shops or restaurants bring hot water to melt the ice? Perhaps a song of rest would bring the man some momentary peace... It was far too cold for either the koto kept snugly inside the rucksack, or the hand drum whose strings stayed stiff from the cold. The short woman pulled her shamisen around by its strap to be in position, and settled herself on a discarded pallet. In a moment of silence between the stranger's cursings, a soft melody started to sound.


Ranok was cold. That was the first strike. He hated the cold, a well known fact of what reputation he'd assembled. While its reach was not so far as to be world renowned, he'd done enough for Kelay in years passed that his face was not all that strange. It was also for that reason that they avoided him, his foul temper not at all making him a pleasant person to be around. As well, the townfolk had developed a very strong sense of self preservation, and that frequently meant staying out of business that wasn't yours. Whether from zombie attacks, to rampaging megalomaniacs, to irritable demi gods, the best way to stay unharmed was to stay away. Furthermore, the Ranok hadn't asked, and nor was he likely to be. Booted feet pace on the slicked stones...or at least he attempted to. The foot strikes wrong and he nearly takes a pratfall. Only a twist that might have been more painful then the fall had been, and his left fist striking out so strongly that chips fly freely. With a hiss between clenched teeth, and all the dignity that a man who'd recently fallen can muster, he stands back to his feet. A moment is spent bowed over, as he fiddles with the heels of his boots. Oddly, perhaps, where any other might have nursed the fist that struck the ice, Ranok ministers no aid to it. A sharp eyed viewer might notice that after his fiddling, small spikes protrude from his feet as he moved then, providing secure grip upon the ice. That all done, he resumes his pacing for a few moments, a hand laid upon the wheel. When the music begins to play, his head snaps towards the source of the sound. A long moment is spent regarding the helpful musician, mostly in confusion. Doing his best to ignore it, he crouches besides the stranded cart, and does something out of view. After a minute, the sounds of scuffing and his hands seemed to be aglow, Another moment passes and he places hands upon the wood, and begins to heave. A strange sight, to be sure. Physical labor to the sounds of gentle melody, exertion and cold, and fury wrapped in leather, metal, and man. But the cart, agonizingly, moves slightly, enough to leave the rut it'd been in and crunch onto more solid ground. But the cart wheel still would not turn. Another stream of curses in a variety of languages that Kanna might recognize, ranging from elven to Common and even an orcish one or two. But it cuts off as he stared intently at the wheel and he straightens. Left hand reaches up to remove his hat, exposing two gray wolf ears, and he runs his other through dampened hair. A voice cuts through the cold and the music, "You there. Come here." Gray eyes were fixated on Kanna.


Kanna faltered a bit at the display of violence, followed by string of curses echoing through the quiet street. The young bardess had never done too well with aggression, not when fleeing was so much more convenient. How strange, the song was not calming the stranger... Her eyes flickered to the neck of her instrument in confusion, likely the same degree of confusion he was regarding her in. Surely, she had not played a wrong note, else she would have heard it. With a quiet sigh, her eyes turned to the ground as she searched her memories. It had been quite a long time since she had cast the spell of calming, yes, but she was certain the tune was right. In the yard of a home just at the end of the way, a ragged mantis of a human was shoveling snow, content to be in peace when the horrid combination of the travelers' music and frustration interrupted. With a grumbling sneer at Kanna, then to Ranok, he let the snow-shovel drop audibly onto the cleared stone before slamming the door to the small home shut. The act made the tune just a tad slower, and the woman's head lower just a few inches in embarrassment. It was not uncommon for Kanna to realize her music was unwelcome at times, but the recognition dug away at her self-confidence all the same. After managing the nerve to look back over at the stranger to see if her spell had helped any, the song grew quieter as her focus was shifted. From the distance, even she could see the glow around his hands. Odd, the man certainly was not a mage, nor a race that would appear to be capable of accessing one's own magic reserves. A warrior, perhaps, though she knew very few that understood or had control of what little magic reserves their training left. At the second string of frustration in multiple languages, her fingers, now cold and stiff from the cold, slipped and caused a sour note to strike. Kanna lifted her hands to her face and let out a breath to warm them up, if only slightly. Just as she began to restart the song of calming, her eyes caught onto his, then up to stare at where the old hat had just been. Wolf ears... could this man possibly be a lycan? Just the thought of being alone with one of those terrifying things was enough to make her stop playing again. At his command, she considered her options. According to texts she had read here so far, lycans ate humans. Whether or not this was true mattered little in the moment, because she had read all the stories of violence and believed it fully. Running was surely not feasible; a lycan would close the distance to in seconds. Entering a nearby home or shop would likely end the same way. Perhaps, if her music did not work, she could be rewarded with her life by doing as told. The freckled girl gave a hesitant nod before standing and making her way to him, growing increasingly nervous as she realized how tall the man was. Even if she stood straight, top of her head would just barely miss his shoulder. Terrifying. "Y-yes, sir...?"


Ranok might have been too angry to be soothed, or perhaps the strains of the music were not enough. The man might be immune, or simply tone deaf. Or, perhaps it had something to do with that flit of electric blue light that appeared whenever the music lofted towards him...or maybe not. They'd disappeared as quick as they came, raising questions as to whether they'd existed at all. The farmer was given a sharp glance, but ultimately ignored. Kelay's inhabitants weren't exactly imposing. A foot tapped as she looked his way and eventually got up to come over. Up close, he was just as imposing if not more. Age was etched into his very skin and conflict carved into his every fiber. From the duster that swept just above the frozen ground that was stitched and patched up so much that it was questionable whether it held any of the original garment at all, to the worn belt that carried a hefty array of weapons. And that face of his...the jagged scar that drew from eyebrow to jawbone gone the silver of a wound long past. And the lines etched out in a permanent grimace. He wasn't a looker, in other words. In one hand he held his hat, loose between fingertips that held a dull sheen. Right hand sat upon the hilt of his sword in the manner of a man who stuck a hand in his pocket; with absence and casual habit. When she came close enough, he gives her a bit more of a critical eye, but what he sees seems to pass muster. A hand wave for her to get closer, the motion turned into replacing his hat firmly back atop his head. As soon as she does, he moves with surprising speed, reaching the freed left hand to grasp her wrists and bring her towards his own. But his movement was not violence. If she let him, or was too slow to stop his grasp, she'd find her digits enveloped in his massive grip. But instead of a crushing vice, her wrist is to be released and a palm extended flat. So close it was easy to see that his left hand was artificial. Metal plates and joints worked together to create what could only be called a work of art. Each finger articulated perfectly, though at the moment they were still. Warmth poured forth from it, which could be felt even a distance away. And if she looked carefully, she might even spot what seemed to be light spilling from between chinks between the plates. She was to warm her hands, it seemed. "I need a favor."


Kanna steps forward towards the intimidating man, taking note of the weathered lines in his face and the cold stare he cast at her. If it was possible, she felt even smaller than she already had when standing next to him. Cornflower blue eyes look away from him and towards the frozen wagon, wondering what use she could possibly be in this situation. The bardess certainly did not seem physically powerful, an observation that could easily be assessed from her body bounced just slightly with each step. Her fingers pulled and twisted the fabric of her snow coat out of habit, a meaningless stimulation to ease her nerves. Her eyes were still on the cart when she felt large hands wrap around her wrists and pull her forward. Caught off-guard, she lets out a small sound of surprise as she takes a half step closer to him to keep from losing her balance. The unexpected touch sends her mind into a brief state of panic, of pure survival as unpleasant memories of incidents starting the same way begin to surface. She takes a deep breath to scream, when her hands are released. Her eyes flick up to his questioning stare, then back down at the extended hand below hers. The design was intricate, unlike anything she had ever seen on her travels, and she couldn't help but stare at for a few moments after he spoke. Despite her trepidation, Kanna looked up at the man and echoed him. "A favor...?"


Ranok gives a sort of nod that said 'Well, go on then'. The hand wasn't extended to just show off the work, but to offer the warmth. "Aye. A favor." A sort of grimace crosses his face, "This cart is not just a simple thing." She could warm her hands or no, but the offer didn't last forever, as he was crouching down beside the axle of the broken cart. Left hand again extends, tinkering with something on the belly of the thing. Rasping metal against metal, and a long moment, and then he's withdrawing it again, cursing. Settling his hands on his knees, he's still crouched, making him smaller. Not by that much, but it helped, "The gearbox is an advanced mechanism of my own design, and it seems that this cold snap has disagreed with it. Water has gotten in and it's causing havoc." Left fingers are raised towards Kanna and he wiggles them momentarily, "The long and short of it is that I need oil spread onto the mechanisms, and my hand is too large to fit into the opening to do so." And thus, by his own admission, seems to have discovered a flaw in his work. "I can yank it off, but the process takes time...time I would rather not spend. The cargo is delicate." In the back of the cart, wrapped tightly in oilcloth, lay something bulbous. It looked almost like eggs. But there was the glint of something shined beneath where the oilcloth tugged aside slightly. Any investigation was curtailed, as Ranok was demanding Kanna's attention. "Your hands are small and delicate. Perfect to reach in there and save me both time and my cargo."


Kanna scrunched her nose at the comment of being delicate. Intimidating or not, the bardess let out a quick exhale through her nose at the word to indicate she disagreed. Her left hand rested on the warm mechanism of a limb, wiggling her fingers back at him. The four main fingers were calloused from years of pressing down strings on her instruments. "I don't know how much help I can be, but I'm sure that I can give it a try." The left hand came away and tucked into her sleeve to retain its warmth while her right hand took its place. She lowered herself onto her knees to try to get a visual on the gears he spoke of. Surely enough, a small box could be seen under a fine layer of frost. After a pause, she tilted her head slightly, alternating hands again before she spoke. "If the problem is that the mechanism has water in it, how would oiling it drain the gearbox? The parts I can reach may help, but you will still have ice at the centre." She spoke matter of factly, her eyes flickering from left to right and back again as if she were reciting a book. This was likely because she had read books about machinery out of lack of more interesting material available, but had found most of it dreadfully dull.


Ranok raises an eyebrow. It was obvious he was caught by the assumption that she knew little of mechanics. The surprise does not last long, however, "It was not much. But enough. The current oil is not made for this weather, if that were not obvious. This cold snap had me...unawares." A lip curls. He kneels next to Kanna, heedless of her personal space. After all, there was only so much room close to that gearbox. Even over the scent of cold, the smell of oil and metal, interlaced with smoke and the sharp scent of something exotic, almost like cinnamon mixed with mint, drifted off him. "The current mixture was too based on animal fats. Too cheap, and so it is gumming up the works." A hand scratches his chin, the beard rasping against flesh, "I had hoped to be out of this town by now." A glance at Kanna, "Simple ice would be easy to fix. As I demonstrated on your cold hands. Here." From a pocket a sphere is withdrawn. Made of interlaced metal, it was if a lattice were spiraled around and then compressed. Fingers give it a twist and the lattice expands and light shines forth, bright and ever so faintly warm. It's offered to Kanna so she could see what she was doing. Next out comes a small jar, the top of which is twisted off, "This is a special mix. It's a bit caustic, so you will have to wash your hands. Oh, and exposure to air warms it. Oh, and a jar of it costs the same as one of your instruments, so don't drop it."


Kanna tensed at the sudden proximity, inching over just a bit to make room for him, though it seemed to do little good. She paused, taking in the sudden scent. Strangely, she thought, it was not unpleasant, something she hadn't expected from the gruff man. Resting back on her heels, she watched him show the mechanism that revealed the oil. Her eyes widened slightly at the display. Before she could ask how he had done that, the jar was placed into her warmed hands. "It's okay, I won't drop it." Kanna assures him with a smile before cupping the jar in one hand and lowering herself onto all fours to crawl around the muddy patch and under the cart. Satisfied with her vantage point, she rolls onto her back onto a relatively clear part of the stone street to look at the gearbox. With her lower half sticking out from under the cart, she moves a leg to her left to nudge his arm. "Hey, where exactly am I supposed to wash my hands if all the pipes are frozen?" She teased. With the tougher skin on her left hand, she gingerly dips the pad of her finger into the jar and begins to grease the mechanism.


Ranok kept an eye on her as she worked, crouched beside. A hand tips his hat back so the brim doesn't bump into the wood of the cart. Gray eyes stayed locked on her hands, though he couldn't see where she placed them precisely within the gearbox. And not on whatever was sticking out and wiggling behind the cart. The stuff from the jar wasn't the best smelling, though it didn't carry the typical smell of oil. Its feeling was slick and slightly sticky and it began to warm up slowly. "I suppose," was a lackadaisical drawl, "We'll just have to let it get down to the bone. You know, I've never reconstructed the hands of a musician. I wonder if that would compose an interesting technical challenge." Expression deadpan, it'd take a long moment of study of his face to see just the tiniest sliver of his mouth curled upwards to signify his jest. It looks like Kanna's assistance was improving his mood, at least. For the moment. After a little time, and hopefully a skillful application, he rumbles back to his feet, "That ought to do. Smear as much back into the jar as you can and you can use this to wipe off." When Kanna uprights herself, she'd be presented with what used to be a white colored oilcloth. Time and use had seen it to be as worn as the man who wore it, but it'd certainly do the trick.


Kanna’s fingers gently trace the outlines of the box, blinking away any falling frost with her thick eyelashes. At the comment about reconstructing her hand, a new wave of panic comes over her. That wasn’t caustic, that was purely corrosion! “Wait, ho--” BANG. Whatever she was going to say was cut short by her impulse to sit up, forgetting for that moment that there were a few solid inches of wood above her to greet her head. Her eyes stayed wrenched shut in pain for a moment, only letting out a pained whine instead of the usual curses or other angry expressions that would come out of someone in her position. “You… were joking, weren’t you…” A realization that comes one lump on her head too late. After finishing the job, she does as he says and shimmies her way out from under the cart. Surely enough, her face is covered in silt from moving around the underside. What may have been a lovely, youthful face before was now replaced by an expression equally as deadpan as his, save for the pout. She takes the oilcloth from him and wastes no time getting the remainder of the warm oil off her fingers.


Ranok has the humanity to look a little concerned when there's a loud thump from under the cart. She's greeted by his face held down below, a ever so slightly mystified expression on his face, "...slip on some ice?" When she reemerges, a hand vaguely gestures at his face, "You have a bit of...oh, here." And makes as if he was going to scrub her face off for her with another one he produces. This one looks like it could make a handy torch, or if it was squeezed hard, drip onto the ground. But before it makes contact, he drops it into her hands. "Here. It's got a nullifier on it that will help counteract the oil. I was not lying about its caustic properties, but don't worry. If you let it sit it will eat flesh. Right now, the worst you will have to worry about is dry hands." While she tended to her hands, he kneels down beside the cart again and wiggles the wheel. "Hm." A glance at her, "I do not suppose I could convince you to crawl back under?" He pauses, and again, an ever so slight curl of the mouth. Without waiting for a proper response, he suddenly digs his heels into the ground and heaves. The cart rocks, causing its cargo to shift slightly and produces a series of clinks as they touched together. So propped, he gives the wheel a wiggle with a hand, and it budges. Slightly. A grunt and he shifts his weight back and the cart settles too, "Never mind. I think it will do." Dusting off his hands like he was the one that accomplished something, he purposefully strides to the front of the thing and flips another gearbox open. Left hand reaches into it and seizes a cord, and he yanks. There was no exertion, given that he was using his artificial arm to do it, and that was good considering how much effort it appeared to take. With no results immediately forthcoming, he repeats the action, causing something to tick from the underside. A third time, and the gearbox erupts in a cacophony of ticks and whirs as the gears are bullied into life, spreading the saving salve that Kanna so generously assisted with.


The bard blinks a few times in confusion when he reached out with the second cloth. How… kind. A bit thrown off by the gesture, she leans forward slightly, not out of acceptance but out of the ingrained unspoken rule of etiquette of doing so when someone offered. Something warm falls onto the back of her hand, and she realizes that he dropped the cloth for her to clean herself off. Oh. She cleans herself off in silence while the potential threat inspects the wagon. Without warning, and jolted out of the comfort of leaning her head on the side of the cart, she spins around to watch the cart rise. The show of strength leaves her dumbstruck, enough to blurt out an almost incomprehensible combination of “please don’t crush me” and “those are going to fall out that way!” Once he has started up the strange mechanism, she awkwardly climbs to her feet, her head tilted to one side. Even for a well-read and well-traveled girl, she has never seen anything quite this complicated in at least a few weeks. Also a rather easily fascinated girl, the last extraordinary thing that impressed her this much was discovering the operation of hot air balloons with no mages to control the fire. Her attention shifts to the curious cargo beneath the cover. What an odd sound they had made… Despite her curiosity, the sight of lupine fur sticking out from the stranger’s tilted hat quickly reminds her that being around a lycan would only make her more likely to be its dinner the longer she stays. The hand that doesn’t hold the oil cloths wring out the bottom of her coat nervously as she studies his face from the side. In the wintry day, her eyes have taken on a hue now closer to that of robin eggs. A streak of dirt extending from the tip of her nose to just below her eye has been missed. “Is… that all, then? Am I free to go?” When he turns to look at her, her shoulders tense and she quickly adds, “I-I won’t tell anyone that you’re a lycan, I swear, I-I never saw your ears!”


Ranok was a big, powerful man, used to slinging metal and pointy things around. But even such a physique could only get so far. The arm helped with filling in that gap. Along with some horrifying other sacrifices. Perhaps the, when he twisted just right, scars that showed over his duster jacket and armor's low gorget, had something to do with it. Like something had drawn a blade down his spine. Such glimpses were fleeting, however, but Kanna was in just the right position, with Ranok so low to the ground and the motions he was making. When the cart settles, and in between his drifting over to the front, he'd give Kanna a strange look. Seems her garbled proclaimation wasn't exactly intelligible. Once he'd started the...well, whatever it was, he closes the panel shut. There was no overt signification that anything was working but that settled ticking. Flames roared, magic glowed and fwooshed, and even if it was powered by invisible horses it should have been doing...something. Perhaps it was underwhelming, but then, Ranok didn't seem one for pointless showboating. A not entirely correct statement, but that was neither here nor there. "You were always free to go." Gray eyes flick over towards the bard, "I did ask as a favor. You thought that you had you?" His head tilts ever so slightly, his expression amused. But his brow furrows, and he steps around the cart back towards Kanna and the cargo. "But I suppose I owe you a favor now. A man must repay his debts." His face became serious. But then her nerves were beginning to show, and just before he demanded what the matter was, she burst out her stammering. A pause. Another long, strange look. And a strange crossing between irritation and amusement. Somehow, he could convey the expression on those chiseled features. Left hand goes to his face, the mechanics spread over his features. "Okay, okay. First thing." Hand sweeps the hat off his head, exposing the ears they'd trapped underneath. "These?" An empathetic point, "Are a damned curse and were a mishap." Despite it all, they flick in the breeze. They looked tremendously fuzzy. Standing up more straight, a hand brushes an errant hair on an ear back into place, "Secondly, being a lycan isn't a big deal. Especially here. Practically every wanderer these days is a dragon in disguise, a person exile from their homeland, or some immortal cursed to live. Getting a little crazy under a full moon is hardly exciting anymore."


Always free to go… the concept that she had never actually been in any danger in the company of this man finally struck her. The case with vampires had been similar, had they not? She was terrified of them on sight, until she slipped on the metaphorical banana peel and somehow wound up helping one midwife a witch in labour. It is not until the nervous blurb that she also registers that he was insisting on repaying her for her assistance. The damage was done, though. His expression changed to something more frightening-- if that was at all possible-- and the silence only lengthens. With a nervous swallow, the young bardess opens her mouth to speak when Ranok begins to explain, in his agitated manner, what it is she thought was lycanism. “Ears from a curse…?” She echoes quietly, keeping a gaze that has gone from mildly terrified to extremely curious on the ears. Now that she sees them closer, they seem awfully cute. She’s tempted to lean up and test if they feel soft like rabbit fur or rough as the wolf-pelts she recalls from somewhere in her memory. Logic, along with all rules of social convention, remind her that such an action would be horribly rude. At the comment about lycans not being so dangerous, her brows scrunch down in confusion. The knowledge that he is not, in fact, one of the horribly aggressive, man-eating wolves she clearly fears, puts her more at ease and allows her to challenge the statement. “Not a big deal? But they… they eat humans, how is that not something to be on guard for?” She asks incredulously.


Ranok has a bit of a sour expression, though there was a great deal of resignation. He'd realized that Kanna was wary, to the point of being afraid of him, but not just how much. Her reluctance and hesitation after he'd told her she could have left at any time showed that she really hadn't considered that. This was not abnormal, given that he was a seven foot tall man with a frame to match, covered in scars and carrying at least a sword openly, and a great deal more more subtly. But sometimes, it was tiresome. Perhaps he'd just gotten used to the fact that people seemed fearless to the point of stupidity? What with trusting strangers and the casual murders that plauged the place. When that particular thought occured to the smith, he'd gained a slight bit of musing to his expression. And he also looked a little less murdery. "Yes, you could leave at any time. You approached me, remember? Looking like a deer caught in front of a hunter." Head shakes, and a hand strokes the fur of one of his ear, "And yes. A curse. There's a great deal of magic around. Call it a miscalculation. Keep asking if you want your own pair." The way he said it was spoken like a threat. Though, perhaps, whether the the 'offer' was one or not depended on the temperment of the listener. Without looking at her, even as he fixed the errant hairs on his ear, he adds, "And don't even think about it." People attempting to touch his ears was a common thread, relating back to that 'people without common sense' thing he'd considered earlier. "Lycans aren't wild blooded slaughtering creatures, on the whole. Don't get caught in the dark in the full moon with one and you're fine. So many have defanged themselves, what with only eating animals or what have you. It's the same as vampires. So many have control of their lusts and only drink bottled blood or what have you." He leans in, "It is not the monsters that look the part that you should fear, girl. But the ones that hide." He leans back, then against the cart. His weight produces another gentle chiming and chinking from the cart's contents.


Kanna pursed her lips in embarrassment. Had her discomfort been that obvious? A quiet apology is uttered before her brows scrunch in confusion. What an odd outburst; she had indicated nothing of the sort of wanting ears. “Why would I want my own pair…” A head tilt to the side before she straightens in alarm, looking up at him with wide cornflower eyes. No, surely she hadn’t said anything about touching his ears aloud! “I-I didn’t say anything.” She says just a smidgen too defensively. Goldenrod fabric peeks out from the sleeves of her dark coat as her fingers idly run over the cotton hem. Kanna looks away for a moment, considering this new information. All of the folklore she had heard in other lands about those creatures, they were exactly that, weren’t they: just folklore. It seemed she had quite a history to read up on while on this continent. When her head turns back, she inhales sharply with a slight gasp at seeing him leaned in, having not noticed the movement before. The monsters that hide… Hide in plain sight, really… Wasn’t that always the case with her? Her expression sobers just a bit and she gives a nod, appearing to be remembering something that may not have been pleasant. The clinks from the cart draw her attention back to the man, then to the covered cargo. “What are you transporting down there? They sound almost like hollow cannonballs.” She comments, though the accuracy of the description may or may not be entirely correct.


A slightly lowered head followed by a single eyebrow raise, "You didn't need to say anything. I could see you eying them up. You think you're the first that got it into her heard?" He frowns. "I have no idea what it is with people and trying to touch thing. It's this whole..." A hand waves vacantly, "...thing." The word was spoken almost distastefully. "The only ones that have gotten close enough to touch them have either saved my life, or..." A moment, and he realizes that he was divulging perhaps more then he usually would. "Hrm." was his parting thought on that particular carriage train, and he moves along. Fingers fish into a pocket and pull out a cigarette case. Without looking at what his hands were doing, his eyes were locked onto an instrument panel embedded on the front of the cart. There was what seemed to be a little bit of condensate that had gotten into the panel and frozen, as there was a fine sheen of frost on its internals. While he inspected it, his hands were busy on clipping open the case and pulling out a thick smoke wrapped in brown paper. Deftly, it was plucked from its resting place, popped into his mouth, the case back into his pocket, and his left index finger and thumb were raised to the tip of the smoke. A moment passes, and a spark flickers between the thumb and index, and the thing was alight. Immediately, the scent of something sharp and sweet floats on the air. Whatever he was smoking, it wasn't tobacco. When she asks about the cargo, he gives her a long stare. Just when she might buckle, he rounds the end of the cart, his expression deadly serious. With a hand that he'd lost long ago, fingers grip one corner of the tarp. A tug and the end comes loose, revealing...a collection of flowers. In a series of class cylinders, their tops domed, and each planted in dirt, were an array of blooms. Some were roses, others tulips or poppies. More than a few were in bloom, though they tended to be what looked to be pale blue roses, their petals tipped with what looked to be frost, strangely. "Fine additions to my collection."


The way that the man trails off, along the possible ends to that sentence are lost on the simple girl as she is lost in thought. The tarp is pulled off just fractions of a second before an excited exclamation leaves her. Live flowers have been a rarity for her to see in the winter, save for the few winter-blooming trees resting at the base of the Xalious range and faux flowers of paper or cloth. From between the cobblestones around her feet come several small green shoots, branching out before growing a bulb from the top. The bulbs quickly change from the green of the stalk to a softer color, then a series of snow-crocuses are around her feet. Each flower blooms with a soft pop as the petals grow separate from one another and fall into place to resemble soft cups. The contrasting gold and lilac against the monochrome landscape would be difficult to miss unless one stood on the opposite side of the cart. Kanna gives no notice to the sudden foliage as she steps past the ring of flowers around her and up to the cart, giving each cylinder a long look of fascination. “These are beautiful!” She says, looking back at the gruff collector with a wide smile. “I have seen those before, they are frost-roses from Frostmaw, are they not? I thought they were unable to leave that area-- oh, are those over there going to be snapdragons or foxgloves when they bloom? I love both of course, but I have an instrument that has-- ah…” She glances back at the flowers and again to the smoker, her cheeks coloring a bit in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I.” A nervous laugh before taking a step away from the cart. “Thank you for letting me see. I suppose you have to get these somewhere warm, I will not delay you anymore, then.”


Ranok did not drape the tarp back overly long, as he was well aware of the deleterious effects the cold had on his precious cargo. Almost fussily, Kanna's brief glimpse is just that, and the tarp is being tucked back into place. But he pauses, eyes fixated downwards, "Just what," as he stops, "the hell is that?". Blue lights instantly flare instantly over his shoulder, surging from seemingly nothing to a light as bright as a candle. In reality, they'd always been there, but small and difficult to see as stars in the daytime. "You know what, no, no. I have spent enough time with shenanigans today.". Left hand waves through the lights impatiently, and as the metal intersects it leaves contrails of sparks arcing from the lights to his finger tips. Without further ado, he tugs the not quite secured tarp back and plucks a cylinder from it. A frost fire rose laid within. "You are full of surprises. Yes, a frost fire rose. A special variety with some quaint name I can't recall. Probably something overly poetic, like Shy Blooms in Fresh Snow. Giants are like that with these sorts of things. Regardless." Without further ado, it's pressed into Kanna's hands, "For services rendered. We're even." That all done, he's tucked the tarp back on and is back at the front of the cart, settling into a not so comfortable looking seat. Fingers pluck his smoke from his lips, where it'd been the for awhile, and he exhales a stream of smoke, "Bloody shenanigans."