RP:The Ring of Gluttony - Prizefights and Katya Mix Well, Prize Fools and Thistle Do Not

Background

With Thistle resigned to the notion of Katya's assistance/interference, the elven mercenary proposes a plan to obtain new information which takes advantage of both their strengths.

For Thistle, it is a deadly game of cat and mouse with her family at stake.

For Katya, it is day one of an exciting holiday from her regular work.

The night would end with the pair finding their way to the underground prizefighting venue in Cenril known as the Ring of Gluttony.

The moral of the story: be more careful with whom you swear drunken bloodoaths.

No, really, this cannot be repeated often enough.

In some languages, bars and information booths are called the same thing

Katya had slept like a log, awoken fresh and full of vigour, then decided to take a proper poke around the house. It wasn't much, really, having only three rooms distinct from the foyer area in which they'd set up their bedrolls. The bedroom was small and cluttered with shelves. The kitchen, pantry, and living area were all one room, with stairs leading down to a stone basement, a throwback to a previous building's foundation. It wasn't a very large basement, and there were numerous empty whisky bottles on shelves and on the floor by a wooden chair, but it had an adjoining door bolted door behind which Katya discovered a grate into the sewers. The air in the basement was ripe, a mixture of liquor, stale sweat, and nightsoil. The regular resident, Dolan, obviously used the grate for convenience. Upon finishing her reconnaissance, Katya would bound back upstairs with a cheerful morning greeting for Thistle: "Qarashenka! Darling, where are all the stupid men getting together for fights? City like this, there is always being such a place! Where is it? They are being like sunken ships of treasury knowledge!"

Thistle pushed herself up, awake but not conscious to the point of desiring anyone in her immediate vicinity to be doing anything so inconsiderate as bounding or showing cheer. She got over it quickly; she hadn't been part of the Kin for nothing. Hadn't had much time to waste herself with drink, either, what with all the running around they'd both been doing. And now, she had the pieces of her bow for a day without activity. That was something to look forward to, even if she didn't look forward to looking up at Katya considering the previous day. "What, you don't want to talk about what we found, what we're going to do about it?" The massacred caravan was certainly a concern to Thistle. She didn't understand why it had happened, didn't know for sure who'd done it. Especially considering the whole thing about killing men the day before, Thistle wasn't so sure she wanted to jump back in with men trying to kill each other while onlookers cheered. She grumbled as she pulled herself from her bedroll, scratching at her stomach and looking rather peevish.

Katya paused. Thistle's question hadn't even dawned on the elf. In truth, to hear the question coming from Thistle startled her "What is there to be saying, darling? People are dying all the time. That caravan is being problem for the caravan operators in Gualon. Is being very unlikely other caravan master will be making same kind of mistake which was leading to Gola being killed in very horrible way." Katya shrugged "No darling, caravan is of low priority now. Or am I needing to remind you of more pressing concern: that is, finding your brother, and so finding your sisters, da?" Katya took a moment to provide some external perspective "From what I am hearing from you, Qarashenka, you have been been trying to get to heart of herd by scurrying around the edges, hoping to slowly work inwards. But that is wrong! To get to heart of herd, what are the sheep dogs doing? They are running over the backs of the sheep! Like with the finding of this house. You were thinking around and around and around the problem. I am walking up to door of problem and knocking. Much faster, you are agreeing." Katya grins "Is also more risky, da, but that is what makes it fun!" Realising she'd lost track of her original point, the elf reiterates "So forget about the caravan for now. It is having nothing to do with your sisters or brother. But if Freyel is hiring muscle, then he is hiring it from somewhere. And I am willing to be betting that there is being place where men fight, with people watching. So, Qarashenka. What do you know?"

Thistle turned on her knees towards the spread of idols she'd cleaned and arranged the day before, and immediately folded her body forward so she huddled on her knees, face down before them. She stayed like that as Katya spoke, and took her time with it. She raised up, with a bent head, and then bowed deeply towards them from her sitting position, murmuring something in her own language before she turned towards Katya, expression souring as she stuck a finger in her ear and wiggled it around. The morning should have been for quiet contemplation. It'd been forgivable in Gerard's residence, since the times had been. . .no, everything was different, not just that moment. And she had some things to do for the Souls; it was shameful she'd spoken at all before seeing to morning adoration. Short as it'd become. Shameful. But she'd heard what Katya had said, and a sense of uneasiness settled upon her shoulders. "It was different when I knew where they were." Her expression soured further, worse than milk left out in the sun all day. "Risk is not the word I'd choose when it comes to the safety of my sisters." Her voice went low. Not a threat, but a warning all the same. Selective hearing was a lot easier waking up on the wrong side of the roll.

Katya folded her arms on her chest, disbelief evident in her expression "Oh, so you are not choosing to take risk in finding sisters, my sibling. You are being very careful and cautious are you? Let me be telling you why this statement of yours is being horsedung." Katya held up her left fist, raising a finger to reveal one edge of the healing scar "First, you are getting so drunk in bar that you are not even remembering our oaths. Such drunkenness is risk of death to you every time you are doing it. And I am also aware that the night I met you was not once off occurrence of drinking too much." Katya raised a second finger "Second, you are going out and about, investigating all sorts of dangerous peoples without having reliable backup. That too is risk taking." Katya raised a third finger "You are willing to go off and commit crime of murder for convenience of a house, yet are not willing to listen to my ideas until you have given up trying to fight your way through me. This too is being risky way of approaching things. Stubborn can be good, my sibling, but you are being too stubborn to acknowledge that others can be having good plan, and are therefore not listening to them. That is bad." Katya raises her fourth finger, palm clearly showing "And now you are wanting to go investigate a caravan which has been slaughtered by people whose methods are brutal and cunning enough to earn my wariness and cautious respect." Katya dropped her left arm to point at Thistle "Qarashenka, I have not wanted to be saying this, because you have been very fragile, but there must be no dishonesty between sisters. You are not yet serious enough about finding your brother and sisters. If you were, you would not be fighting me every step of the way. I thought maybe finding you a victory in battle would restore your nerves and warrior's confidence, and so I had been planning our raid on bandits. But now that you have told me full story, told me how long you have been at this... you are moving too slowly, Qarashenka. And moving too slowly is the greatest risk to your sisters of all!" Katya spoke softly and seriously "Qarashenka. You need to learn that there are more ways to solving a problem than those you personally are thinking of. Stop thinking of me as an obstacle, and start accepting that I am having skills and knowledge of my own which can be assisting you."

Thistle stared at Katya from where she knelt, hands demurely on her lap. Her back straightened (stiffened, really) with every finger that went up. She opened her mouth a few times as if to offer rebuttal, but closed it again as if thinking better. There were always small points of contention no matter how ironclad the rest of the argument might be, however, and Thistle could aim very carefully at those small chinks. No matter that they weren't life-threatening. A hit was a hit at times like those. "I'm not fragile." The rest of it, well, Katya had no guaruntees about her way of thinking, either. Sure, maybe Thistle's methods hadn't provided her with an immediate haul, but she knew she could make it. Some scrapes and bruises along the way wouldn't make her shy out of the path. It didn't matter what wounds she'd taken, because her sisters might receive worse in time. And as for drinking, it was her own rutting business how much she drank, bloodbonded oath or no. She knew what she was doing. "Fine. Gluttony is one of the biggest places to go if you want to get your nose bloodied." The reminders were hammering hard at her conscience.

Katya arched a brow "I am glad to be hearing that you are not fragile, Qarashenka. That means I can let you in on my plan" The elf let a cheerful smile slip onto her face despite efforts not to spoil the moment "I am hoping I can expect you to be less grouchy and trying to argue with everything I am saying? Because that would save a lot of time in the long run, darling dikobraz." Katya is once more all business "Now, about this place called Gluttony. Are they having nights where anyone can be stepping into ring? If so, this is being my idea." Katya gathers her thoughts "Dolan will have already mentioned me while drinking. If I am then showing up and fighting in ring, people are going to be talking as men's noses and wrists are broken. It will be your job, darling, to be doing the listening." The elven mercenary clarifies "You see, some of the people doing the watching and talking will be the people later contacting me to try and hire me, da? So we need to have an idea as to who those people are representing. Because we want me to hire on with a group in direct contact with Freyel, is this making sense? If we are very very lucky, we may have Freyel trying to hire me too, which will save a lot of time. Are you understanding me so far? Is the Gluttony place having fight nights like I am describing? With big busy audiences?"

Thistle , by dint of practice with her siblings, didn't fold her arms as she might have been inclined to. She frowned her disapproval at Katya about not arguing -- she'd disagree with Katya vocally whenever she rutting felt like it. Being that Katya continued to talk, however, Thistle didn't interject. Besides, it was way too early to be spilling the bowl of milk over such stupid, unreasonable things. Reluctant though she was to like anything Katya came up with at that moment, she was a practical person at heart and could see the sense in what Katya proposed. Grudging or no, it would get them results faster than the long days Thistle had spent sifting through crumbs for something worth picking up and carrying away. "Most nights," she said, though her tone made it clear she wasn't going along with the cheeriness that seemed to be Katya's default. More than a default, it seemed to be the inevitable for the other woman. "I think there's open fighting most nights. They're not always in the same location, though, and I haven't been following them." Hadn't been following most of anything since she'd met Katya, except Katya herself. That irked. She crawled to her bag and began to pick through it for her leather vest, pants and a loose shirt to go over it. You didn't walk into a place like that in cloth, no matter how stiff and chafing leather was.

Katya grinned "One day, it will be less like drinking poison to admit to agreeing with me, darling." The elf stretched luxuriously, loosening her shoulders "On the bright side, Qarashenka, that gives you a full day of relaxation and preparation while I go and find out where the fight is tonight! It will be up to you to find the right people to listen to, and at the right time. Hopefully it will not be taking more than a few nights of brawling to get the answers we are needing"

Thistle stared blankly at Katya upon the former, refusing to admit any such thing that might be construed as 'agreeing'. She began pulling bits out of the pack instead, grunting in acknowledgement to what Katya said. The leathers, found, had been put neatly to the side. She paused mid unpacking, remembering that the overlarge antlers had needed to be left behind on account of their size and clumsy shape. She didn't particularly wish to leave the House, and wished for the steppes where such things would never have been an issue. Wishes were pointless. She'd be going out to collect them from where she'd left them. She waved Katya along. "Go, I have to get something, but I'll be here. Once you've found out, come tell me."

Katya grins "Have the key, Qarashenka. I will return when the sun begins to dip below the horizon. Be careful not to be seen leaving or entering this place. Do not respond to any knocks. Those who eventually seek to hire me will find some other way to leave a message if nobody answers the door." With that final parting advice, Katya wasted no time, but left the house. The elf made careful note of the house, its location and surrounding landmarks. Once she'd assured herself she could recognise the building and the alleyway, Katya went wandering to find the Stripped Lizard, and her first port of call: Dolan.

Thistle changed only when Katya had left, and after she'd waited a few minutes to ensure the woman wouldn't be coming back with her typical bluster. It was worth the extra, to be sure. Thistle dressed in leather, covering up the leather vest with a light woolen tunic she'd traded one of her knives for. She'd gotten more than just the tunic, of course; she'd stopped by a ragpicker's stall for the deal and she didn't keep bad weapons on her. She'd a good armful of ratty old clothing by the time she was done, and she swathed herself in it now. The final touch was a headscarf that matched her badly embroidered sash; though it was a touch exotic for Cenril it was also not entirely uncommon, and it allowed her to hide both hair and tattoo, which was a necessity. The style was masculine, and Thistle made sure to emphasize the slimness of her body in order to better emulate a boy. No one paid much attention to wayward children so long as they weren't lingering too near stalls in the market. The morning was wasted walking to one of her stashes in the depths of her slum, grabbing what was needed and then wrapping it into a clumsy bundle that only barely looked like it was full of something boring and worthless. Had Thistle been thinking she would have taken a laundry basket for the job, and filled it with clothing. But she hadn't. By late afternoon, she was stripped back down to her binder within the borrowed home, having cleared herself a workspace on the floor and already sweating with the effort of careful stripping of the goat horns. She'd been waiting for an opportunity to begin the work, slowly gathering the materials together so that one day she'd be ready to begin. She'd been looking for a goat the day Leaf had been taken. The memory rode her as she worked, scraping and filing, and resharpening the two knives she used as tools when necessary. When it came time for heating she was tight in her hands and shoulders, muscles still sore anyways from all the work she'd done recently. She set the horns aside and went to the kitchen to start the wood stove. Frustration and several long collections of angry words later, she had one piece of horn almost straight. It wasn't good enough. She wasn't sure she was going to be able to make it good enough with such a dubious contraption. Thistle made do as best she was able: she was good at that. Hours melted away as she slowly worked the antler, her crankiness matched only by the amazement she felt at the fact that it was, slowly, working. Somehow. It consumed her attention, and she fell blissful into the purity and familiarity of the work.

The Stripped Lizard was almost as grungy a dive as the cesspit Katya had first met Thistle in, except the Stripped Lizard also offered rooms for let. Being the morning, the bar was mostly empty apart from one old man snoring over a table and a couple of lamplighters still unwinding after the end of their rounds. Katya swanned up to the morning barkeep, a middle aged woman with a sour expression on her face. Katya smiled "Good morning to you, mother, are you serving breakfasts here?" The woman gave Katya a dour look "It's Sybil, and I could rustle up some sausages and bacon, but it'll cost you in silver." Katya put down a gold coin "I am wanting us to be friendly, Sybil, because I am already imposing upon you without you realising it, having unhomed the nice man Dolan for a few weeks." Sybil looked Katya up and down "So you're the madwoman as woke up the ol' drunkard an' sent him down here with more coin than he's seen in months. Don't know whether I should thank y'for the income, or curse you ensurin' we have t'put up with the old whinger for more than a couple of hours at a time." Katya laughed at the description "Yes, I am being that madwoman! I am being named Katya, and I am a mercenary staying in town for a while." Sybil harrumphed disapprovingly "Hardly ladylike work, that, young missy." Katya shrugged "I am not being very ladylike lady. But is Dolan likely to be waking sometime soon? I am needing to ask him question. Or perhaps you can be answering for me: there is place where pigheaded men go punch each other in faces, called Gluttony. I am trying to find it so that I can be finding old friend who likes to watch such things. Do you know of it?" Sybil looked at the gold coin, and tutted. Picking it up, the woman decided "Tell you what, missy, I'll rustle up that breakfast, and if Dolan isn't up, well, there's another place where y'might be gettin' your answers." The breakfast was average, and although Dolan didn't awake from his drunken coma Sybil was as good as her word.

Katya spent the rest of the day flitting from one bar to another, getting information and names over drinks and food, until she finally was given directions to someone directly linked to the scene. The elf walked into a modest tavern whose signage showing hints of recent repainting. 'Olric's Hammer' was a comparitively clean and quiet bar. Apart from the barkeep, a tall stocky man with hair cut in military fashion, there were four patrons. At one table sat a burly man with short blonde hair and a long drooping moustache, likely a blacksmith. He was speaking quietly with a much smaller, by comparison almost petite, man with midlength brown hair who had a crossbow leaned against the wall beside him. But it was the pair of man at a table in the corner which interested Katya. She'd been told he'd be easy to recognise, and it wasn't hard to pick him out. The words of the last barkeep rang in her ears "Find th'man what looks like a blimmin' corby, an' you've found Korax. Don' tell th'banker I sent you." Well, the gaunt and pale young man with black hair wearing a dark cloak certainly fit the bill. The young man sitting next to him, fidgeting with a dagger while they talked might bear watching too. Katya strolled over and introduced herself. "Hello darling, I am being Katya, and I am hoping that you are Korax. I am being told you can tell me where the fighting ring Gluttony is located." The man turned around, examined the woman. The young man next to him grinned "If you need an escort, love, I'm happy to be your man. In more ways than one." Korax snapped "Shut it, Flick." then turned to Katya "Yes, I am Korax. You don't look like you need an escort. Who sent you?" Katya smiled "A barkeep who I was charming with lovely smile and smiling silver, da? But I am in fact needing escort, for I am understanding there is not exactly being a map, no? And besides, surely you are not in habit of turning down pretty women?" Korax half smiled "Oh, I make it a rule to turn down pretty women. Nothing but trouble. But I won't turn down gold. How much to obtain my services as a guide?" Katya held up one gold and Korax drawled "Doesn't even cover the danger pay, love." Katya sighed and held up five gold coins "You are being petty goldgrubber darling, is not attractive trait." Korax smiled "Oh I don't know. Enough gold can make even Flick attractive to a woman." Flick kicked Korax under the table "Sod off y'banker, or I'll kick y'castles" Korax gave a fleeting smirk and nodded to Katya "Make it ten, and you have a guide. Make it fifteen, and I'll vouch for you at the door. Make it fifty, and I'll hang around long enough to make sure you walk home safely as well." Katya rolled her eyes "You are being a true romantic. Fifteen, then, and we will decide at door if there is reason for another thirty five to have you hang around, yes?" Korax smiled "We have an accord. Meet me near the Arena when the moon is visible. There's an old burnt out building which looks like a rotten tooth. I'll be waiting there." Katya handed over five gold "The other ten when I see you at the house, darling." Korax smiled "Ah, trust, it's the cornerstone of all great romances. Later then, Katya" Katya waved airily and jaunted off. Not quite what she had wanted, but it was a start. Katya spent the rest of the afternoon gathering some materials, before returning to the house as the sun began its descent. Katya called softly through the door. "Qarashenka, I am pretending to find my keys. When I knock once on the door, unlock it, so that it appears as if I have opened the door myself."

Thistle was at the stove, biting off words as she tapped burnt fingers against her thighs, waiting for the pain to die down a little before sticking them back into the belly of the wood stove and the pot of water she'd put directly over the wood, softening the horn in order to set it properly straight. The heat hurt her singed fingers, but she persisted. Once you started working something properly, you had to see that part through. Especially when softening and straightening a thing: letting it cool and then reheat it without it being in the proper shape first was, as far as Thistle could remember, something best associated with bad luck and broken bows. Whether or not it was true, she'd never tested, and never intended to. Katya's voice cut through her sweaty haze, and she cursed a little louder. Smoke had surely smudged up from the stove all day, would anyone really believe no one had been in there? No matter. She set the horn in the pot and darted up at the knock, hissing her distaste with the burn as she yanked open the door, staying out of range of sight from the street. She half ran back into the kitchen, tossing something fierce enough to be a glare over her shoulder as she went to rescue her horn. "Well?" She asked, tone curt and clipped as she reached in with a hiss and turned the horn. Her hands would be stinging all night; the heat was intense. She didn't have half the proper tools she should have had, being that she wasn't as wealthy as she needed to be and she was not well versed with making tools as she was with making bows. Not that she'd ever been the world's best bowyer, but surely her efforts were better than the rot the merchants in the area tried to sell. Mutilated toys. That's what they were. She flipped out the horn as she waited for the answer, using makeshift pads to flatten the softened, hot horn against the ground. She then stood, and stepped onto it carefully. Not precisely the best way to go about getting the parts ready, but good enough. She looked up to try and catch Katya's eyes or face, hair greasy and sticking all around her face, her skin damp and red with the heat and effort she'd spent the day with.

Katya breezed inside, blithely ignoring Thistle's tone, and glanced over the stove to take a sniff. "Well, darling, I have to say that even Thlag is cooking better than you are." Katya figured that if Thistle was going to blow her own cover by having a chimney sending up smoke all day, well, that was her own damn fault. Katya was beginning to realise that Thistle was just as reckless as she was, in her own special and cranky way. Maybe, Katya mused, her sibling was only so cranky because she refused to admit it. "I am telling you, Qarashenka, I refuse to eat any of what you have been cooking today. Yech. it smells like rotten feet." Katya sits herself down on a wooden chair "But the day is not a loss, despite that! I have hired a guide to get us to Gluttony. We are to meet him near the Arena tonight"

Thistle snorted with a half smile that looked positively evil, the way she stared out between her hair with her face the color it was. "Give me meat worth cooking and I'll show you proper food." She'd grown used to being able to do such simple things when and where she wanted. Katya had seen true, in some ways; Thistle hadn't adopted well to city life in Cenril. Some things that seemed obvious, or even necessary, weren't always what they seemed. The thought that smoke from the stove would be telling to anyone who was looking hadn't occurred until Katya had asked for her to open the door. Now that it had, she wasn't happy. She made a noise in acknowledgement of what Katya said, and her gaze went speculative, curious. "Where'd you find this guide?" Not that Thistle could really complain no matter where Katya had dragged him up from, considering some of the places she'd run into the people she'd decided to put some form of trust into.

Katya smiled "Where am I going to find a suspicious and disreputable man who is having knowledge of such unsavoury thing as fighting pits?" A largely rhetorical question, as Katya immediately answered it herself "In dirty smelly tavern, of course!" The elven woman was grinning like a mischievous shark "He is probably being criminal thief and assassin hired to kill us and everyone we know, including our pet cat and dog, and was cleverly laying in wait, hoping I would be randomly walking into his path." The elf smirked "But he is being fool! Because we are having no cat or dog." Katya looked at Thistle, anticipating her response, and deliberately and visibly changed her expression to a fair approximation of 'dizzy towngirl', with slightly unfocused eyes and a vacuous little smile. She batted her eyelashes coyly. The hint of a smirk quirked her lips again for the briefest moment.

Thistle 's expression went flat at the jibe. She was pretty sure it was aimed at her very openly displayed paranoia, but it was hard to tell with Katya at times. And if there was one person Thistle had spent more time with than anyone but her siblings, it was Katya. Sometimes to the point of madness, she thought. Who knew what Katya was doing to her mind with all the nattering, even when she wasn't fully listening to it. "I'm not doing that," she said. There might have been a little bit of disgust in there.

Katya dropped the coy act to bounce back out of her chair "Of course not. I am not wanting cat or dog, darling." The elf starts pacing around the small area like a caged tiger. "The next two hours are going to feel so boring, Qarashenka. I am not needing to sharpen my knives, even. There is curse in being too prepared, I am telling you."

Thistle balanced her weight carefully, and withheld a grimace. "Were you like this even before you came here?"

Katya could have been an actress, in a different life. With a very innocent and confused expression, which had to be some kind of put on - nobody could be that dense and live, Katya asked "Like what and when, Qarashenka? Prepared to a fault? Earlier today? Da, I am thinking so darling, yes!"

Thistle had nowhere else to go, nothing else to do. She wanted to ensure what she'd likely blistered her hands over was held to the right shape. She didn't have the weights to keep it straight. "You're worse than a young stallion in spring, that's what." She eyed Katya. "Less destructive. Maybe."

Katya laughs "At least I am not chasing the fillies, darling." The elf finds a section of promising wooden wall, and with a flick of her wrist a knife drops into her right palm. "Is not my fault that I am preferring to be doing things, rather than sitting around and meditating like an old man. The wind does not sit in one place, it rushes all over, being as rough or gentle as it pleases. Such is the wind, and so is Katya. Let people with stones for heads sit and gather moss!" A moment later the elf's knife thunks into the wall, and with another subtle movement a dagger has dropped into her left palm and is sent flying to join its partner in the wood.

Thistle muttered, "If you were chasing fillies you wouldn't be ready to peel this place apart." The first thud made her flinch. The second had her back to exasperation. "What, you're the spring wind instead of the eager, wild horse? The wind holds no substance, either, though it's good at pushing people around." Her tone went wry as her head lolled to the side as she looked at the knives. Thistle had a strange feeling she wouldn't be able to properly work on her bow while Katya was anywhere near the vicinity.

Katya grins "See Qarashenka! You are knowing me better than you are thinking!" Katya retrieves the daggers and carves two apple-sized circles into the wood, apart from each other and at different heights, before facing Thistle again "All this 'substance' people are talking about is just worry-worry-worry. People get heavy with worry, and get annoyed with Katya for not clumping in with their little ring of worried mossy-stone heads. I am having no time or need for this 'substance'. If there is thing needing doing, I do it!" Katya smoothly flips the right dagger to join its partner in her left hand and snaps her fingers "Just so! I am having no time for worry-worry-worry, Qarashenka. I am having better ways to be spending my time!" Katya spun away from Thistle, towards the two rough targets, right arm trailing for an underarm backhanded toss while the left deployed for an orthodox overarm toss. The daggers thunk into the wood, missing their targets by an inch. Katya placed her hands on her hips, unimpressed with the result "Tcheh! I knew I was needing the practice with the double throw."

Thistle had a sudden, visceral urge to trip up Katya or otherwise foul her throwing arm. It was the same sort of urge she'd gotten around Iron, Leaf and Lion, before things had gotten bad. Back when they were little enough to enjoy the rough-housing, her infrequent visits. When she could tousel their hair and they wouldn't glare up at her. When lording her age over them was enough to put them sullenly back in line. When had things changed? She focused on Katya, but her heart wasn't in the sly smile she offered. "The wind can't push stone, though it can be irritating. Whittle, whittle, whittle. And listen to its moaning about as if the world is ending! Aie, I have spent many nights lulled to sleep by its whining howl."

Katya laughs "Perhaps, Qarashenka, but the wind can bring rain to awaken dry earth" To which the elf adds with a smirk "Which on some days always seems to be rumbling and grumbling, and could probably use the bath" The elf procures two more daggers from a carefully constructed fold in her leathers, and spins again for the double throw. This time, the left dagger hits its mark, but the right one misses on the other side of the small carved circle. Katya glares at it with a pouted "Ayaya, Not good enough, and at such close distance too." Katya turns back, points to the pot on the stove "As I am not actually believing that stench was being caused by failed cooking attempt, what is it that you have been doing, to so risk our cover this day?" Katya hoped that, being the first day, and knowing that Dolan had spent the day recovering from a lengthy drinking session, nobody would have had the chance to see her leave and then later realise the chimney had started smoking after she left. Katya grinned "Unless, of course, that is indeed being the smell of a ruined dinner?"

Thistle scoffed at Katya's words. In her experience, it was far more sensible to rely on the water the earth provided. Hot springs, especially, had always been a treat. Even as she opened her mouth, though, Katya burbled on. Rain indeed. A nonending rain that pelted her ears. "I told you I would make my own bow. It'll take several days to put the materials to rights, and then a year for it to season. Have you never seen a proper bow being made?" Thistle looked down at the cloth-wrapped bundle at her feet. "Don't tell me you don't know anything about bows. It's the bow with arrow that the wind loves most of all. To the arrows though, it's nothing but a nuisance. A good archer will correct, however." The smirk got a little clearer, a little surer.

Katya grins "I have never seen a bow which smells like feet" The elven mercenary retrieves her four daggers, wiping their tips on the edge of her belt, as she quips "And the wind is not loving arrows, it is sending them off in crazy directions, to see what happens." Katya restored her daggers to their rightful places about her person "I cannot imagine waiting a year for anything, but I am rarely needing to wait more than a few days for anything - and that is terrible enough!" Katya shakes her head and declares with a crooked grin "I bet it is all the waiting which is making you old-lady cranky some days, da?"

Thistle snorted, "The wind doesn't try to take the arrows away? It always seemed the case to me, on the worst days. But no, bloodsister, I am not like you. My feet stay on the ground. I don't go flying about like you and your antics that drive Thlag nearly to the point of weeping." Her voice was steady, dry, with a serious quality belied only by the quirk of her lips. Truthfully, she liked being cooped up within such solid, unmoving walls as much as Katya liked staying still. She was not about to tell Katya that. Maybe not ever.

Katya laughs "That is giving me idea!" Katya put on an expression which declared 'behold my genius!' as she said "Maybe I should marry you off to Thlag, sister! You are seeming such perfect match! You can both be complaining about me having too much fun in perfect contentment, and take turns at keeping each other awake with your snorings!"

Offense was a strange thing. Thistle went stiff, her eyes cooled. She looked over to where she'd unpacked some of the parts in preparation for the work she planned to do, even if she wouldn't have the time to work on it straight over the course of this day or the next several. "I am not getting married, Katya." Finality in those words. They were shorn of regret, but it should have been obvious to anyone that the subject was open and closed. Though, perhaps that was only bait to someone of Katya's fickle nature.

Katya waves a hand breezily, deciding not to try lancing that emotional boil until the present family-finding tasks were achieved "And neither am I, Qarashenka. It is being too much of a nuisance. Tcheh, and the pregnancy, and the childbirth. All that time away from riding and fighting. Ayaya, Nyet, these things are not for me." The elven woman, completely irrepressible, added "Besides, Thlag talks back too much to be making good husband, I am thinking." Katya looked around the utterly dull walls of the small house, her eyes lingering again on the carved targets. "Time is passing so slowly. Too slowly."

Thistle felt something constrictive in her chest ease, and she looked back up at Katya. The wry expression had returned, complete with her lips pulled off to one side. The skin folded up there, making her look younger than she usually did. Perhaps more in line with how she seemed to act. "I could always shoot you. Maybe stopping the bleeding and dressing the wound would help the time pass?"

Katya puts up her hands in mock defeat "No no no! For then I too would smell of rotten feet!" Katya paced a moment before saying "I suppose it is probably good idea for me to be resting a little before tonight, even if only an hour. I am having no idea as to whether local fighters are being any good or not. Is best to be cautious, and prepare for strong opponents." Katya plunked herself down on her bedroll and closed her eyes "Please be waking me in an hour or so"

Thistle looked down at the piece under her feet, and snorted out something that sounded rather like muffled laughter. She looked back up at Katya, then back down and shook her head. "Like the wind, right," she muttered. Blowing up a storm one moment, vanished the next. What an odd woman Thistle had found to be family with. Louder, she said, "I will." Not as if she had anything better to do besides stand there and track time. The horn probably had cooled, and probably would be fine considering the inordinate amount of time she'd spent on them, but it was only half of one. There were more to go, and there was no way Thistle would be redoing any work on any of them. Her poor fingers couldn't handle it. So she stood, balanced perfectly, and settled her mind down to the patient quiet of the waiting hunter. That, at least, she'd had enough practice with to be very good at.

Nothing says 'I'm a Tourist' like hiring some sneakthief to get you entrance to an underground fighting ring

The narrow and dirty alleys of Cenril's slums were quiet at night. If the option presented itself, most locals tried to get off the streets. Generally, the only people to be found wandering at night were either drunk, dangerous, engaged in illicit dealings, or all of the above. But the city was not silent. No, there were enough sounds to stir the imagination of the cautious. Was that rustling the sound of a rat in rubbish, or a quiet man trailing them? The slight thud nearby that of a jar of nightsoil tipped out a window, or a body slumping to the ground streaming blood from a new smile? The streets of Cenril would see enough of both, and more. But Katya moved softly and confidently, as if she owned the damn place, even if Thistle did have to grab her by the elbow once or twice to point her in the right direction for the Arena. Because if there was one thing living in a city taught Katya, be it Gualon or Cenril, it was better to be thought of as dangerous. Better to be predator than prey. By perhaps a small miracle the sojourn was uneventful, and the pair reached Arril street, and followed it to the section near the Arena. Katya cast her eyes around, until she saw it - a section of houses where a fire had raged, leaving the shell to rise like a rotted tooth around the charred and broken centre. "That is being it, darling" Katya whispered. "Wait here, and I shall go in. If you hear a double whistle, short then long, follow me in." Katya then strides to where the building is, and enters, her leatherclad figure swallowed by the shadows. A tense minute later, the whistle sounds. If Thistle follows, she would see Katya in hushed conversation with a black-cloaked figure, features hidden by a hood.

Thistle moved behind Katya like a shadow, her own body language significantly less threatening, the type that could get lost within a crowd without a second thought. No matter that they weren't walking in a crowd or that it was night: Thistle was stuck in her ways and perhaps similar to those mossy stone headed people Katya had lorded over earlier in the day. There were some shapes Thistle saw slumped in the alleys, and some constructed lean-tos that were dark and silent. It could be hard in the streets, to guard your things and those dear to you without any sort of guarantee they might just hop on it. Best to band together with other misfortunates, even to huddle under someone else's territory in the hopes that the combined threat would be enough to stay violence. They experienced none, though that didn't lower Thistle's guard in the least. Contrary, it almost made her more paranoid: it was unusual to not run into or at least hear other people, other stalkers of the night. Rarer still to see friendly faces of the unexpected variety. Thistle was alert to Katya's movements and words, and she responded only with a nod as Katya moved forward. Having had lessons in recent days about working with rather than against Katya (and still willing to move to prove that Katya wasn't right all the way in this matter), she slid forward toward Katya, hands loose at her sides. She'd stop slightly behind Katya and towards the left, gaze flickering from the churned ground beneath their feet to the broken walls that would never bound a space again. That suited Thistle just fine.

Katya raises her voice to just above a whisper so that both the hooded figure and Thistle could hear her. "Sister, this is being Korax. Korax, this is being my sister. It is up to her if she is telling you her name." The elf grinned "She might be aristocrat in disguise, and I her bodyguard, off to rub shoulders with downtrodden peasants, maybe." The man grunted "If that's your sister, charming, then I'm your brother. And if she's an aristocrat, I'm a goddamn pirate king. Follow me." Katya nods, and Korax guides them through a series of scorched rooms and corridoors. Sometimes he led them upstairs, once through a basement with two entrances, all the while softly passing on advice to his clients "Now, remember, the folks what run the Ring of Gluttony aren't quite right in the head. So don't go causing trouble. If you're lookin' for someone, as y'said, then do it quietlike. The owner, Tomas, is a half-elf, so Olric knows what goes through his mixed up head. His partner's an elf and ex-bruiser, Danko. The manager, by all accounts, is a right bitch, named Slaine. Don't piss 'em off, alright? The bloke you'll be lookin' for is another half-elf called Fion. He's the one who organises the scraps, got me? Shouldn't be hard t'miss him, he'll be the one callin' folks to step on up to get their faces smashed in like complete and utter fools. People like y'self, I'm guessing, miss Katya." Korax called a pause in room abutting onto an alley, knocking a pattern lightly on a wooden panel in the side wall. He received a response of one knock, a pause, and three rapid knocks. "We'll have t'wait here a couple of minutes, ladies, 'til the path is clear. Any questions?" Katya shrugged, and arched an eyebrow at Thistle, who she knew to be the suspicious 'asking questions' type.

Thistle didn't grind her teeth when Katya referred to her as sister again. True, she didn't give a damn about what gender others referred to her as, but then again they were not of her people or her family. Katya was. A new addition, surely, but one nonetheless. In front of this stranger, though, Thistle was not about to argue, but she would bring it up later. She stayed silent through their brief interchange, looking Korax up and down as if he might be a rat that might also carry some sort of contagion. But as they moved and the man spilled his hints with a restrained freeness that made Thistle suspicious. And in the end, the things he said seemed in some ways odd to her. "These leaders, managers, whatever you call them. You talking shutting people out who piss them off, or gutting them for the crowd's entertainment?" Thistle wondered if he was merely doing the patter equivalent of blowing smoke up their asses with mixed expectations that were half true at best, and she watched him carefully as they lingered at the door.

Korax throws back his hood enough to reveal his gaunt features, dark eyes and hair, but the action was designed mostly to reveal the incredulous look on his face as he addresses Thistle. "Are you naive? I don't know what your background is, stranger, but your thinking is strange." Korax jerked a thumb at Katya "The elf is easy to figure. She's addicted to fighting, don't care much about the danger. You can see it in her eyes." Korax shrugs and nods to Katya, but he doesn't show any real concern for describing her thus within her hearing. "But you. You're tagging along with a elf who almost vibrates with combat lust, and asking me how bad it could be if you annoy the bigshots at your destination? You I cannot figure. You ain't from around here, or you wouldn't even need to ask. You'd just thank me for the bloody advance warning." Korax pulled his hood forward again "Anyway, it'd depend on what you did t'piss them off. Case by case kind o'thing, you get me? Y'don't wanna end up in a bait match, that's for sure. Just keep to the audience, don't make a fuss, and you can enjoy a quiet evening of entertainment." Korax paused "Anythin' else?" Katya interjected "One question, darling, how long before we are there?". Korax did some mental tallying "So long as my boys keep us in the clear of trouble, should be less than half an hour t'get there. I mean, we could take the direct route, be a lot faster, but y'made it very clear you wanted a quiet approach, and quiet takes longer. Anythin' else? It'll be another minute before I can check for an update on th'road outside."

Thistle hadn't heard about people getting gutted from Gluttony, but then again she hadn't spent much time around the scene. Thistle hadn't wanted to get mixed up in the violence that sometimes erupted out of the fighting rings, but as she was odd to him it seemed odd to her that a few quiet questions could bring the wrath of said bigshots so easily. She hardened her face towards Korax, giving him blankness. Somehow, it was easier to do that lately. Maybe she'd been getting more practice. Maybe she kept seeing dead bodies of people who were familiar. Those were always harder to ignore. She stayed quiet, not liking being tagged as 'strange'. Thistle had a good habit of going unnoticed, she liked the feeling of sliding between people without them ever fully registering her presence. People, most of them, discarded trash. Thistle knew the type to go digging through it, and sometimes being trash for that reason could be handy. So she shrugged, disliked Korax for perceived rudeness, and kept her mouth shut.

When presented with no further questions, Korax settled into a comfortable silence. After a minute, he knocked on the panel again, repeating his first sequence, then settled against the wall patiently. About thirty seconds later there was a response of two knocks, a pause, and four rapid knocks. Korax sighed "Must be a busy night. Well, we check back in five minutes." Korax leaned back against the wall, silent again, and started counting heartbeats. Katya tapped her foot impatiently.

Thistle stood behind the two of them, balanced, and thought about accidentally stepping on Katya. The problem with that was that Katya was fast, likely faster than Thistle. If Thistle took several steps forward and then tried to stomp on that tapping foot, Katya would probably take it as a sign to start tussling. Thistle didn't want to start tussling. Then again, she didn't want to do anything to provoke further comment from Korax, who she didn't like and didn't want to give any cause to need to have anything to do with ever again. So she stood, and imagined stomping on Katya's foot to get her to stop. Then maybe giving her something shiny and interesting to be distracted with, such as sometimes given to particularly weepy children. Which, now that Thistle was thinking about it, wasn't a half bad idea for future ventures.

The minutes pass slowly, doled out in tiny moments punctuated by the soft yet incessant tapping of Katya's foot. Korax, having finished his count, repeated his earlier knock a third time. Another half minute passes, at which time the knocks come back. Two knocks, a pause, and then Korax' own sequence is tapped back at him. Korax sighs and mutters "Irksome." He knocked out a different cadence, at which point the wooden panel slid open to reveal the face of a young man, familiar to Katya from the day before. Korax asked "What's the holdup, Flick?" The youth looked uneasy. "Uhh, well, it's a feller an' a lady. Kind o' blockin' the way." Korax massaged the flesh between his brows "So scare 'em off, Flick." The youth responded "Yeah, about that. He's twice my bloody size, y'banker. I ain't even goin' t'slow his rhythm, an' he's likely to be at it for a while." Korax cursed "Just my ruttin' luck. Alright. If they're that damn busy, they ain't goin' to care much. Hoods up folks, an' ignore the fornication, unless a peepshow's your kind o'fun. Flick, make some noise so their eyes aren't lookin' our way, right? Hell, wolfwhistle at 'em if y'want. I don't care how y'do it" Korax slides the panel shut, and opens the door. Flick's assessment had been correct, but so was Korax, and the small group managed to pass by the large amorous man and his evening's paid companion without being noticed. As Korax led them into another building, he said to Thistle "Y'know, I think I've figured out why you're so damn strange."

Thistle frowned a little at the exchange, looking between them and Katya as if by Katya's reaction she'd have a better handle on how she was supposed to act. The delay, as it lengthened and stretched, had eased her mind from Katya's fidgeting (and how Thistle -hated- fidgeting) and turned it more towards what might be getting planned behind closed doors. What had Katya offered them for this escort? Were they -- but no. No, it was a pair of rutting. . .literally. Rutting animals. Only animals did it like that out where people could freely look and see. Thistle was disgusted, but she kept on walking without comment or giving the two more than a passing glance once they were past. Another long walk was ahead of them, and now Thistle knew for sure that if they were to be attacked and betrayed it would be more than even odds. Should be used to that, though. She watched the ground, the walls, even lifted her eyes up as if someone might perch on the ceiling like a spider waiting to catch them. She watched, and she followed, and when Korax spoke Thistle looked at him as if he wasted her time simply by opening his mouth. It was never like that when she was alone. Katya's presence complicated things even as it made her feel safer, more whole. She'd been the weakest link several times since (and during) Leaf's death. The thought of maybe having to keep her sister's back from being bloodied during a fight made her nervous, made her palms a little slicker. Bows were well and good in the plains, but in a city they were all but useless in most scenarios. Thistle was having to change, and she didn't like that. She peered into the thickening shadows, and resigned herself to Korax telling her his opinions whether she wanted them or not.

Katya's attention was mostly on the sounds around her, and she paid little attention to the interplay between Korax and Thistle. The darkcloaked figure nodded at the silent response "That's it exactly. You ask the wrong questions, then don't ask the right questions, then treat me like I'm some damn servant." Korax led them slowly down a corridoor. "Don't get me wrong, I'm used to people puttin' on airs. I was a streetrat, through an' through 'til Nemo came round. But what I'm gettin' at is this: you ain't blendin' in. You're standin' out like a hammer-whomped thumb. It don't bother me none, but others'll notice it too. Now, I bet you're goin' to respond to all this with more sullen silence. Maybe even think about what I'm sayin'. But, if you're smart, after you've done your thinkin', you might just ask'what were the right questions?'" Korax subsides into silence, putting his own hand up to hush his clients as he lead them down a couple of darkened alleys. He paused at a house, raised his hand again for silence, and carefully picked the lock with a whispered "Quiet. The old man upstairs is deaf, but no need to take a risk." Locking the door behind them, Korax leads them into another alley, picking the door locked behind him, then guides them into another empty building. "Almost there, ladies. Now is probably the last time for questions and conversations. Now, I've got you here in a fashion such as none at the venue will know where you came from. Now, if you are wantin' similar service for when you depart, well, Katya knows how much gold I've asked for. make your decision now, ladies, because if you change your mind at the last moment, and hand me a purse o'gold while I vouchsafe you with the bouncer, that will look damn suspicious to even the dumbest of s***heads this city can produce." Korax leans against a wall, and waits upon the leisure of Katya and Thistle. Katya shrugged and spoke to Thistle "I am thinking it might be a good idea, but I am knowing you, darling. You can be very skittish about such things. So it can be your choice."

Thistle got stiffer the longer Korax ran his mouth, and let his prediction run true right up until they hit the door. They'd made it intact, with no trouble. That was handy. "How much?" She asked Katya, not quite putting her back to Korax but excluding him from the question as neatly as a mother slices up cheese for her children. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all, watching people beat each other raw.

Katya responds simply "Double, plus a small waiting fee. I am having the money, darling, that is not being issue, and the price is reasonable given the task." Katya smiled "Am I needing to remind you that I am a successful caravan guard? Not just a caravan guard? It is not as if I am often needing to spend money beyond pleasure and repairs - I am even having account with Bank of Cenril. Although it was Gerard nagging me to do so. Is making his life easier, so I did so."

Thistle didn't know how much money Katya had. She'd never asked. In matters of money, she didn't want to press, and there was no reason to distrust Katya in that. Katya had never really given her a reason for that distrust in any matter. So she nodded and said only, "Pay him." She would have loved to ask what it might cost for silence on the return trip, but she had a certain inkling that that was likely another wrong question. She'd no desire to find out. There was a tiny, niggling, new vein of questions that had sprouted in her head thanks to the chatty guide: she wondered if the issues she'd had getting information was due to her standing out if he claimed. It'd certainly explain Rat's manner of treating her, and some other things. But that couldn't be only it. She couldn't just be some form of amusement. She looked further on, wondering, but held her tongue. Katya was right. The city was a pithole. As soon as she got her sisters, she'd be taking them elsewhere.

Korax held up both his hands when the decision was made "No, look, this is making me damn uncomfortable. May Olric fondle my sword, but how dense are the pair of you?" The rhetorical nature of the question was made clear in the lack of a chance for retort "Now, admittedly, the elf managed to find me in the first place, which was pretty damn resourceful. Lucky too, in one regard. But you are like a pair of damn ducklings happily strolling along in a city of foxes, feeling comfortable because you happen to be in the company of another duckling." Korax threw back his hood again "It doesn't matter how good a damn fighter you are, you have to be clever to get anywhere in this damn place, and here you are about to waltz into a nest of vipers, blithely handing over a pouch of gold to a complete stranger in expectation they'll hang around for an undisclosed amount of time. Now, sure, there are honest folks who when paid will discharge their obligation with professional pride. Then there's rat bastards who'll take your money, then sell you out to the highest bidder for a profit. You don't know me from a pinch of salt, and you take the gamble without asking for assurances." Korax pointed at the two of them "You are either supremely confident in your abilities, supremely stupid, or both. You haven't even asked who I am to be able to vouchsafe you, and I know I saw no flash of recognition when I introduced myself." Korax folded his arms "Are you two really ready to go waltzing into that place? It's dog eat dog in there."

Thistle was irritated. The mess hadn't been her idea to begin with, and being nattered at first by Katya and now by a complete stranger was high up on her tolerance level. She smiled at Korax, because he was a stranger and she'd reason to remember steppes manners over the last several days. "I didn't tell her to pay you now. It's not my deal with you to worry over." She eyed him. Her lips were thin in that slight smile. "You've shown more concern with your talk than she has in hers in the space of a week." She looked at Katya, and her smile dropped away. Perhaps an exaggeration. "Besides, I can't take her home now without a fight." She muttered it, let her shoulders round a little more. She put her hands into her sash then, and her affected slouch got belligerant.

Katya smiled and responded "I am supremely confident in my being a good judge of character." Korax spat. "Olric save the world from morons. Fine. Whatever. I'll be here if you manage not to get yourselves killed through sheer ignorance. Money's money at the end of the day, an' I've got t'take care o'my lads. Hand it over." Korax accepts a flat canvas sheet from Katya, withdrawn from under her cloak, gold coins woven into the fabric to reduce the chance of making noise. Korax moves to the door "Right, ready y'stories. I'm just introducin' you an' vouching for you so's you can get in. After that, it's your funeral. If dawn comes, and you haven't returned, I'm leaving."

Thistle sniffed, and wished she'd been born a man. It was easier to move in rough crowds as a man, she was sure. Sometimes being small made going unnoticed (often to the tune of elbows and offhand shoves and bawdy jokes) easier, and sometimes it made her a target. She wondered, from what Korax had said, if that would make her a target. One way to find out. Katya had been right in one way: Thistle, despite her paranoia, was the type to jump in feet first. When she started moving in a direction, she'd keep moving. She stifled a sigh, and remembered what Katya had wanted out of her. Fine. Whatever. She'd trust Katya, and start the questions outside, even if the man said too much and thought he knew everything. "Any of Freyel's boys frequent the fights?"

Korax paused in turning the handle "Do my ears deceive me, was that a question? And almost a clever one." Korax was not apologetic for the tone or the sarcasm "Trouble is, you're giving away too much for nothing with a question like that. Would you like to know what I mean by that? Or shall we get going?" Katya giggled and nudged Thistle "I am liking this one, darling. He is almost as snippy as you are" The elven mercenary remained calm and carefree. At the end of the day, for Katya, she had a very simple role to play: beat the stuffing out of people, so that Thistle could go fishing for rumours and information. Korax cast an inscrutable look Katya's way before giving Thistle a look which said 'Go ahead, ignore me. Make my day'.

Thistle looked sideways at Katya, and returned the look back to Korax with another small, polite smile. "She is fresh off the caravans, and I am to look after her. She needs employment. She likes to fight. Freyel is a name that gets tossed around as a good employer for muscle-headed troublemakers. Maybe you have a better idea of who she should impress? I don't think I can stand another night of her boredom. Surely though, the ones worth impressing are inside, and not outside." Her tone was almost, almost conversational. It still didn't match her face. There was a tiny, snide drift to her voice.

Korax expelled a stream of breath in something more than a sigh. "It'll do I s'pose, though y'clothes don' exactly shout 'qualified to look after someone', let alone y'self." Korax turned the handle of the door to be reminded it was still locked. A muscle on the man's cheek twitched, and the man crouched to work the lock with his steel picks. "Doubt any of Freyel's lot would be fighting. I'd be surprised if he didn't have someone hunting for new talent, though. The sod only hires thugs, anyway. Honest businessman my hairy Xalious." The lock clicked and Korax stood up "And soon, I get to spare myself your company for a while. Imagine my relief." Katya smirked at Thistle's description of her, and began to mentally prepare for the next stage of the evening.

Thistle said with a tone that was rapidly losing its pleasantry, "Here I was thinking the men inside weren't into the latest fashion trends. Or should I have color coordinated my leathers?" He was talking again, and Thistle found she really didn't like him when he was talking. "Well! She said to Katya as they waited for the door to open, "I see now why you tired of the caravans, if this is how you judge who to hire under. Never fear, I'll find you something less tedious." Strange, how one day she was ready to tear Katya's hair out and the next she wanted to escort the elf away from disreputable, chatterbox men. Or was this payback, that Katya had finally chosen to shut up while the man grew bolder on his presumptions? Thistle's fingers nudged the knives she kept tucked in her sash, and the familiar weight of others on her body was only a bare reassurance. They were meant as last defense, not first. Whether she was ready to admit it or not, Korax's casual disregard of them had her strung up tighter than she'd thought to be before the fight. She hadn't expected to be on edge, had expected more of the same bluster and casual violence she experienced in the seedier slums. Then again, Cenril always was good for surprises.

Katya stifled a smile at Thistle's description and said in all seriousness "Darling, even I am having to tell you that you are saying things which are standing out in a bad way. Is best if the story is kept simple, and is not being inconsistent." Katya gently nudges the hand which was straying towards Thistle's knives "The moment I am in the ring, they will know my worth, and suspicion will be falling on you if you introduce me like I am stupid person. Remember also that some of these people inside are already going to be aware of me, and how I am arriving, because of my words to Dolan, and my activities today. Some may even by knowing me professionally or by reputation." Katya looked into Thistle's eyes "We are not being sneaky sneaky for my sake, darling. I am here to draw eyes away from you. Do not be forgetting that." Katya smiled "So: is best to say that you are a drinking friend, and wanted to see me fight because we have wager on how many fights I will win. Simple, darling. Direct. Hard to pin down as a lie." Korax, waiting at the door, asked calmly "We good to go?"

Thistle muttered, "I hadn't planned on introducing you at all. Or saying more than I had to."

Katya nods to Korax, who opens the door with a quiet "Follow me, an' Say nothing 'til I've said my bit at the door. Then you can say whatever y'like." Korax led them out of the building, down an alleyway and around a corner, waving to one burly man walking in the same direction "Hey, Charlie, don't tell me Galt fired you." The burly man spat "Shut it, street rat. Galt's expandin'. I'm here hirin'" Korax made an impressed expression "Very nice. I'm not available, just in case you were asking." Charlie grunted "I bloody well wasn't, and you know it, y'little creep." Korax smirked to himself, and the three found themselves at the end of a small queue being inspected by a bouncer. "Well, the Ring of Gluttony. The outside of it, anyway. Won't have to wait long"

Thistle wasn't impressed. If there hadn't been a line, or a bouncer, or Korax's slick certainty she was sure she would've just walked right by without giving it a second glance. It was one of the older buildings in the area, not as old as the slums to the south but old enough to have to itself a certain style of architecture that was no longer in use, but not yet to the point of being back in vogue. The dark made it hard to see a color, but the shape was assuredly stone in the patchwork textures thrown by night's darkness and faint light. It wasn't a tall building, given its age; maybe two stories if you were being optimistic, though it was possible it had high ceilings. That, or it would be uncomfortably low inside for people too far above six feet in height, which was something Thistle didn't mind the thought of at all. The ground was mud beneath their feet, though stiffening as it did between rains. The space right outside the door was the sucking, sloppy sort that got into your clothing worse than anything, and Thistle was glad she wasn't wearing shoes. There was no sign, no light to mark it. The only man-made light was from a lamp -- glass, expensive -- set just inside the door, and its yellow glow would spill out onto the waiting queue like heaven waited inside, and they were the damned left out in the cold. Or, perhaps that was the simple expectation of a woman to whom night in the city was its own certain kind of hell of cramped spaces and uncertain passages, any of which could hold ten kinds of death. At least on the steppes you knew what to expect, and could see it coming most ways. Thistle waited in silence, untucking her right hand from her sash and leaving it to dangle at her side.

When the three of them reached the bouncer, a large man with a hint of the old Cenril militia haircut about him, Korax drew back his hood. "Evenin' Walther. New employers, then?" The bouncer frowned. "Korax. Don't normally see any of Craven's lot comin' over here. Don't tell me you lot are gettin' in on the mess too?" Korax snorted "No fear, Walther, you know us. Keep our turf clean, and bugger the rest of you. No, this is private business, escorting a caravan guard acquaintance of mine, and her friend, here for some drinking money. Silly bint wants to yark some locals in the ring. Reckon the lads'd lap that right up." Walther leered at Katya and agreed "At least until she aint so pretty. Go on in, love, an' ask for Fion. An' even if you get y'face messed up, ol' Walther don't mind none. Y'can come warm my bed" Katya smiled sweetly "Oh, you are being such a romantic darling, be sure to cheer me on, da? I am Katya, out of Gualon, and I am here to see who will pay most to hire me." Katya sweeps in, adding some feminine movement to hips which normally kept to a more martial efficiency, blowing Walther and Korax a kiss as she does, leaving their eyes on her, and not on Thistle. Thistle might overhear Korax muttering as he leaves "Pair o'prize fools. Better ask Flick to get me some food. Goin' to be a long night."

The Ring of Gluttony: like a home away from home for those who regularly drink at Grargh's Grogship in Gualon

Thistle :: The light was a steady contrast compared to the night outside, but it was not bright once the eyes adjusted. Past the bulk of the bouncer, the whole interior was dim. Glass lanterns were set up on hooks that had seen much more abuse than the lanterns, and even then the lanterns themselves were dirty, but the glass was whole. They were nice lanterns. Expensive at one point in time, even if they weren't obviously so. The room itself was hidden behind the scattered groups of people, though from what was immediately visible there'd been no particular expense made on making the interior more than the rough bare stone that'd been evident from the outside. Light flickered, painting the grumbling sound of conversation with a gross instability of shadows that made people appear strangely harsh. Though, by all counts, the men and smattering of women within wouldn't need the lighting to make them appear any more dangerous than they probably already were. Most of the bodies within were bulky with muscle or the fat that came with successes. They were better dressed than Thistle, certainly, in the way of people whose clothing marked the battles they'd undergone, whether those were made in violence or not. No space for fighting was apparent in the clumping, shifting mass, and a glance around was enough to reveal the space in the floor that, even then, a pair of reeling women were passing down. They were burly women, the type to remind Thistle of Rat's groping, lecherous fighters who were often near six feet, and burly besides. They were all like that, prowling wolves who sized each other up, looking for muscle or fat or some other sneaking worth that they might test themselves against. The space was close, hot with bodies and stinking of sweat and the faint metallic tinge of blood. Thistle moved with Katya towards the stairs, the two of them walking as if knowing what they were doing. Downstairs, ah, there was the thick smell of blood, of piss and too many unwashed bodies. The people downstairs wore the hard, hungry look of men who hunt other men, who take the blood of others for granted. Thistle knew then that Korax had been right in some of his assumptions, because she found her spine was straightening one bone at a time, though she didn't pretend to be something she wasn't. These men were used to watching a show, to being delivered the things they wanted. The women? If they weren't using seduction (and that art, together with violence, wasn't the sort wanted in that stinking dim atmosphere, wasn't the sort a woman just got away from clean and neat), it was a necessary competance, arrogance and cruelty that they held more open about themselves than even the men. Had to be something special, down in those cramped depths. As they descended, there was a roar from the throats of the people closest to the space marked off by four barrels and the need to give the combatants some sort of room to spill blood. There was a marked noise, flesh on flesh, and another cry started and echoed by innumerable throats. The most urgent violence seekers pressed in close to the dirt ring, to the blood that spilled there. Further back though, there were the men Thistle would have to get near to, the woman she'd have to bypass without offending. They watched, fuzzy with the curling smoke that gathered against the ceiling and pressed up out of the hole to the upstairs portion, and from them there was nothing that didn't escape. Conversation was swallowed, downstairs, as the two in the circle kept eyes only on each other.

Thistle looked around for a man who might be the sort necessary to getting Katya into the ring, but couldn't see much. Most of the people were taller than her, with her feet flat on the ground, and she wasn't very fond of hopping up and down to see if lack of dignity might get her what she wanted. The space downstairs seemed slightly larger than the one upstairs, and it smelled in the way some seedy den might after a night of excessive substances had been mixed and swirled, sucked in and vomited back up. Thistle's palms were still wet. She stayed silent at Katya's side, relying on the elf's superior height to see them through to where they needed to be, right off. Thistle wasn't going to wander until she knew Katya had a fight; last thing she wanted was to lose the elf if nothing wound up happening. A few eyes followed them, on and off, as they pushed inwards: new faces always got themselves noticed by the ones who watched. It was part of the game. Thistle felt sweat going down her back, gather under her armpits. It was going to be a long night.

Katya stopped her sashaying the moment she was through the main door, and then the mercenary was all business. A crowded bar would be a good place to get information, but Katya had other ways to do so, if all went well. The elven mercenary began carefully pushing her way through the crowd. There was a knack to it, and it involved pushing or pulling people off-balance in a way that caused them to fall away from you where necessary. She'd spotted the local bravos heading towards the stairs down, and that was where Katya followed, leaving a trail of disgruntled and falling people in her wake. As the mercenary made her way down, she had to note her approval for the organisers choice of current location. The entry building had been intact, as was the basement below - but someone had knocked out the basement walls, and turned the large adjacent house into a kind of open gallery. Bench seats were arrayed around a fighting ring in the centre of the enlarged basement, and a couple of levels of scaffolding had been erected around the walls, allowing for more seating space. There were rough cage doors leading to other basements. Four large steel lockboxes served as a rough podium for an energetic and wiry half-elf with clawrake scars making a mess of the left side of his face. It was obvious he'd have to be Fion, the way he was exhorting the fighters to "Hit harder, you wretches, is this how a man fights?! Earn your gold the hard way, by being hard as stone!" In the ring were a couple of local men, seemingly at the end of their tethers, as both were showing visible signs of fatigue, their faces bloodied and bodies already showing signs of the bruising to come. Katya elbows her way through the cheering, jeering, raucous crowd, towards the centre where the half-elf continued his raving "Strike him, Kick him, prove that you are worthy to stand among men, not fall among the vermin of the streets. Harder, Faster, do you call this entertainment?!" Katya paused, once more gauging the state of the fighters. In preparation for the current fight's imminent closure, she loosened some of the fasteners on her leathers, preparing to do her part. She only hoped that Thistle had insinuated herself into the crowd, and was getting ready to find the information they needed.

Thistle followed Katya through until she found Fion by the racket he was making, louder even than the crowd. Thistle dropped back, slowed, let herself be jostled and elbowed until she was nothing more than just another sweaty body in the mix, part of the push and shove. But those boisterous individuals whose sole focus was the fighting for the sake of fighting wasn't what Thistle wanted. She remembered what things had looked like as they'd descended, what the room's shape had been before the press of people taller than her had blocked out the details. It was easy to get turned around in a crowd when most everyone else was taller and wider than you. But, using Fion as a means to keep herself centered, she slipped through the ever opening and closing gaps between people, angling back towards those seats. It would be easy enough to divine why she might want to stay out of the standing room, stay out of the main way: she was small. If she went down in a rush of excitement, of people pushing and shoving and grabbing, she wouldn't be getting back up. She was a fragile human. Weak. Easily dismissed. She found a seat at the edge of a bench sparsely populated with individuals who were, for the most part, intensely focused on the fight. Some of them spoke to each other quietly, and Thistle realized with a grimace that she couldn't hear them. She didn't want to speak to them, certainly, and she gnawed over the problem of the noise as she waited, quiet.

A cheer erupts from the onlookers as one of the fighters lands a heavy blow on the temple of his opponent, who slumps to the ground unconscious. Fion calls "Misters and Missies, we have ourselves a bloody winner! It weren't pretty, and neither are the fighters, but Arnold has earned his purse." Fion's voice carried through the room impressively, hinting of either big lungs or theatrical experience "But something tells me that we're going to need two new fighters up here. Those who are brave, those who are strong, Those who just want some damn gold, step right up!" Katya then took the initiative, shoved the two men in front of her off balance and out of her way, and strode up to Fion. In a loud voice, Katya called out "I am Katya, caravan guard out of Gualon. I want to see if men of Cenril are fighting better or worse than orcs!" Fion smirked then shouted "And we have a feisty one. Who would like to step up and defend their manhood, and their city?" In a softer aside, the half-elf said to Katya "Go into the caged room on the right. Rules are no weapons, no armour, no magic. Get ready for some pain, girl. We've got some animals here tonight." Katya smiled and retorted "I am glad I am not wasting a trip." and moved to the side room indicated. A bouncer let her in, and Katya got busy removing her leathers, stripping down to her pants alone, and the black cotton bindings she used underneath her cotton undertunic. She then retrieved a length of black bandaging, grabbed one end in her teeth as she began wrapping her fists for the endurance event she had planned. The bouncer pointed to a lockbox "Put y'stuff in there. We hold onto it durin' the fight, an' return it after." While Katya prepared, Fion exhorted the crowd to turn out some fighters, compiling a handful of interested folks to prevent him from having to slow things down again for a small while. As Fion busied himself the onlookers took advantage of the reduced noise to visit the bar, discuss the previous bouts, and take care of other business.

As Katya moved towards the side room, a man pushed his way forward. There were others, of course, but he reached Fion first. "Danny," he said, glaring at another equally bulky man whose mouth was open to protest. There was a brief bulge under Danny's mouth as he spat a long string of yellowed fluid down at the floor between them. They glared, and Danny drawled, "Out o' the docks." His bearing and build, more than his words, also proclaimed him to be out of the militia. Dockworkers were muscled, true, but they didn't carry themselves often with the tense posture Danny did. Not unless they did some fighting on the side. And Danny had the height for that, the width. His shoulders and arms were corded with muscle, his step ponderous but sure. He had a little bit of softness to his gut, a marking of excesses he wasn't afraid to take. He carried it well. He grinned. "I'll take a dandy lass o'er me knee any day o' the week." There was some drunken hollering at that. Thistle watched the people around her with her peripheral vision and careful sideway cuts of her eyes. Many around her were ignoring the preliminary boasts, speaking to each other in controlled voices that didn't carry to her. Thistle wasn't an adept lip-reader, but she'd gotten better at it than she had been. Better wasn't always good enough. She grimaced, and watched, and waited.

It was not long before the elven mercenary reappeared. Divested of her normal leathers beyond the leather leggings, Katya looked leaner, and the bindings and tight undershirt revealed little in the way of impeding cleavage. Her body was carved by years on horseback, years of warfare and battle, and numerous scars marred her flesh. Katya's warrior braid had been tamed back into a bun, and her face was set into an expression of predatory delight. "So, Danny-boy, you are being my dance partner, da? So pretty you are, is being a delight." The elf's hands and wrist were wrapped in black cloth, for Katya was preparing herself for the long haul, and was inclined to ensure her fists could stand up to the task. The elven mercenary ran up and leaped into the ring planting a handstand on the rope to flip into the corner opposite Danny. Katya's stance was casual, arms loosely resting on her hips, her body slightly weaving. The elf runs her gaze over her opponent with a critical eye. With a smile, Katya calls out "Get this started, Fion dear. It is rude to be making a lady wait."

Danny went back to his own side-room for similar preparation, and when he came back out he stepped forward, swagger evident in the way he moved forward and sized her up. He watched her acrobatics, and spat. This time, it was mostly saliva, the bulge he'd casually held in his mouth had been removed during his time in the other room, though it still stained his teeth. He showed those teeth in a grin. "I'd say yer pretty y'self," he drew the words out, looking her up and down, "but now I got a look at you, y'got the build of a skinny lad. All bones an' nothin' to grab onto." His own hair, shaggy and shoulder-length in the styles of men of ill repute, had been bound back into a club. His own hands, large and gnarled with rough use, were unwrapped. Fion lifted his hands, and those a sight prettier than Danny's, and the crowd did him the favor of quieting. Slightly. "The caravan guard squares against the dockworker! Let's see some blood -- begin!" Danny's weight rolled up to the balls of his feet as he stepped forward once, twice, the light weave of his shirt straining against bulky shoulders and paunch. His step was almost a stroll, a thing of confidence and ease as he drew towards Katya with a cocksure grin. His fists came up, shoulders bunched, the type of man to dismiss a woman who certainly was shorter than he and weighed less than he. His first punch was uncoiled with a snap of power and speed belied by the ponderous way he moved, a straight right he clearly intended to connect with her jaw and end what was to him a farce of a match. Her own experience and prowess of course nonwithstanding. Thistle's eyes were drawn back to the ring as they moved, though she'd not intended to look for long. As between Katya and Thlag she found herself drawn in by the reactions of the crowd, by her own expectations. She would have put money on Katya. Still would have, even though it wasn't her way to do so in such a place.

Katya smiled and waited patiently as Danny approached, watching his movements carefully, waiting for the little telltale twitch that said an attack was coming. And so Katya was prepared when the punch came in, but she did not counter with boxing. She'd butted heads with too many orcs to go head on with a brute. Here, she would use her uncle's training. In a gliding movement she stepped forward with her left foot to the outside of that punch with a slight lowering of gravity, her own right arm sweeping up and guiding the man's fist past her head, leaving him momentarily blindsided, with her right hand lightly hooked over his arm. And then Katya erupts. Her right hand pulls as she twists, overextending Danny's punch and smashing the palm of her left hand towards the man's elbow with the intent of breaking it. Whether that succeeds or not, Katya's left arm will pull down and back on Danny's extended right to open his stance slightly as Katya flicks her hips once more, hammering her right palm towards the man's jaw to at the very least catch his attention while she snaps a kick to the groin. The elf moved like a whirlwind, and the crowd would strain their eyes to see what was happening.

Danny was a prideful man, a bruiser to whom scrapping with fists was natural, and expected. Katya's initial outside step, the parry, wasn't quite what he was used to, wasn't what he was ready for. Her hand came up, unexpected, and he took a step forward with his rear left leg to save the elbow. His left came forward with a hook towards her shortribs as they closed, once, twice. The second, pulled by the blow he took to the chin, would be a little more wild. Her knee connected next, and that was something he was a little more used to taking. He'd come prepared, of course, with some protection as might be afforded without ruining his movement, but it didn't stop the nausea that built up deep in his gut. He grunted, a sound which was eclipsed by the reaction of the crowd (Thistle was silent among them, though she smirked as she watched), and his spine bowed with the force of it. Rattled as he was, he pushed back from his left foot, putting it behind his right. He took another step back, upper body leaning forward the slightest bit, and got his arms back up in front of his face. It was all he had time for, really. Thistle was looking away before Katya had the chance to press the attack, eyes going sideways to the men around her and what she could see of them. Most had eyes for the fight, mouths open, expressions intent, but there were a few who were quieter or bending close to another to hear words.

Katya wore Danny's shots to her ribs with the tenacity of a seasoned brawler, slightly impeded as the punches were by Katya's position on the outside of his right arm, and did not let up on her assault. The codpiece told her a lot about Danny-boy and his experiences, and she had no intention of letting this match draw out for long. As Danny stepped back, Katya snapped a right kick towards the side of the man's retreating left knee with the intention of weakening it and further reducing mobility. The kick concludes with her right foot planting into stance as the large man moves back a further step. As Danny recovers into an orthodox boxing guard, Katya strikes in the moment his beefy arms would obscure his field of view, pushing out a punishing front kick towards the man's solar plexus. Katya wanted to stomp the fight right out of the man, to give a message to all who followed him that evening.

The earlier taunts were well-remembered by the crowd. They rebelled in their fashion, alternatively jeering and cheering, with a few hangers-on who were familiar with Danny egging him on as if their last-minute support might bring him back into the fight the way they'd seen him before. But those who knew the skill of the guards of Gualon's caravans had voices and coin only for Katya, and it was their heckling of Danny's misplaced arrogance that was loudest of all. The first kick into his knee was absorbed, his step hitched by her force. The second kick pushed him several step backwards, and into a sort of breathlessness that bowed him a little further still before he straightened and moved forward on the balls of his feet, expression ugly now. Grim. Focused, as much as he could be. "Took it in the pudgy breathstealer, 'e did! Ge' 'im, lass!" That voice ran out rough and clear over the rest, to a cascade of sound as Danny bent his knees and bounced a little, slowed even past his typical steady movements. He lowered his arms a little, tucking them for better access to protect from her legs, though he knew down deep that her hands had the potential for as much. He took a quick step forward, aiming a quick double jab to her body, testing. Unsure. In pain.

Katya knew well the value of showmanship at such venues, and although it did not aid in the swift despatch of her opponent, the elf stands with arms raised, then blows the crowd a kiss while Danny regained his composure. But Danny doesn't find her distracted, for the moment his guard is up the elf is all business once again, her left foot forward to face the burly man's advance. Katya lets that first jab past her left guard, letting it impact on a rapidly intercepting right forearm. But as that second jab flashes out, Katya erupts into motion once more, springing forward with a left cross above the jab as her right hand sweeps in a small circle to once again deflect Danny's right arm offline. But this time, Katya shifts the man's wrist slightly and pushes his arm across his body and in the way of his left line of attack. Whether the initial left cross does enough damage or not, Katya would follow up by pushing her left hand in his face, intending to hook fingers up his nostrils and push the man's head up in perfect line for the sharp right uppercut she launches at his chin.

Danny bent his knees and slid sideways out and away from the cross, right into Katya's deflection. He was pulling his arm back in when she pushed his head back, and then there was a moment of pain and nothing. He stumbled back again, limbs loose, guard back up but no longer so tight. He shook his head, but refused to go down. Not yet. Not yet. No matter that the crowd was screaming for her to finish him off. Precious seconds passed as he fought to stay upright, to gain the space necessary to clear his head and get back into the game. He still had it in him. He knew he could take her, just as soon as the blackness at the edge of his vision went away and she just stayed still long enough. Thistle had dismissed the fight, more interested in the reactions of those around her. There was speculation, she saw one pair of lips move in a way that definitely looked like the word 'promising', and she was sure it had nothing to do with the rapidly failing Danny. The crowd was loving Katya, and that was exactly what they needed. Thistle, one among many, looked back at the ring and her bloodsister as she stalked Danny like he was nothing more than a fat, baaing sheep, and lifted her voice with the tidal wave of sound as she made her presence definitely known the only way a fighter could in Gluttony: by dishing it out, and taking without exception what was offered in return.

Katya recognised the look of a man on the edge of consciousness, staying upright through sheer grit and pride. Katya stepped back, blew the crowd another kiss, then spun a roundhouse kick to Danny's temple, laying the large man flat. The elf bent down, patted the man on his cheek, then stood once more to call out "Who is being next, darlings? It is taking more than one man to satisfy Katya this evening. Who is being man enough to also..." Katya points at Danny "...be sleeping with me in the ring." Katya curled her lip, and waited for Fion to get busy while she started stretching - an additional form of entertainment for the crowd. The plan demanded that she stand out as much as possible to let Thistle get as much time as possible to case out the powerplayers of Cenril's underworld, wherever they were in the crowd, and Katya wasn't going to let her end of the plan down.

Thistle had stood with the rush of sound when Katya had finished Danny off, with the sudden press of people who either got up to go upstairs for whatever was being served, or those who wanted to move for other reasons, who knew what. Thistle wasn't interested in any of them. The ones she sought were quiet, still: if they wanted something to drink, there was someone to get it for them. They were too interested in watching Katya or talking about Katya to do anything else, and though she watched lips she couldn't get enough of a sample from anyone to easily determine anything. No one would likely want to hire Katya off one fight, right? Thistle found three clumps of men who seemed likeliest -- style and quality of dress, demeanor, quality of men around them -- and maneuvered herself into a position sideways and across from them. She could see two of them clearly, though the third was sometimes blocked by other people, and settled in to wait and watch their lips. There'd been a stir in the crowd, near the improvised stage, and another man had stepped up as Danny was pulled out of the ring and taken somewhere else by men who had to be his buddies given the way they'd moved him. This new man was named Gerry, or something like that (Thistle'd only half an ear for what was going on), and a quick glance revealed him to be taller and wiry than the other man. He proclaimed himself a sailor, and he was dark enough to be one, had the tattoos for it. He went to the side room, divested himself of his weapons, and was soon back in the ring, watching Katya carefully. The only time he smiled was when the match begun.

Fion continued working the crowd while Gerry prepared himself "Misters and Missies, It's the second time this evening we've had a bloodthirsty brawler aim for a larger purse! Will a dark stallion be able to break in this fiery mare? We will find out now, as the new contender has entered the ring! Place your bets, buy more drinks, but be quick about it! You won't want to miss the fun!" Katya smiled, and finished her stretching as Fion called out "Fighters, let there be blood!" The elven woman adjusted her gloves, giving her opponent a predatory smile, then took a few casual steps towards the wary man. Katya knew this one wasn't going to make Danny's mistake, and she also knew what potential employers were looking for, so this time Katya began hostilities. In an instant the elven mercenary's movements go from casual to explosive, with Katya stepping in with two testing jabs followed by a snappy low round kick aimed at the bottom of Gerry's thigh, targeting a section of muscle above the knee traditionally difficult to toughen. Katya wanted to see what he was capable of, and hopefully slow him down a bit for the fight to come. She remained poised, each blow retracted swiftly, in preparation for the expected counter.

Gerry's real name, long ago, had been Gerealt. It hadn't stuck with him long past adolescence, when rather than grow into the name he'd grown out of it and shed it like an extra skin he'd no longer any use for. It was in a similar fashion that he shed the smile, letting it fall away from him as he focused in on Katya and the way she moved. Her approach was met with caution, and he brought up loose fists. The jabs he slipped around, flexing his knees and stepping sideways, close enough to go for a right hook into her side. The kick connected then, and against his will his leg buckled so that he took a stumbling step back, his weight going onto his right leg. He hopped once, fighting to stay up, his face contorting as he lashed out with his left arm, the punch a little wild.

Katya wore the hook to her side, its force weakened by her shift in position as she delivered that first kick, to ensure she didn't lose form or position. This one wasn't used to kicks, it seemed, and Katya planted her right leg in front at the conclusion of the first kick. As Gerry's wild left comes in, Katya guides the punch slightly offline with her right arm, hooking her wrist over it to make disengagement difficult and shifts her weight slightly. Katya's left hand then snakes out to curl behind Gerry's neck, further restricting modes of retreat, and the elven woman fires of three rapid knees towards Gerry's solar plexus. If these connect, and Gerry fails to disengage, Katya's right arm would then pull on Gerry's left, intending to send him offbalance and in a difficult position to respond.

Gerry was having a bit of a difficulty putting weight on his left leg. He was having difficulty focusing past it at all. He pulled at her as she hooked the left, hoping in turn to pull her off balance even as she put her hand at his neck. His left leg buckled, and as his right took his weight, as he started to sag, he punched forward with his right hand: a haymaker made in desperation before she could finish him off while he wallowed, waiting for his leg to recover.

Katya found her first knee sent off target as Gerry tried to pull away from her right arm, but she had prepared for a brute-strength attempt to retreat. As her left leg landed from the failed knee attempt, Katya shifts her left hand upward from Gerry's neck to grab at the back of his hair and twists his head back and to his right as she angles her left elbow to cut off the path Gerry's Haymaker. Then the elven mercenary explodes into motion. Letting Gerry's attempt to withdraw his other arm aid her left-handed grip-and-pull to the back of his head, Katya releases his left arm to further encourage a moment of poor balance. All Katya would need was a fraction of a moment as she slams a powerful straight right towards the sailor's jawline.

Thistle lost sight with two of the three groups as people reacted to the speed with which Katya had won her fight. Thistle hadn't even watched that time, but had set her eyes to their true goals. At least one of the groups had a man at its heart who had seemed to like Katya, from the words Thistle had been able to read from his lips. The other two waited for more fights, unconvinced from the short knock-outs Katya'd had so far. But all of them were intrigued. It was hard not to be, with the sort of skill and power Katya had displayed, with her finesse and ease. She was not tired, or worn, and the crowd loved her easy attitude and cocky posturing. People moved, and Thistle thought she saw one man's lips shape something that looked like "Freyel". She moved. Gerry fell to the mat, eyes flickering. He looked dazed, muscles tense even as he lay against the hard ground. He started to push himself up a little bit, but the movement was shaky, not the clean movement of a man who knows what he is about. The crowd was roaring, and in that roar was the bloodthirsty quality such underground fighting rings were renowned for.

Katya offered the crowd a bow then, as Gerry stirred, spun and arced a crescent kick down on the back of the sailor's head. The elven mercenary calls out "Darlings, there is no need for being shy!" Katya blew another kiss to the crowd with a saucy wink "Please be remembering! The size of the purse I intend to win is going to be a reflection of the kind of pay I will be expecting for more difficult work, da? So come, come, I am needing more men to fight, or prize purse is going to be small and sad. And that would make Katya sad, too." Katya then began stretching once more, trying to ensure none of the muscles in her side or stomach tightened up from the glancing, yet powerful, blows they had received. An important consideration for the night's task. For now she had managed to impress without sustaining significant damage, but Katya knew it would get harder for her as the night wore on.

The roar dimmed only to surge into one longer and louder. Her name was briefly picked up in a chant, but it didn't last long: the crowd was a fickle beast, and though it took a little longer for someone to take up the gauntlet, it did get taken up. Either arrogance or sure skill would want to face her as the night went on, that or until she visibly started to lag and someone hoped for luck of taking her out due to her own exhaustion. Not a bad tactic, really. Seconds stretched out long and lean as the announcer prattled off his spiel to the faces turned towards him, seeking to entice someone up to the task at hand. Thistle let the words spill over her, around her, attention diverted away only when necessary from her chosen task. Getting caught staring, or being noticed in her consistent glances, would be as bad a conundrum as obviously eavesdropping on any of them. Or offering blatant insult. Thistle grimaced, and looked back towards the stage, figuring she should probably offer cheers at some point. As she'd picked out the still centers of serious men in the crowd, so too might she be noticed if she didn't play it carefully. She hadn't counted on the rutting noise of the event, hadn't put the thought of such a racket so many men and women in an enclosed space could make. Said sound dimmed some as another person -- a woman, this time -- stepped up. She spoke too softly for the crowd to hear, though her look was a fierce one. "Hedda of the Kelay elves! A willowy woman we have here! Will she bend under the fiery Katya's onslaught, or break like the rest?" Minutes later, Hedda was in the ring, light on her feet, moving with a restless grace. The announcer barely had the chance to call for blood before she was moving, stepping in light towards Katya. She didn't go straight in for blood, but inched in closer. She'd no desire to get bound up or caught as the others had, and her first move was to jab quick as a wet cat at Katya, testing.

Katya arched her brows when another woman approached the ring, and immediately decided on caution. Even Katya knew the elves of Sage and Kelay had been decimated by the drow, and sent into exile all over. To find one fighting in the pits of Cenril, well, Katya knew Hedda had to be tough as nails to survive. As the woman entered the ring itself Katya grinned and called out "Be gentle darling, I am not used to such intimacy with women." But that was the last moment of pleasantry as Hedda flashed in with a jab. Katya bobbed with a slight sidestep to her right, outside the line of Hedda's jab, and snapped out a low-kick out towards the elf's left knee, likewise testing their reflexes.

Hedda moved as she watched the line of Katya's body, scooting backwards to avoid the kick entirely and stay back just out of range. She danced backwards and to the side, circling to her right. She was watching Katya like that, sizing up how fresh the other woman still was. She licked her lips, and waited with the stalking wariness of a predator. She would not fall so easily as the men. But her very sense of self preservation was not one well received in Gluttony. This ring was about giving and taking licks, and her unwillingness to close earned her a cascading ripple of boos and catcalls. Hedda took that, if not Katya's ability to give, well; she moved as if she did not hear them, as if they were not even there. Thistle looked up at the boos, eyes sliding back and forth through the crowd and the men. She moved for a better vantage.

Katya smiles. She knew what the audience wanted to see. So she gave it to them. As Hedda circled around Katya, constantly seeking to find an opening to Katya's left, the elven caravan guard shifted her weight in a pivot around her left foot. Using Hedda's unwillingness to sieze the intiative against her, Katya bounces back, legs coiling beneath her in an unusual stance which lasts but a moment as the mercenary notes Hedda's response to her movement. Then Katya launches her assault, springing up into a spinning reverse back kick towards Hedda's neck and jawline, an attack which will develop into a low reverse sweep at Hedda's ankles at the end of the technique should the first kick fail to connect. Either way, Katya intends to be coiled once more in a low stance, ready to move again in a moment's notice.

Hedda ducked, and launched herself forward in a single fluid movement as Katya landed, having waited for the recovery of the kick before it began into the second. She went in with a left jab and a right hook that didn't quite go where she wanted to as Katya's body's momentum kept her moving, Hedda brought her knee out even as Katya's low kick slammed into her and made her move sideways. It was an almost stumble, and Hedda moved back again to seek room from Katya's all too dangerous legs. She waited there for seconds, bouncing forward and back, and smiled as she retreated to that distance at the very edge of Katya's kick reach, and waited.

Katya felt the glancing impact of the two punches as she landed, and noted Hedda's immediate retreat back out of distance when her sweep nearly buckled her. Katya stood back with a luxurious and provocative stretch as she says "Oh darling, I am loving it when people play hard to get. But now I am at least understanding how the drow are destroying your homeland, da?" Katya smirked "It is because you are always running away." Katya raises an eyebrow, still standing casually, waiting to see if Hedda responded in any fashion.

Hedda watched Katya, and there was anger in her, and sorrow. That was not all, for there was more to the story that had landed a Kelay elf within Cenril's walls, and again within the Ring of Gluttony, but Hedda did not speak it. She did not reply to Katya's taunts. The things she'd seen, and done, the things she'd turned away from: they were hers to agonize over, and she wouldn't let Katya in to them. Losing herself to a fight though, ahhh, that was something she did deserve. She gave herself over to it. She darted in on light feet, jabbing, and darted back out of reach. As Katya's words had drawn cheers, Hedda's silence and actions drew boos. Even the announcer got into it, seeking to egg the two on, seeking to see them close and violence to connect them.

Katya slipped the jab with barely a movement and watched Hedda's immediate retreat with that same arched brow. "Darling, you won't bring a girlchild down like that, let alone another elf, human, or drow. Here, let Katya be showing you." The elven mercenary adopted an orthodox guard, and carefully advanced on Hedda, moving in a fashion to drive her towards the edge of a ring or the corner, waiting for a moment where the other woman either tried to break free by circling, or committed to defense in a corner.

Pattern broken, Hedda slid forward to meet Katya's approach. Her rear right leg snaked out in a fast front kick aimed at Katya's knee, arms held up and ready for defense, eyes pinned to Katya's body. Concentration marred her angry expression, and as her leg retracted she twisted into a double jab with her right arm, its effectiveness lessened by the bare settling of her weight, the power through her hips weakened. But then she did snap out with a powerful right, and with that single thrust of fist Katya might see the fury and shame her words had caused somewhere deep and dark.

Katya responds with a calm ruthlessness, shifting her leading left leg to the outside of the Hedda's right kick. The elven caravan guard moves with self-assured grace as she slips her head back to avoid the first jab without disrupting Hedda's commitment to the assault, weaving to the left to let the second jab meet fresh air. It is only when Hedda lands her right foot to thrust out her fist in fury that Katya responds with a vicious counter combination. Hedda's mistake had been to focus all her anger on her right fist, letting Katya work to the outside. Katya, given the perfect positioning and timing for a counter, bobs under Hedda's strike and delivers a brutal right shovel hook to angle up under the ribs. From the shovel hook onwards, Katya maintains pressure: a left hook to make it difficult to retreat to Katya's left side, a straight right to foul up attempts to sidestep the hook. Katya would stick to Hedda like an arrow in her flank, moving and attacking with the intention of herding and cornering the woman.

Hedda took the hook without much shift in expression, though she grunted out more air than sound. The impact took something from her, that much would be clear to Katya if not the ever-loud crowd and their bloodcrazed energy, but she didn't go down. She'd started to turn to try to get out of it, to lesson it, and therefore only barely blocked the left. The pressure won ground for Katya, as Hedda took to retreating, taking damage as she held up her arms to block what she could. She struggled to find a gap in which to deal her own hits in return, but didn't find much of one. What fists she lashed out with were slightly wild, slightly clumsy as she tried to find her footing.

Katya had a predatory instinct, hard-earned from years of skirmishes and brawls, and Hedda had all the hallmarks now of 'prey'. Katya continued to weigh in with cruel precision, deflecting Hedda's punches with one arm while the other would simultaneously lash out - snappy hits to keep her from regaining positioning or focus. Then Katya would move in for the kill. A rapid left-right combination towards Hedda's throat are sent in order to compel the woman into raising her guard. This would be followed by a powerful right roundhouse kick angled up under the ribs to the opposite side of where the shovel hook had landed. When the right foot touches ground again, Katya will bob down with that movement to launch a left handed uppercut to the jaw, trying to find any gap in Hedda's guard.

Hedda found herself at the edge of the ring, and she wasn't quite sure how she'd gotten there. She was snarling behind her arms, whether from anger or pain or some stubbornness was anyone's guess. No one would really be guessing: her lip was bleeding, and blood had spattered over the floor between the two women. That was what the crowd cared about. It meant a great deal to them. Nothing in particular stood out in Hedda's mind as the kick hit her, and she struggled against her body's urge to fold, to keep on her feet rather than buckle. Her guard had gone soft, had separated with her teetering balance, and though her right arm careened into Katya's arm in a last ditch effort it was too late to shed much of the power of the blow. Her head snapped up, she stumbled back. After two steps she caught herself, and launched herself forward with all the strength her watery legs could muster. She swung low with her left, turning her hips into a right hook of her own. She tried to bring her knee up then, but she was dizzy and fading out and she knew it. Hedda wanted, needed to know that she'd done damage in return.

Katya could sympathise with the unhomed woman, living it tough in a rough world. But Katya was not fool enough to succumb to the weakness of mercy mid-fight. As Hedda rushes her, Katya lets herself fall back towards the ground, pulling her right leg up into her stomach in preparation. The elven caravan guard catches one of Hedda's hooking arms as she falls, and as her lower back touches the ground and begins the roll, Katya plants her right foot in Hedda's stomach and pushes to launch the woman over her. Katya completes her own roll and spins, watching the path of Hedda's short flight, ready to move again.

Had Hedda even seen the move coming. . .well, she wouldn't have rushed if she could have, if she hadn't already been uneasy on her feet. She couldn't get up at first, the roar of the crowd something indistinctive in her ears as she tried to get up. She was stunned. Was it over? No. She got to her knees, immune to the calls to finish her off, the screams for her blood. She didn't hear them, didn't need to. She didn't make it off her knees for two seconds, three, as she looked up at Katya and silently promised a rematch. Some day.

Katya offered the kneeling Hedda a slight salute, then snapped a kick to the side of her head, laying the woman out cold. There was something less gratifying, Katya decided, about defeating another elven woman. Certainly, Hedda was not of the Rus, there was no relation to be concerned of. But even so, Katya preferred putting men in their place, it seemed so much more satisfying. As the ringside attendants come on to retrieve Hedda, Katya stands tall and calls out "I am starting to become expensive, darlings. Who else would like to dance with Katya?" She will then once more stretch and limber up, maintaining the suppleness and flexibility of her joints and tendons for any further bouts.

The sound within Gluttony, at that moment, was loud enough to be heard out on the street, if faintly, though none of them knew it. Thistle's ears were certainly deafened, and she squinted to catch more of the conversation through flailing limbs and the press of bodies. She knew now which men belonged to Freyel, as one of them cautioned to wait and see. Apparently someone had hired on some innefectual men, and that had resulted in the anger of someone whose name Thistle couldn't read. But it made one of the men very angry, though they were all interested in Katya. The sound bounced from the walls, and more people came from upstairs to see what the fuss was about. Katya's challenge was met with interest, and as the crowd slowly settled the wheedling promise of gold was sent out into the crowd, searching for the man or woman who thought themselves tough enough to handle Katya. Thistle slid between bodies, moving again, giving a cheer with the rest when someone stepped up. She didn't see who, didn't care as she moved into a better position to catch the moving lips of the men who had so much to say -- and fear -- about Freyel. It only took one time to see the dual syllables of Iron's name (or rather, the dual syllables that passed for his name among them, since they'd decided early on to keep their names in the new language, preserve them against the mutated mispronunciations of the Cenrili poor: the meaning in their tongue, rather than what his had been between their own people. Thistle wondered if he regretted that now; it had been her idea) for Thistle to lose interest entirely in watching Katya fight. She waited to see if it repeated itself. It did. The man spoke of Iron as if Iron's opinion on the matter was of importance alongside Freyel, as if his opinion was somehow more dangerous. It was as if Iron had taken a personal interest in the matter of these new thugs, because Freyel was so disgusted with them. It stunned Thistle. Why did Iron's opinion matter at all? What was he to them? Perhaps some sort of immediate superior? But why -- later. She diverted her gaze as one of them glanced at her, her heart pounding. She'd been staring too long, too intent, too at odds with the rest of the crowd. She moved to go upstairs, get herself a drink so that her movement might be forgotten and her behavior excused as some form of inebriation. The crowd moved around her as she got her drink and settled herself upstairs, closing her eyes against the crowding demands in her head. Job first. One thing at a time. She had to be ready when Katya had finished fighting, to know whose approach to cozen up to. To watch in the meantime. Gathering up bravado was easy with drink in hand, and Thistle returned downstairs as Katya was softening up the new victim, and something about the way the crowd was leaning into it, eyes alight and mouths agape, that they expected that to end soon, too. She turned away. Wrestling was a man's honor, along with archery, and racing horses. This though? Excess. She settled back into a new spot, trying to act like a proper drunk, and waited for it to end.

The fourth contestant had been another large man, a local brawler named Ranulf who'd seen the prize purse getting larger until it seemed worth his while. There had been a heated exchange, as Ranulf was a cagy fighter with good reach and reflexes. The large brawler had fought cleverly, leaving some openings lure in Katya's aggressive confidence, and Katya wore a fist to the face for the first time that evening. Katya had grabbed the man's wrist then, twisting painfully with a step-away-and turn, and Ranulf had found himself flat on the ground as his body instinctively sought to escape having its joint broken. The elven mercenary, pride and flesh stinging from the punch to the face, proceeded to dislocate the man's arm, finishing him with a vicious kick to the groin. At the end of the fourth brawl Katya was bleeding from her lip and small abrasions on the cheekbone, and her smile had a truly vicious edge to it when she called out "Who is fighting next? I am being told by Fion that purse is closed after five bouts, and I will be wanting the gold for wodka. Who will come play with Katya one last time?"

"Me," someone called, the voice a light baritone over the edge of the crowd's mutters and shouts. Confidence was in that voice, though confidence had been in the voice of every man and woman who'd challenged Katya thus far. Fion was already looking through the crowd, his endless prattle something like the annoying buzz of a mosquito to Thistle's ears. Those who arranged fights where she came from did not chew at the air with their words as if they were fish. Even so, it wasn't long until the man, proudly named Selim Smith, though he looked like no smith Thistle had ever seen, was in the ring opposite Katya. He was muscled, but there was something to the muscles in his arms, his legs, that spoke of a grace not associated with smiths. His hands were slender, and unmarred by the grazes, nicks and burns of a man whose life was measured with hammer and tongs and daily nearness to heat. Not to say that his hands were smooth like a merchant's; his hands had marks on them, particularly around the knuckles. No, Thistle wouldn't have called him a smith, but it had rolled smoothly off his tongue, and it didn't much matter now that he was in the ring. Fion's voice was calling for blood, though the way he kept asking for it, it sounded more like he asked for murder. The crowd, she thought, wouldn't have disagreed if he had. They were primed for it, as if the other fights had just lead up to this one, the inevitable. They wanted someone to win that five-fight purse, but more than that, they wanted to see someone fall. Selim was determined that it would not be him. Not with him fresh off the floor and her bloodied and worn down. He stepped forward, shaking his arms out to the side, his focus only for Katya.

Katya smiles broadly and finishes her stretches. "Well darling, aren't we being a pretty one?" Katya stands casually, arms spread wide as if to welcome the man. She'd had time to recover from the strike to her head in the previous match, but knew that she didn't want to take too many such hits. Resilience from training and frequent combat was one thing, but physiology played its part, and Katya would never have a skull as thick and dense as Thlag's. "Come then, darling, let us be having a good time."

Selim came up, meeting Katya more on her side of the ring than his. His arms came up, and he probed with two right jabs. They were quick, testing, and he shuffled back a step. They were of a similar height, though he might have had an inch or two on her. Quickly he stepped closer, right coming even with his left to narrow some of the distance between them before his left leg shot forward, aiming for the inside of her left thigh.

Katya weaves away from the first jab, slightly stepping to the side of the second, but makes no move to follow when he retreats, offering the man nothing in response to his probing. But the elf smiles as that low round flashes in, and with a flick of her hips the elf switches her stance, pulling her left leg out of the way of the man's kick and making her right leg the lead with weight lowered and muscles coiled. With nothing to connect with Selim's kick will pass its mark, potentially leaving Selim either off-balance or needing to use the kick's momentum to spin him a full circle back into stance. Either way, though, Katya steals that moment and launches her own assault. In a rising movement Katya springs forward with a flying left knee, targeting Selim's flank, her left hand lightly hooking over Selim's shoulder for stability as she drops her right elbow down towards the side of his head.

Selim overbalanced, and wore the knee to his side as he brought his foot down. He grunted, and had no recourse to avoid taking her elbow to his face but to fling himself forward into a roll, freeing himself from her hand. He came up and turned to face her, settling back into his stance. He didn't glance out into the crowd to look at his employer, but he thought about it; the notion that he might be beaten at the order he'd taken to test her hadn't occurred to him. Or rather, it had but he'd dismissed it no matter the earlier evidence from the previous fights. He was grimmer than he had been, his cockiness diminished as he stepped forward to test her, violence a promise in the line of his body. But he circled her, watched her; and waited as seconds passed.

Katya twitches her lips into a crooked half smile as the man dives away, and makes no attempt to follow, simply adopting a loose left-front stance. The elf gradually pivots as Selim circles, chatting while she recovers more wind. Fit as Katya was, she wasn't going to risk disaster by running her endurance into the ground - especially when opponents gave her such lovely little rests. Katya watches the man circling around her, gauging his direction. "Yes darling, good move to be protecting your pretty face. But what is this? Suddenly afraid of a beat-up woman in her fifth match?" Katya grinned "Men of Cenril are being so cautious, so boring. Truly, Orcs are being more fun than this." There, that was the moment "Let me be showing you!" As Selim circles to her right Katya swiftly steps forward to bring her right foot into the lead and bobs low to deliver a powerful straight right. Katya gauged that, with his movement already pushing him to her right, he'd naturally step to the outside of that punch as the easiest defense. Whether the right punch lands or not, Katya brings her weight up and twists her torso anticlockwise with a flick of her hips and left leg to deliver a spinning back elbow into the place she'd choose to occupy, if she were Selim.

Selim stepped as Katya had predicted, having not paid much heed to her taunts. No matter how she might try to set herself up as some injured puppy, he'd watched her in her dance with the others who had fallen before him, and he knew that to underestimate her was to lose in a single fluid movement. He could not afford to lose, and he watched her carefully. Which, incidentally, made the blow that connected to the side of his head seemingly out of nowhere that much more infuriating. He did not have time to feel the indignity of it, because it was as if he could not see or feel. He stumbled, he knew enough for that, but then all he could process was that the ground had caught him as he fell. Thistle didn't see it happen, but she heard it. There'd been an indrawn breath as Katya had connected with him, an almost-silence that was marked for the edge everyone waited on, waited to see if a five-purse amateur had finally come back around. Somehow they managed an even louder roar of approval than anything that had come before during that night, and Thistle did her best not to grimace at it. She glanced back at the men she'd marked, memorizing their faces so she would not mistake them later, and started pushing and sliding through the crowd, using her small body to her advantage to bypass gaps. Most of them were too giddy to take offense at her movements, and she spilled her s*** beer on herself more than once with a sloppy smile towards those who did. She was met with disgust, some sharp words she couldn't hear, and a few glancing slaps off her shoulder or back of her head to get her moving on. She made it in front of Fion's improvised podium, and waited for the obnoxious man to finish his narration of the fight, and how incredible it was, and give Katya her money and her release.

Katya felt the impact of elbow on temple, and was glad she had judged the man's abilities correctly. Someone of lesser skill would not have had the speed to move into spot she'd targeted, and the elven mercenary would have been left wide open. A risky gambit, but Katya found too much caution was making for very dull experience. A bit of risk was what made life exciting. As Selim dropped, Katya took a deep breath, then blew the crowd another kiss. Once more, aware that not all brawls occur in the ring, the elf performs stretches to keep her muscles from tightening as Fion continued his announcements "...has been a few weeks since we had someone last five bouts, but not with a woman! I bet the bookies have been busy tonight! A new round of fights will start dear punters, and I seek volunteers! Step forth, men and women of Cenril! The night is yet young, and more blood will be shed in the name of glory and profit! Whose blood will be shed? Who will earn the glory? Step up, step up, and add your names to the night's roster!" One of the ringside attendants motioned for Katya to return to the room where she'd stored her equipment. Once out of sight, the elf sighs "Aya, they may not be as aggressive as Orc'suka, but some of them can punch!" Katya massages her sides, and prods at the tender part of her face where it had earlier copped a blow. The room's bouncer nodded to the elf with a curt "Good fights. Shame y'tryin' t'hire out. Means y'probably won't be seen round here again, leastways not ringside, if y'end up one o'the local bigshot's hardmen." Katya started putting on the clothing she'd removed earlier and reclaimed her weapons "You are never knowing, darling. Even guards are having recreational time, no?" The bouncer frowned "Not after that display, luv. They won't let y'fight amateur night, in any case. But if y'serious, an' end up on someone's payroll, have 'em pass word t'Fion for the proper fights. Nothin' like two vicious bruisers with a track record goin at it for bringin' in th'pundits." Katya nodded "I am thanking you darling, that is being very kind." Once Katya is fully dressed, she makes her way back out, though she leaves the wrappings on for now. There was just something about the smell of sweat and blood. Fion met her and said quietly "Nice fight, lovely, 'specially since you fullblood elves are normally too up yourselves to fight here - unless you're a broken-down exile, like that Hedda loon, o'course. Here's your purse. Try t'spend some of it here, eh? Consider it giving goodwill back for future dealings if you do. An' who knows who y'might meet at the bar, after matches like that, eh?" Fion hands over the purse, and Katya stows it away without bothering to count the contents, offering the halfelf a smile made crooked from the swelling lip "If you are stocking wodka, darling, I can guarantee you will be getting your fair share back. I have done my fighting, now is time for drinking and talking! I shall see you another time perhaps, yes?" Katya waved as she turned and made her way to the bar.

Holiday itinerary: after fighting comes vodka, thugs, and food

Thistle shadowed Katya, though she hung back. She didn't need to get noticed, didn't want the notice, but she put herself within Katya's line of sight and pretended to watch the crowd, holding her cup with that extra caution that came with someone who knew they were drunk, but maybe did not know how drunk, exactly. She smiled stupidly at any who came too close, and waited for the first of them to come forward. It took them more time than she'd expected, and she found herself needing a refill. Souls, she wanted more than one, but she pressed down the urge, barely, and watched the lesser rabble gather about Katya. There was some small talk, some discussion of the moves Katya had used, congratulations. Most of them were hangers-on, looking to share some of the glory that had touched Katya. Some of them hoped she might show some form of largesse and buy a round, though Thistle thought them foolish for it. Finally, a group of three with two more slightly back and to the side came up to Katya and the clinging throng around Katya peeled back some, giving her space. One of them, the one with jowls and clothing that strained at his bulk, said "That was quite some fight, young lady." And smiled as if he owned the place they stood within. Thistle looked elsewhere and shook her head as she took several long gulps, thinking that maybe they should have arranged for signals. Hand-language came in very useful for those moments when silence was necessary. Or when hearing wasn't easily possible. One more thing to remedy another time.

Katya winks at the man stand right next to Thistle, a subtle sign to let her bloodsister know she's aware of her presence. She shoulders her way unceremoniously to the bar where she buys a bottle of vodka, and though she accepts a glass, she doesn't bother using it. The elven mercenary lets a good swallow of the vodka 'disinfect her from the inside', as she explains to her neighbour, and starts swapping bar-brawl stories with the locals. Thistle would occasionally overhear snatches as she draws closer "...then Grargh charged me twenty-three silver for repairs! For two stools! And I was saying 'But it was Krogulk's skull which was breaking it, make HIM pay!' but Grargh knows I am earning more than Krogulk, and this was not being in my favour that night. So I gave him gold, and broke another two stools over unconscious Krogulk. But Grargh is seeing that as profit. He is cunning business orc, is Grargh. Very cle..." A round of cheers as the two men brawling in the ring start trading punches drowns out the next part "...and then Thlag and I are saying to Daveed's guards 'You couldn't be fighting your way out of a wet dream, let alone bandit raids!' and they are saying 'stupid elf, stupid orc' and other stupid orcs are overhearing, and in thirty seconds everyone is brawling. The carpenters in Gualon, they are making stools especially for Grargh, in advance, all the time. Thlag tells me it is a large part of his profit, as everyone knows to pay for damages, or they will receive visit from nasty people. Normally from the people who like drinking and fighting at Grargh's, and want everyone to be paying damages fairly if they are paying." Katya spins tales, listens to those of the local brawlers, cheering and toasting their tales of violence, until the trio make their presence known. Katya recognised local authority when she saw it, and poured some vodka into a glass and offered it to the large man who addressed her. Katya responded loudly and boisterously, as if the vodka was already affectiong her. Thistle, who should know Katya well enough by now, would likely realise it was an act to allow Thistle to overhear at least part of the conversation "It was being very enjoyable fight, darling! Very relaxing. And will be paying for drinks for a few nights, I am thinking! But I am told I am not being allowed to beat up locals every night for gold, so I am being very despondant. Here, drink wodka with Katya."

Thistle knew that Katya did not have the same problem she had, even though Katya drank her vodka as if it was water, and necessary to stave off certain death. No, Katya would not sour herself when they were about important business, and she held in the smile that rose at the overloud voice. Another's rose to meet hers: the man who did not represent Freyel had let his own voice grow cheerful and loud. Self-important, Thistle thought, one of those men who did not like to be outdone in anything. "Thank you, young lady!" He accepted the drink, and a sideways glance showed Thistle the rings that glinted on his fingers. Brave man. "Ah, I would have guessed from your excellent performance that you had enjoyed the art of bloodying another, but it sounds as if you are still eager for it!" His voice was thick, some of his words extended as if he might lisp with a little more effort. He laughed then, a sudden infectious sound that startled like giggles up from some of the surrounding drunks. Some of them eyed the man with hunger, and they were eyed in turn by the four men who stood around the fat one like slender sentinels. Businessmen were like that in Cenril, Thistle knew. In a landscape where hunger was commonplace for the majority of the populace, that ability to eat to excess was a marker as fine and abundant as the clothes they wore. His laughter trailed off, and he smiled brightly at Katya. "There are some positions that pay for such an eagerness, though you would have to take orders quite well, hmm?" He shook a fat forefinger at her with his free hand, the other containing the glass with a delicate grip. Thistle took another drink and gave a long, drawn out grimace, as if the alcohol was beneath her standards.

Katya grins and takes a swig "Darling, I cannot be successful caravan guard for two years if I am unable to be following orders. You can be asking any of the caravan operators, or Grargh in Gualon, or Gerard in Cenril, and they will be telling you this: Katya is being successful for three reasons. Katya loves to fight; Katya does what needs doing; and Katya does not suffer from problematic curiosity after she is being paid." Katya would offer the man a refill when his glass gets less than half full "They are probably also saying that Katya likes to drink too much, and is starting too many full-bar brawls when she does, but they are talking too much and you should be ignoring them, da?" Katya grins and downs another large mouthful of vodka "Besides, starting a brawl is a two-bottle evening, darling and here I am with only one, and part of that I am sharing with you. So is no need for concern! But you are right, darling. I am looking for work and am interested in what you are saying. But you must tell me more, for I am being as picky with my employers as employers are being picky with who they are paying. But darling..." Katya smiles broadly, the tingle of vodka dulling the sting of her swelling cheek and lip "None have yet complained about my pickiness, or price!"

Thistle saw another face she recognized, ambling in towards the bar. This was Freyel's man -- where was the third group she'd seen? Ah, there he was, retreating back towards the fight. Freyel's man had a satisfied look on his face, and Thistle wondered. Not for long. "Young lady," the man said, as if Katya might forget her outward appearance or gender, "I think you'll find yourself best served by who I represent, oh yes. I am recruiting for a man named Goban, who deals in security -- things like bodyguarding. Have you ever acted as a bodyguard, before?"

Katya smiles "I have darling, and it is being very different from guarding a caravan or warehouse. There are things I am always asking before I accept a single copper for being bodyguard: who or what am I guarding him from, and how many previous bodyguards he has been having?" Katya opened her eyes wide, the effect deliberately reminiscent of a dopey and innocent girl asking 'is this really a shortcut?' Sometimes playing the fool made people less likely to hide things. At the very least, it let Katya gauge a person's temperament

"Of course! Of course. Goban hires on his own people, but he is actually --" Freyel's man chose that moment to step up, and his voice easily overshadowed the other's. "Bodyguard work! How boring, standing around all day waiting for something to happen. I know Goban's lot, they hardly see any action. Surely that's not what you want, is it, Katya?" The speaker was rotund, though in a way more dignified than the other. "My name is Rory, and I can offer you far more action than Javed, here." Javed started to protest, but Rory only spoke louder still. They had the attention of most of the people at the bar. Thistle was dipping her head low, nodding minisculely as she took another drink. "I provide Freyel with men and women who are fit enough to protect his assets in the city. You'd be taking on thugs like the ones here. Are you interested?"

Katya bats her eyelashes "I am so loving it when men are fighting over me." But then the mercenary is back to business "It is certainly true that protecting cargoes and facilities are being more close to my regular line of work, Rory darling, and are therefore being more appropriate. But I am a Gualon girl, and while my friend Gerard would be knowing your employer, I am being unfamiliar: who is being Freyel, and what kind of assets would I be protecting? Not specifics of contents, darling, for that is not being any of my business. But am I standing around big boxes full of things which might be exploding, delicate breakables, or other such things which are requiring a gentle defense? Or am I guarding nice sturdy things where I am being able to really cut loose? But I am glad you are already telling me what I am protecting assets against. You have already answered a third of my normal questions. It is important to know what kind of person I am working for - it makes it easier to get along, da?

Rory was scruffier than Javed, his clothing made of more practical materials. He had a silver earring in his right ear, under hair barely put into order, but otherwise was unadorned. His smile was much less friendly than Javed's, and aside from the unintroduced man who hovered at his elbow, there were no other obvious men at his beck and call. "Freyel's a businessman, likes to keep his interests varied. You done real good here today, so maybe we can find you a position around the warehouse district, eh? Lots of nice sturdy things needing to be moved about the city in parts where hungry thugs like t'get fresh. If y'want better details than that I'll be wanting to speak to you in a quieter locale. Mister Freyel likes his interests kept on the quiet side, not bandied about for these buffoons t'hear." Javed, of course, wasn't having none of that. He took a step closer to Katya, his smile oily. "I know how our dear friend Rory works, lady. What he doesn't tell you is that your pay will be next to nothing. Gobad operates the security of Haut Monde, and you would be protecting the entertainers through the city, and possibly as guards during the events. Surely that's more interesting than what he offers." Rory's smile was crooked as he scoffed, "Oh, aye, if you fancy watching fat nobles make asses of themselves, surely 'twill be!"

Katya smiles and kisses Javed on the cheek "Darling, the offer is kind, but the truth is I hire out to get paid for my fun ...and my fun is being fighting." Katya points at Rory and speaks for a moment as if she wasn't acutely aware that Rory could hear every word she says "This man is dressing for my kind of business. Clothing that is being hard to tear, and look in eyes which is saying "Screw me over and I'll happily cut your throat myself". This, Javed darling, is being my kind of employer for present needs." Katya refils Javed's glass "Is sad, yes, but do not be forgetting Katya, for the time may come in future when this Freyel is no longer wanting to pay for my services, and I am hiring out once more. But between now and then, think of a more dangerous job that is being more to my pleasure, da? I am not liking bodyguard duties much, because employers complain if I slap their clients or am kicking them in soft places for being inappropriate. You are being nice man, and I was having fun sharing wodka with you." Katya steps away and blows a kiss before saying to Rory "Alright, darling. I'm interested. Businessmen know how to pay their bills, so tell me more about what I am being paid for. And remember, I am wanting excitement, not boring sitting around. I hire out to be fighting things, not sitting bored, you are understanding?" Katya smiled and gestured with the hand that was bottle-free "It is being your party now, Rory, da? So lead the way."

Javed didn't take such news well by the glare he shot at Rory between his smiles for Katya. "As you say." Such as it was between rivals who sought the attentions of those they wished to hire, and after a few shuttered jibes Javed wandered back towards the ring. Rory, meanwhile, flashed a mean grin and gestured Katya to follow as he left Gluttony's venue for the night. Thistle waited as she savored her beer, watching for several counted breaths to see who did or didn't follow them out. She couldn't wait too long, and she couldn't be obvious either, which gave her a very small window of time in which she could follow them out. Though, when she did move, she could only hope no one would be there to watch her and wonder. Rory had enough confidence to move as Katya did, and though he didn't have the build for a fighter his posture welcomed aggressors and thieves alike. Not to say that he moved without men who could do the fighting bit, because they were there, unobtrusive and quiet. The only obvious one who walked with them was the tall, rather slight man who kept his peace, though he walked at Rory's side like a worried hen. "Right then, Redmund--" "Red, Mister Rory, if y'please." "Redmund here will explain further about Freyel's little business empire." Redmund was a terrible name by most accounts, and at that point in time Red had regretted ever uttering it to strangers by means of acquaintence. It was the type of name that got you shoehorned into various aidelike tasks, especially when it was found out you could read and write and carry numbers in a fair hand. It wasn't bad being needed in such a fashion, but it meant that in many cases mistakes and such wound up falling on your own head. With a name like Redmund and a reputation for being a scapegoat, it was only natural the man had turned into a spare, fluttering thing. His name was spoken as if it was a badge of dishonor, and it really didn't suit their line of work. And at this point, he was far and away from being able to shoulder it with any kind of dignity, even despite his middle age and clean manner of dress. ". . .Right," he said, a tone of defeat hovering behind the briskness of the word. "Mister Freyel owns plenty shops, a runner stable, and a delivery network to boot. He supplies most his own goods, and as Mister Rory said. . ." he trailed off, looking down first upon Rory and then Katya. He tangled long fingers together and looked forward again, trailing slightly behind Rory. His was the spare frame of the overworked. "If y'go for the warehouses you could be for delivery duty. Some carts and some men go southside, through the market and all the stalls there. Mister Freyel don't go for the rackets, none, and sometimes there's scuffles. Not always gang related, neither. There's hungry folk in Cenril, there is."

Katya followed Rory out of the premises without hesitation, and nodded to the flighty man who seemed exactly the type of timid paperpusher a crooked businessman might hire. Scared people generally don't risk their necks with betrayals. "There are always being hungry people, Red darling. Is way of world. Eat or be eaten, da? Is harsh but natural way of life. But it is good that Freyel is being businessman of such standing. It means he is being good at what he does. I am liking people who are good at what they do." Katya yawned and took another mouthful of vodka "How squeamish is being this Freyel? Is he minding if people are being killed by those he employs? Is hard to be keeping people alive when fighting them you see, and I tend to ask for more if I am expected to not be killing." After Katya and Rory leave Gluttony, Thistle would feel a tap on her shoulder, and quick examination would reveal it to be Korax' offsider Flick. "Uhh, miss, Korax says he can help you follow them all quiet-like if'n you need it. Part o'the services paid for, 'e said."

Like the ears of a horse, Red's shoulders straightened a little out of their habitual stoop. But before he could answer Katya, Rory had taken the reins back with his usual lack of grace. "Katya-girl, Freyel deals with all that rubbish and you ask if he's like all those noble gits up by Beloy Street?" Rory laughed, and it was the deep belly laugh of a man without reservation. When he finished, he tucked his hands in his pockets and strolled along as if they were walking a busier street in the sunshine. "Still though, still, you're right in that he ain't no thug, not our Mister Freyel. Dependin' on the job he might ask you to show restraint, an' sometimes he won't. He's a thinker, that one. Might that perk your interest, girly?" Thistle laughed too, but hers was quiet and self deprecating. She'd followed people before, on her own. But she wondered then if Korax's claims were true, if she was as piss poor at being casual as he'd claimed. That, and whether or not he'd go tailing after Katya anyways. Uncertainty twice, and a means to fix it. She snorted, finished her drink, and smiled. "Yeah. Hate to waste her money."

Katya grins "That it might, Rory-gramps. I am heeding your old-man words of wisdom. But jobs which are requiring restraint and caution... well darling, depending on how well I am liking my employers, those sometimes require an incentive to outweigh the restrictions on my fun. But I am being reasonable woman, and am knowing it is a different thing to be leaving thug corpses scattered around a warehouse than it is leaving bandit corpses on the trade roads. So I am being ...flexible in these things. As long as I am not being bored, and being kept away from the fighting, this arrangement should bring benefit to all." Meanwhile, Flick would lead Thistle to Korax before scuttling off again to continue his part of the night's work. Korax eyed Thistle "Well damn. Guess I owe Flick five silver. I'd put money down you'd tell him to sod off. 'Spose my judgement was a bit awry on that count." Korax pulled his hood back over his head "So, Katya's thrown in with Freyel's thugs eh? None o'my business, o'course, but if Rory is true t'habit, he's got preferred digs for when layin' down the rules to a prospective employee. A small restaurant staffed by people Rory trusts. Now, I'm gambling that he's a man of habit, and have sent Flick on ahead with a fresh tunic to put on and a few silver for a meal. If he runs like I told him, he'll be sitting there with food in front of them before they arrive. He's no good in a fight is Flick, and isn't much one for an original idea if y'get what I mean, but he's got disturbingly sharp ears and can run like buggery. Worth his weight in gold, and has a forgettable face. Looks like any dozen Cerilli street rats." Korax nods to the side door of the room they are standing in "So that's the plan. Send Flick ahead to watch over things and to let us know if anything goes Rynvallian, and we slowly shadow them in case Rory changes his routine. I've got a couple of lads running scout t'make sure there's little in th'way of surprises. We've got time for me t'maybe answer one o'two questions before we have to move out, but that's about it."

"Spunky little thing, ain't she Redmund?" Red nodded politely and held in his sigh. Rory was smirking, and while it was true he did look a good sight older than Katya, it was also true he had no grandchildren. Though, he was waiting for his children to hop to it, particularly when his wife whined at him when he was trying to sleep. "All right then, girly, I think we might find some accomodations. One more block and we'll talk straight." Thistle kept that little smile on her face as Korax flapped his jaws at her (she'd hoped, rather stupidly, that it would be Flick keeping pace with her), and she shrugged at him. It was rude, but she figured he was rude enough that there was no point wasting polite niceties on him. Even so, she couldn't help but be impressed by his quick action, and the efficiency with which his boys carried it out. Still, this was why she'd avoided talking to any of the Cenrilli poor more than she'd had to in all her time in the slums. Souls take it, and rot Korax besides. She swallowed, and felt her pride sting. "You know what it's like for them who hire on with Freyel's lot? Any of his to avoid, especially?"

Korax shrugged right back "Depends on how tough they are. The ones who talk themselves up bigger than they actually are, well, they normally end up in too deep and bleeding out after a proper shanking. The ones who know what they're doing? Well, word has it they do damn well. Freyel's got a reputation for bein' a hard bastard, but a good judge of talent. Doesn't make him popular though. Overhear the occasional grumbling lately about outsiders getting promoted over locals, which don't sit too well. Sure, those who do the grumbling are useless bastards anyway, but its one thing to have a fellow Cenrilli doin' better than you and entirely another if some outsider comes in and upstages the lot of you." Korax laughs softly "Hell, we experienced that outselves back when Sawtooth was one step away from wiping us out, and Nemo came in like a storm of blades. We thought it was a miracle. Turned out, he'd cased us for saving because in doin' so he'd have a foothold in the city. Heard word recently that he got 'imself killed by unnatural things in that bloody hellhole Vailkrin. One of his old runners eventually got word to us. Apparently had a hard time leaving th'damn place. Some upheaval or other. Holed up for a few months." Korax stopped himself "Ah, s***, I'm rambling. Goin' t'get some sleep after this, I reckon. But I wouldn't be worryin' about Katya. If what Flick tells me of her bouts is true, she's tough enough to handle Freyel's line o'work. That Selim is normally a damn tough nut to crack. Flick reckons your girl got lucky. Now, time to skedaddle" Korax would begin leading Thistle through alleys and empty buildings, yet always in such a way that they somehow never lost the trail, the cloaked man often pausing to listen for some signal amongst the myriad sounds of a Cenril night.

Thistle nodded along to what Korax was saying, though she didn't look at him straight on. She stayed silent as they walked, watching Korax and the night and hoping somehow that her sisters never turned out like him. Was that what Iron had become, why he'd acted the way he did? It made sense like that, him getting along with all the dolts who were really from Cenril. Cities bred weakness. Rory tramped up to a reasonably well kept wooden building. Its windows were shuttered tight against the night, but even so the glow of light from within was plainly visible. There was an sign hanging up above the doorway, made legible by the light that spilled out as Rory opened the doorway. It read Dene's in a faded, traditional script that had been lettered with some care and proficiency. It was a nice sign, considering the neighborhood it took residence in, but even so the front of the store was well kept. Rory scraped his boots on the sill as he entered, and a woman looked up from a counter seat she was sitting on at the far left. There were a few empty tables about the place, scattered and worn, complemented by the few faded, simple wall hangings that covered the boards of the walls. It was small, but arranged in such a way as to not feel cramped or crowded. There was a small opening set at the far edge of the counter, through which could be seen the large oven that must have taken up most of the kitchen. Its fires were banked, the longhandled tools and stones for bread set neatly by. It looked nearly abandoned, from where they stood in the doorway. A lanky teenage boy was tucked in at one of two tables near the counter, dressed cleanly enough to have, evidently, not courted the wrath of the woman sitting at the counter. It was possible, certainly, that he'd gotten more than he'd paid for considering the amount of food in front of him. That woman, pleasantly rounded in the way of the matronly, hair tucked up in a neat bun and streaked with grey. "You again," she said in the rough, comfortable way of a peasant woman. "Biddy!" That, through the window, and a slender young woman came out of the door a moment later. Next to the older woman, she looked to be in the first blush of womanhood, but that was perhaps deceptive given the slight elven cast to her features. Not a full elf, likely, but a half-breed. Biddy opened her mouth, and the older woman jerked a thumb towards Rory and those who followed in behind him. "Get 'im 'is tobaccy afore he starts a ruckus." "Yes, Dena." Biddy disappeared. Rory grinned and strode for a table along the wall. "Strangers have you courtin' your manners, woman?" Dena gave Rory a dragon's stare, and puffed twice on her pipe before transferring that sharp stare to Katya. She looked back at Rory, the frown lines pulling tight around her lips, and she turned back around on her stool. Rory chuckled and took a seat, Red cautiously sitting beside him. Two other men ambled in and took seats closer to the door, and only for them did Dena pull herself off of her stool. Rory shoved a finger in his mouth, scraped at his teeth with it, and then said, "So, girly, have y'ever hired with anyone in Cenril before?"

Katya offered the proprietress a big smile then made herself comfortable on a stool opposite Rory. The elven woman drank another mouthful of vodka and answered bluntly in the same uncaring volume as she had since stepping out of the ring "Nyet. I am normally signed on for return trip with most caravans, but this time the caravan master was only needing one way trip, as he is seeing to matters of possible business arrangements with merchant in Larket, but was not wanting to take caravan all the way. So Gerard is looking after it, and we are paying Gerard for accomodation as we know he will be returning in a month or so and needing guards again. It is good business to wait for him, and yet good chance for a rest. But I am getting bored with resting. Thus, I am fighting in ring. And thus, here we are sitting and talking. I am sure you or Red will be having access to one of the caravan operators which visit Cenril, darling. Ask them or their guard captains about Katya and Thlag. They will be knowing of me. You can look into me as much as you are liking. It is expected in my line of work." Elsewhere, Korax led Thistle into a rickety building near to the restaurant. It had once been a two-storey building, but the second floor had mostly collapsed during some conflict. The stairwell and support beams showed signs of heavy axes being contributing factors to the building's sad state. Korax hunkered in a shadow corner and motioned for Thistle to do the same. "Right then, surly. You're here. Y'more friendly companion is in there, and Flick is no doubt stuffing his face at a very slow place, taking his time to enjoy the experience. And at the same time he'll try to catch whatever he can from their conversation. Now, what y'do from here is up to you. I've done my bit, and frankly, I've met creaking doors which were more companionable. I'll stick around further, because Katya's gold has bought my service for the night. I got you here, because the vixen made it clear you were part of the package. But I can tell when a woman don't like me, an' I'm happy t'keep my own company. So don't feel th'need t'stick around and make my evenin' miserable unless you have actual need o'my services."

Biddy reappeared with the requested tin of dry leaf, and Rory pulled out a pipe of his own. Biddy handed it off with a smile, and Rory nodded at her with a serious expression. He packed his pipe as Katya talked, and then glared at Red until the flustered man slumped in his chair and lifted his hand, snapping his fingers over the filled bowl until sparks caught and lit. Red, being a mage of minor talent, found that his life at the moment was mostly being a walking convenience trick for others. His mother had wanted him to be a scribe for the mayor. Oh how wrong things went. He looked away from Rory and Katya as they talked. "What d'you know about the state of old Cenril, eh girly? Could be you'll save both of us time if you're well familiar with this place. As for your Gerard and your caravan operators, yeah, I'm sure that'll get checked." Red winced, sure that the responsibility had just been handed off to him. He didn't quite sigh. Thistle didn't quite grunt, but it made her happy somewhere inside that he was as miserable as she was. "Can never be sure, what you will or won't need, and she has paid good money for you. I try not to waste good money. Would it make you feel better if I complained as loudly as you?"

Korax laughed, a soft hissing exhalation of amusement "You complain enough as it is. Y'got a look on your face like you eat lemons all day. Y'don't need to complain with words, surly, you wear your complaints on your face where everyone can damn well read them. But fine. Make my evening that much better with y'sparkling conversational ability. Go right ahead. If it gets too scintillating for me, I can always cut me own throat. Though I'm sure you'd happily offer the service y'self." Korax settled into a corner and made himself comfortable, fully prepared to wait for dawn or one of his lads' signals - whichever came first. In the restaurant Katya eyed Red with interest for a moment, recognising the cantrip as similar to the one she used to light vodka on fire - generally as a preparation before tossing in annoying people's faces. But the moment passed and Katya answered Rory "I am liking you, darling. You are being not an idiot. Yes, it is true that I am talking with people in bars and local mercenaries, and am having a little understanding of state of affairs. There are groups at the docks, da? Who are controlling the smuggling. And there are groups in the city who are running the rackets for protection. And then there are groups perhaps working with outsiders. It is like pack of dogs fighting over a couple of big steaks, da? Trying to be biggest strongest dog in yard." Katya swished her bottle, realising it was getting dangerously into its last third, and decides to slow down her intake to avoid running out too soon. "But, you are probably asking yourself 'Why is Katya so quick to accept job from rough-looking Rory rather than Rich-looking Javed?' and it is being good question." Katya had a small sip of Vodka "It is because I was overhearing some rough men griping at a bar, complaining that Freyel was forgetting he was a patriot, and hiring non-Cenrilli. That these 'non-Cenrilli' employees hadn't left their job with an extra knife in their back is telling me that perhaps this Freyel is hiring anyone who is good enough at their job not to be killed by jealous gripers. And I am liking that. It is seeming intelligent to hire quality, and I am not much liking dumb and stupid employers who laugh and freely take the first drink they are being offered by dangerous stranger. Javed is being lucky that I am not poisoner sent to coax him into drinking his own death, da? People are being so incautious in Cenril"

"If you cut your throat, do it after Katya gets her money's worth. Unless you abandon jobs often? This city is so full of yappy know-it-alls. Aie, how do people live their whole lives here!" Thistle cut herself off before she could tell him that she did not look like she ate lemons all day. Who ate lemons, anyways? Thistle squatted, comfortable, and found it strangely reminiscent of older times. In a different way. The wait would probably go faster if she ignored him, but she was too strung up waiting for Katya. Rory, meanwhile, frowned at Katya around his pipe. "Don't flatter me, girl. Javed might be a puffed up strumpet humping wheeze-bag, but he ain't fresh or stupid. Did y'see him drink? Swallow what you offered? He'll play yer witless friend right up until there ain't no more use for you. Him and Goban, they're no safe perch for your type." He stopped talking and smiled as the smoke rose between them. "Not that I'd say there's much safety t'be had with Freyel, either. But you're right. He won't play y'crooked unless you sass him buckeyed first." Behind them, Dena finished chatting with the two men as Biddy came out bearing two plates full of something that looked like a selection of leftovers. She was greeted with sly words and flirtatious leers until Dena turned a narrowed eye upon them. The jokes slid into something safer, though Biddy looked pleased by all accounts. Dena passed the boy's table, and said, "What kind of piss appetite be that? If ye're gonna be a man, eat like one! All skin and bones, tch!" She passed by his table on the way back to her stool (or throne, more like) where she would once more perch in confidence of her exact control over her small kingdom.

Katya raises her eyebrows with a smile "And what is being my type, Rory, that you are seeming so concerned for my safety and welfare all of a sudden? Please do not be telling me city nonsense of 'women do not fight'. For I will be saying this once and once only: I am a warrior of the Rus, raised to battle on horse and boat. People hire me to do violence, not to stand around looking pretty. So, you know what I know of the city. When are we going to get to talking of my duties and price?" In the background, Flick responded to Dena by saying "Ma'am, it has been so long since I had a meal tastin' this good, I didn't want to spoil th'flavour by eatin' it in a rush. Most o'the food I gets t'eat is greasy an' like as not halfgreen under all th'damn gravy. What you gone an' put on my plate is like heaven, so's please forgive me if'n I take my time t'enjoy it. I mean no affront" Across the street and in the dilapidated building, Flick's leader Korax had subsided into silence, not responding to Thistle's jibes. As far as the man was concerned, his continued presence was more evidence of his dedication than any words could offer, but he didn't give a damn if he was the only one who noticed. Pride and professionalism was a personal thing to Korax, requiring no external validation.

Rory smoked like he was some wise old man, though he couldn't have been past fifty the way he moved. "The rough type. The kind who live for blood." He gestured with the pipe, and shook his head, "Goban's people, they want people with swords up their arses. You? Hah! I want t'hire you, why else would I give a copper bit's worth of talk over a girl ain't mine? As for your pay, that'll clinch proper once some digging's been done, but if you're so eager, Freyel pays his fighters fifty silver a week. Seein' how I seen you fight? A gold a week. We'll see what your people have t'say about you, and then dependin' we'll see how much that might go up. Now, don't get all huffy on me or try your cat eyes on me; if you're worth a higher price we'll negotiate --" Rory stopped and looked at Red, who despite not looking at Rory nonetheless understood the gap in conversation. "Day after tomorrow," he said, utterly resigned. "Day after tomorrow, here. As for duties, well, asides walkin' carts from the warehouse to destination we'll see what might be up for your callin' once we've had your measure." Dena arranged herself on her stool, the scowl lines fully engaged as she surveyed the kitchen through the window, and the number of people dirtying up a place that should have been fairly empty. But perhaps the most satisfied person of all was Thistle, near enough to Korax to be discomfited for it, but still greatly enjoying her first piece of silence since Katya had taken her nap far earlier in the day. A slice of bliss was something Thistle could be content with, and she took it without the need to antagonize Korax any further.

Katya smiled and drained the last of her vodka in a satisfied way "That is being fine and proper, darling. It may not be what I am used to, but it is different kind of work, and I am understanding the danger pay is being less." Katya places her emptied bottle on the table "Very well then. I will be seeing you here in two days when the sun is no longer in horizon. Try to start a war between now and then, darling. Make it really worth my while" Katya grins and stands, blowing the men a kiss. "It is time for me to go rest I am thinking. Dosvidaniya, darlings." With an evil grin, the woman drops enough silver on the table in front of Flick for three meals, steals his plate from under his face, and says "Boy, I am hungry. This plate is coming with me. You can too, if you have recently bathed" With a wave and utter disregard of any protest, Katya would leave the restaurant. Flick sits there for a moment in stunned confusion, his tongue stammering a garbled "But that was, I was, it... my dinner!" Further along, Korax starts as a sound in the night notifies him one of his lads had seen Katya leaving. The man sighed "And it had been so peaceful, too." Korax rises softly to his feet and whispers "Alright, Katya's on the move. Flick will overtake her at some point, and give her some directions to another quiet spot. We'll head that way ourselves now."

Rory waved Katya off, already turning to stare at Red, who simply stood up with his rounded shoulders and moved to follow after Katya out the door. Once there, however, he'd go his own way with the tasks piled up for the morrow. And Rory, well, he had an old bat of a woman to harrass until she chased him off. He smirked around his pipe, and watched Katya and Rory leave. Thistle stirred at Korax's words. She smiled, small and private, at his comment. But she kept her silence and wondered if Rory might be paranoid enough to watch Katya, to see where she lived and who she interacted with. That could be problematic for Thistle, for them both. One thing at a time. She stood and followed Korax out.

Flick, confronted with a plateless table and a restaurant suddenly vacant of his target, puts two and two together to make four. The youth stammers a moment, something about the 'wonderful food' and 'maybe time for a bath' and 'this silver is for the plate the lady stole'. Then Flick picks up most of the silver, leaving one for the plate and stands. He walks out of the restaurant with all the appearance of one who is slightly stunned and under another's mesmeric influence. Flick trails after Katya, dithering around like he'd seen some virgin lads do, but waiting to see if he'd been followed. It did not take long before he heard the 'all clear' signal. Catching up with Katya took no effort, because she'd been strolling at a pace slow enough to allow her to put a solid dent in the remainder of his meal. As the lad approached her, she said "You were right, darling, she is being very good cook. This is being delicious!" Flick grumbled "You are a cold-blooded bitch. Now give it back" Katya picked up her pace and said "Nyet. Is mine now. Unless you are fighting me for it?" The latter was said with a grin. Flick responded "Only way I'd fight you is the proper way. In your sleep with a brick to your skull." The elven mercenary laughed "That is indeed being proper way! Now, you being there, and now here, is meaning that Korax is clever sneak, and is probably waiting for me somewhere, da?" Flick nodded "Along with that other person y'had with you." Katya grinned "Lead the way, boy, but not so fast I cannot enjoy my dinner." Elsewhere, Korax had led Thistle through to a section of Cenril quite a distance from the restaurant. When Flick arrives with Katya the first thing he says is "Korax, gold is gold, but she is a damn bitch an' a dirty thief." Katya, following the moment after, nodded "Da, am being both. But in fairness, the food I was stealing from him is being really good." Katya still had the plate, grubby but now empty of food, which she pushes into Flick's unbelieving hands with a wink. "Qarashenka! How was it? Were you finding useful information?" Katya waved to Korax "You are being as good as you say darling, is rare achievement!" Katya tosses the fight's purse to Korax "A bonus, and incentive for being available in future, da? Also, because Flick looks hungry. I do not think he has eaten much today. Very irresponsible of him."

Thistle was relieved to see Katya, though that was something she'd never admit to or show. Besides, the reminder that she hadn't eaten, either, and had consumed alcohol without a full belly made her want to return back to their place, and . . . they hadn't stored food yet. Souls take it! "Some," she replied to Katya, "but there'll be time for that later." She gave something that might be distantly related to a bow to Korax, mostly involving her head and not much of her upper body, and turned expectantly to go. She didn't like being out so much in the dark. She wanted the comforting smell of her bow in progress, and whatever food she could scrounge in the house-that-wasn't-theirs.

Korax caught the purse with a nod "Fair enough. We have an accord. You know where t'find me if needed. C'mon Flick, lets grab a drink before we turn in. Call the lads, and we'll unwind." Korax exits through a side door, the man's soft movements almost silent, and Flick follows. Katya stretches and moves to follow Thistle "Well, this has been wonderful night, Qarashenka! Good fighting, good food, good company and almost good wodka! Every night should be like this!"

Thistle looked sideways at Katya, and felt exhaustion anew just looking at the other woman. "Ugh," she said, but couldn't help the small quirk of her lips upward. Maybe it hadn't been such a bad night, after all. They made it back to their home after the long walk, and Thistle was sure the sky was starting to lighten, or had lightened. Certainly the shadows weren't so dark, or didn't seem so dark. Still, she kept her guard up, searching for anyone who might see them enter Katya's house together. Though, with her dressed as she was she supposed someone might mistake her for. . .something other than what she was. But then they were inside, and the smell of burned goat horn greeted them. Thistle inhaled great big gulps of air, and let it all out before she started crawling around looking for food. There was still some dried meat, and fruit, though the cheese was all gone. "Isn't right with no cheese," she said with her mouth full, slumping down on the floor until she sprawled flat.

Katya wrinkled her nose as she entered the house "Qarashenka, darling, I think it is important to tell you this: food is not better the more it stinks like feet." Katya set up her bedroll and settled down on it.

Thistle groaned, swallowed, and stuffed more fruit into her mouth. "It's like horses. The smell is home! Aie, your nose is dead. You smell like blood, and you insult my bow." Her words alternated between distinct and squishy as she talked around the masticated lumps in her mouth. She relaxed, like that, by inches.

Katya laughs "If that is smelling like horses, then it is your nose being dead! You insult Sumerki by saying he smells like that! Home should smell of horse and heather and leather and steel!"

Thistle grew annoyed, and rolled her eyes. "Horses and making things, that is home. They aren't the same, I didn't say they were. Is your head rattled? Maybe you should sleep first before we talk." Thistle sat up, in part to look at Katya, the rest to keep herself from choking every time she tried to swallow. There hadn't been much in the way of travel rations, and she was hungry. She wished for cheese curds, then. With perhaps some soft cheese to go with them.

Katya smirks "That is being very good idea, darling. If I am not resting, how am I to have the same amount of fun tomorrow? But waiting two days is going to be so boring. At least in Gualon I could be brawling at Grargh's. I should visit Gerard's and break a stool over Thlag's head. Then it will be a little like Grargh's." Katya lay back on her bedroll "I didn't even get to butt heads tonight. Is not proper fight unless you are knocking man unconscious with ramlike butt to head. They were so stingy, Qarashenka! Only five fights! Prezrennyj!!!" Katya exhales her frustration "But is not all bad. Was fun, fighting like that. But bar brawls are more exciting. Everyone gets to join in those!"

Thistle stared. "Are all your people like you? No, no I think you said your . . .uncle? Someone, someone -- ahh, I can't remember. I'll have to comfort myself, thinking there is only one of you."

Katya did not answer immediately, and her response was uncharacteristically circumspect. "Nyet. I am thinking that perhaps I am not being exactly like them." Katya's cheerful tone returned "But is fine! For life is short, and it is there to be lived, da? No point in wasting it on worry worry worry!"

Thistle shook her head. "Aie, I think even if the Souls wanted to take you you would slip away." She finished what food there was, and went to her own bedroll. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and she stared up at the ceiling as she thought about the day. "I didn't like that man, today. The one you paid. Next time, if you can, you should find another."

Katya points out, not unreasonably "Darling, I do not think there is a man in this city that you are actually liking. Perhaps you should be telling me why you don't like him?" Katya chuckled slightly "And you will need to be giving me more than 'he is being very good at sneaking, and very good at getting done what he is being paid for' because these are being exactly the reason why I hired him."

Thistle couldn't really argue with Katya, but she could certainly try anyways. "Too loud, too free with his opinions. Aie, there are no real men in this Souls-taken city. They all act like children half weaned and given too much leeway by their grandmothers. Maybe if he could keep his mouth shut. And I'm sure there's some I'd dislike less." Leaf would have been a good man, a good husband if she'd been able to find him a good woman. Those were rare, too, in the city.

Katya keeps her face straight "Alright, I indulge you, let me see if I am following this" Katya raises both arms into the air, checking off the list "Free with opinions, da. Too loud, da. Acting as if he owns his surroundings, da. Dislikes to keep mouth shut, da." Katya drops her arms to her side and laughs "Oh my, Qarashenka, you are making him sound just like me! No wonder you are so put out!"

Thistle was startled. Within her roll, she froze and blinked up at the ceiling. "You're different. He has nothing worth hearing, but sometimes you do. Besides, you are free like the horse and he. . .he is like Iron. Without honor."

Katya sighs "Darling, if this were being the steppes, you would be correct. But this is not the steppes. In a city, a man's honour is based on whether he follows his word, and has little to be doing with steppes tradition. For city men, reputation is everything. Think back, darling, set aside for a moment your dislike of city rogues and criminals. Did the man Korax run off with my gold and leave us to fend for ourselves? Or did he take steps to assist us in reaching our goals, just as I paid him to do? Did he gather his resources like a city warrior and effectively perform a scouting and infiltration sortie, delivering us unseen to our destination? I think he did. And for a city man, that is his honour. He took gold, and discharged his duty admirably. Darling, I am a mercenary, and far from home. These things that Korax does, this doing of things for gold which you find distasteful... you must not turn a blind eye to the fact that such too is how I live in these lands." The elf sighed "But at least as a caravan guard I am on horseback, facing armed bandits, so there is glory and honour there." Katya shifted on her bedroll "But it is not always the way. It is inevitable that, in forcing my way up the ladder of Freyel's group, I will be killing people. And yes, you can say 'they are just city scum', but you will have to come to terms with the fact that for all our people's similarities, there are differences too. I have been spending too many years killing people to be apologising for it. Whether it is being for my stanitsa, as part of our vois'ko; whether it is as a mercenary, killing the people on the other side of the conflict; whether it is as caravan guard killing bandits. It should not matter. I am a warrior, and my place is in battle, and it is there I find my pride and my honour." Katya paused a moment to let that sink in and added "For Korax, I think his pride is in being very clever-clever and sneaky and being able to out-think others. There is no dishonor in that. It is just very different to the way of the steppes."

Thistle remained mute for the duration of Katya's words, though her mind thundered. When she spoke, she did so quietly, because the silence was filling up everything else. "You speak as if the tribesmen do not kill each other, or raid. But I get it, I get it, I will not interfere with who you hire. I have never questioned your honor, bloodsister. Your manners, yes. Your strength of mind, yes. What the Souls want from me for this blood oath, yes. But you are you, and you are my only bloodsibling. I will not look upon this man the same as I look on you. It is two different things. But it is late, and I am too tired to be talking like this. Tomorrow, we will talk in the light."

Katya nods, the motion likely imperceptible on the bedroll "It is good to question things, Qarashenka. It is foolish not to. Even if fighting is being more fun than thinking, most times. But yes, rest is being good too. I will sleep now." It wouldn't take long for Katya to fall unconscious. Between the fighting, vodka and food, Katya's body had been all but demanding it in written form. Triplicate. Inked in blood. With lots of capitalisation.