Law has Come to The Plains [Open]

[Kite]

Ademar’s horse trudges its way into the blossoming little mining town on the Plains with some amusement. So many of these little towns were springing to life along the Plains that stretched the country and its borders that no one could quite keep track of any of them. This was a little town Ademar hadn’t heard of by the time he left on his newest job, and in the time that it had taken him to make the trip from Teirm out to his destination it had sprung up past the tents it had been at one time into a small street of true buildings, mostly taverns and inns and tool shops that were in such high demand in a mining industry. He had been hired by the crooks and swindlers that owned the same buildings building up here, as well as the mining foreman a few towns down to help their hired thugs fight off the riding bandits and slavers that were the former residents of these plains before they had been poached off the lands by the thousands of souls come to strike rich. To that end, he was meeting a few up in this burgeoning little metropolis to be and were fixing to run a few of them out of the watering hole, for some tidbits about the gangs raiding the slightly more developed settlement.
God damn, Ademar thinks as he rides his way to the Tavern, I’m glad I don’t have to deal with this too much longer, too many settlements to deal with this for a long period of time. It’ll only get worse.
As he approaches the front of the tavern, he dismounts and waves to the horse boy in front of the Tavern, using his thumb to flip out a gold coin and telling the boy to take his horse and care for it while he has a drink, before walking into the tavern’s main room. As he looks around the room from the entrance, he picks out several of the thugs hired by the men who hired Ademar who are his support crew effectively, as well as the normal sort of miners and the bar’s own thugs loitering the room. There were even some women plying their trade in the tap room, presumably giving the tavern owner a cut to use the room and space. He ignored them, mostly, and moves over to the bar, where one of his ‘compatriots’ were leaning against the bar and orders himself a drink, before nodding to his companion.

“Well?” Ademar asks as he gets his drink from the bartender.

The man looks at Ademar and takes a large swig of his drink, nodding his head slightly as he does at a table in the middle of the room, a card game going on between some typically rough characters. Most were just rougher miners and hired muscle, but a couple had the wiry, uncontrolled look of a bandit or criminal that spent life in the wilderness, paranoid and ready to lash out. Ademar nods and takes a mouthful of his drink before putting it on the bar and walking over to the table, smiling and putting every ounce of swagger and confidence into his stride and demeanor. He approaches behind the two uneasy players before putting his hands on their shoulders mid hand, one on each man, before turning his smile at every player at the table.

“Excuse me for the interruption, gentlemen, but I need to speak to my associates here.”

The two look up, one spitting on the floor before speaking.

“We ain’t your associates, and you need to keep your hands to yourself.”

Ademar nods thoughtfully for a moment, before jerking them both to their feet and letting go, taking a step back before continuing.

“You may not be my associates now, but you will be after me and mine beat you into the street.”

They become belligerent, understandably, and take a few steps towards Ademar before some of the companions that Ademar brought with him came forward, standing on Ademar’s side. Once they reveal themselves, the bandits pause for a moment, hesitating, then attempt to bolt. That hesitation allowed Ademar to act, moving forward before they get completely going, and grabbing both of them by the back of their clothes, holding them as still as possible until he is supported in moving them forward by a couple men, the other few men moving out the front of the building as Ademar and the group move towards the door and throw the two bandits out the door roughly. Ademar follows them through, and takes a look around the street as he does, to see if this little altercation has been fully noticed by those milling around the town while the thugs grab both bandits and get them ready for the next step.

[Lisenet]

Fàsail

Commander Aigbert did not have the time to take her into the nearest town, or the inclination, as he could not see what she could possibly need in town that the camp and its own small civilization could not provide. She could not properly manage to express that it wasn't actually a material item she needed, but to meet new people, to expand her chances for finding the first one in her new world who remembered her from her old one. Admittedly, it made the young man who escorted her--a friend she had made by playing with his young daughter the week his wife was ill--uncomfortable as the strangers she repeatedly questioned turned and looked over their shoulders at her even as they passed, convinced she was crazy, and not understanding why the soldier accompanying her had let her off her leash to hassle hard-working common folk. And she didn't have the time to explain to every one of them she asked that she did so not out of an underlying insanity, but because she genuinely wished to know. She didn't know herself, that was why she asked. She wasn't crazy. She just felt that way some days.

With a memory nonexistent, every day was unexpected and unpredictable. With no past to test her perceptions against she had difficulty predicting even a couple hours into the future. With no past to bend her judgment upon she had difficulty forming opinions and feeling the subtler emotions such as satisfaction, irritation, and suspicion. Simple joys came easily enough with the camp children, simple worries with the everyday concern that lay like a film of grit against her skin, its causation needing no explanation. She had found, so far, that the less time she had to sit by herself and think the better. Unfortunately, there was not much either useful or productive that a not terribly strong, one-armed woman could accomplish in an army camp. Or just among the faction that she traveled with. They were going to Castle Richards soon, the commander had mentioned.

Lieutenant Charston had a quick errand he wished to run, and didn't want Fàsail to walk or run too much and over-tire herself--she suspected that her lack of appetite was rooted in eating very little in the approximately six weeks during which unknown Samaritans had done what they could to heal the many injuries she had sustained, before returning her to the desert that she had accepted for her name, in lieu of nothing better. As it was, eating anything hearty or substantial still made her ill, so she remained about as bone-edged and thin as she had been when the army had found her. She wished the lieutenant didn't feel the need to watch after her health so closely, but appreciated that he did; she had already discovered that she was not interested in doing it herself.

So she sat on a closed rain barrel outside a noisy building she was reluctant to enter without the soldier and drew her knees up to her chest and watched people walk by without comment. For the most part, they, not recognizing her, ignored her. She watched and waited for a nudge of familiarity that never came even to visit, and wished the sun were not so bright.

The heavy door to the building she sat before slammed open, squealing on its damp hinges, and a scramble of men marched out, only some of them willingly. She gleaned little of worth from the lot of them before her green eyes flicked down to the sinking hand of one of the rougher-looking ones and followed its trajectory to the glint of silver tucked into the fold of his boot. Lifting her one hand, she pointed and said, "That one has a knife." She lowered the arm and unfolded her legs, like a crab loosening from its shell, and blinked at them all with interest. The one who stood with the same powerful posture as the commander had glanced over at her, and she resisted the urge to reach up to make sure her cream headscarf covered her rough scalp and the missing tops of her ears. That self-conscious gesture only prompted people to stare longer, she had already discovered. At least her borrowed dress--a washed-out cranberry red and brown--was short-sleeved, so there was no empty sleeve to hang and get in her way.

One of the nastier looking men was watching her intently, as though thinking. The man slightly farther from her soon provided her with the reason why: he thought she could be the distraction that would win himself and his companion free from the other men. He drew a bit of silver from somewhere she didn't see and instead of throwing it at the more experienced men surrounding them, flung it at her before bringing his fists toward the men holding him.

Fàsail lurched backward, tumbling off the barrel and into the new wood porch of the tavern, experiencing only a disappointingly muted flash of surprise and concern by the man's unexpected actions. She got to her feet quickly, watching more closely now.

[Kite]

The surroundings of the tavern were just as uninteresting now that there were men being thrown out as they were before. Besides those who were now blocked by Ademar and the men involved in the scuffle, there was little attention. Ademar doubts that people being ejected was a rare sight, even with people following them into the street. This isn’t Carvala, guards aren’t going to run out. Perhaps the city had a sheriff, perhaps an Army patrol were nearby to intervene, but if there wasn’t the inhabitants were just as happy to let those involved settle it themselves and not get involved unless they have to. He did notice a tall woman sitting atop a barrel near the entrance to the building, but doesn’t give her too much of a look over until she lifts her arm and points to the leftmost rogue, speaking to the group in general saying that he had a knife. He then takes a somewhat longer glance towards her, seeing as before that she was missing her entire left arm, the plain, worn dress cut in a short sleeved way and probably chosen to not draw more attention to her arm than would normally be given, or possibly to not deal with the sleeve getting in the way or blown around annoyingly. She seemed to lead a rough life, arm notwithstanding, she had the look of a traveler. Whether that was by choice or circumstance, Ademar couldn’t guess, but that was the story of those out in the Plains in general now.

It used to be those down on their luck would raid and plunder. Now they move from soul crushing civilization to the grim and grey morality of the frontier and its pioneers. At least most do, some still raid and plunder. That’s what Ademar was here to stop. He was used to working for the top dogs and their status quo. This is frontier justice and the law has come to the plains.

Still, they had some tricks up their sleeve. Once Ademar turns his attention back to the men he was attempting to shake down, he notices they were both looking at the girl he had just been looking at, and the one on his right and further from the woman drew a knife from inside his jacket and threw it at the woman on the barrel instead of the soldiers or Ademar in one motion before turning to the two or three men holding him and his friend in hopes they could escape. Ademar turns to see the woman lurch and fall off the barrel backwards, and when she stands right back up, Ademar is somewhat relieved that she wasn’t hit by the man’s sudden attack before turning back to the fray in front of him. The bandits were giving better than they got, but that was what Ademar was here for. Hardened criminals were more than a match for the hired muscle of a small town, so Ademar brought his own piece of the fight, moving quickly towards the man who threw the knife and driving his shoulder into the man’s stomach, which drives him to the ground with Ademar holding himself above the man. Ademar quickly comes back up, but only to catch his friend’s fist in the back, and grunts from the blow as he turns and kicks the man in the chest hard, causing him to be equally laid out as his compatriot. His compatriot is starting to stand as Ademar once more turns and draws his sword, the weapon coming to rest just before the man as Ademar begins to speak.

Since you decided to draw, I thought it might be appropriate that I would as well. May as well keep the playing field level, seeing as scum such as you will try to unbalance it. Attacking a woman to distract us? Tsk tsk. People wonder why I scoured the plains with the Army, too. I don’t think they will after this.

He smiles at the man, and looks around him to see that the hired muscle had drawn their weapons as well, holding his companion at bay while Ademar looked at the one in front of him.

Perhaps you will submit now? Your brothers in rags aren’t worth your life, and if you do submit, you might just become my associates.

The man looks at him and the sword, then to his companion, and then nods to Ademar, signaling his cooperation. Ademar grins and then nods to one of the men around him, the thug bringing out rope to tie the two newly converted informants who submit themselves to the overwhelming odds. Ademar sheathes his sword once more, then turns to the woman now behind the barrel, who was keeping her eyes on the scene that just played out, and strides towards her until within a couple of steps of her around the barrel, and then bows to her slightly to signal an apology, before speaking one anyway.

I’m sorry they tried to draw you into that mess, madame. Are you alright? I know you weren’t hit but you did take a bit of a tumble and I would be remiss not to offer you some aid or payment for not keeping you out of this.

[Lisenet]

As soon as the sword of the man in charge scraped smoothly from its sheathe, Fàsail brought her hand up to cover her eyes, though she left a slice of space between two fingers that she could quickly close if she felt the need to. She found great interest in watching the scrimmages of the soldiers as they trained and practiced and occasionally brawled with one another, but the moment blades came out she shied away. Blades had done her little service in her short memory. Fists and shields and sticks were maintenance weapons; swords and daggers and arrows were for killing. The man holding the sword comfortably in hand didn’t appear overly enthused to use it, though; he wasn’t pushing to elevate the risks of their contained scuffle. Soon enough, the two men who had started it had let their wrists be wrapped in ropes, and the man doing all the talking had strolled over to her.

He had put his sword away, so her hand came down. Other women may have shied from an armed man approaching them, but Fàsail often forgot to find such instincts in her these days—it was hard to have distinct emotions without a distinct identity to guide them. Did a tortoise care in particular about either land or water if it didn’t know it was a tortoise? It had no way of knowing. No base to balance its opinions on if it was lucky enough even to have them. No perspective. Everything about it became vague and inconsistent, like a memory passed through generations and lost under the weight of so many different interpretations. His shallow inclination of his shoulders surprised her, though—did he know her? Was that why he showed the unexpected deference? She certainly didn’t look like the highborn woman who might usually receive such a gesture.

Her hopes of being known faded like water through sand almost as soon as he spoke. He would have used her name if he knew who she was. Either way, his opinion of what he thought he owed gave her an unexpected flicker of amusement. ”How can you be expected to anticipate and compensate for the actions of others?” she wanted to know. The simple dagger one of the men had thrown at her was sticking crookedly out of one of the hitching posts behind the barrel so she gripped it tightly and drew it out. She supposed she could keep it, since he seemed more inclined to tie its owner up like a criminal than release him back upon the world. But Fàsail had no use for knives. Instead she flipped it so she held it by the point of the blade and held it out to the man who had come to talk to her. ”Do you travel with the army as well?” she wanted to know. She hadn’t seen him there and was sure she didn’t recognize him, though that said little toward whether or not she knew him. Or may have known him at some point. ”Do you—“ She hesitated. ”Is there any chance you or one of your men might recognize me? I’m still looking for someone who does.”

[Brrg short sorry.]