Rosalie stepped out of the hole in the wall bar with a flat look on her face, a blank show-nothing mask that was much more dangerous than a scowl would have been. It was a veil designed to cover whatever Rosalie might have been feeling -- frustration? Disappointment? Murderous rage? Whatever it was, with eyes that distant, expression that opaque, it probably wasn't something you wanted to be facing.

Her boot clopping against the stones of the street was amplified by the thud of the door as she slammed it behind her with a quick, sharp little movement. It probably shook decorations off the wall on the inside. She immediately turned her attention up toward the street, eyes narrowed, unmoving while she caught her breath.

That face, her posture, and the sword at her hip made for a dangerous combination. It'd take someone very brave or very crazy to mess with her, right now.

Meseli Hastur had been feeling less than impressive lately. Even his personal supplies and most treasured of tonics only partially fixed his slump. But, When he spotted a Galdori woman acting like she had a right to hold her head held high...He was at least very tempted to spoil her day.
He had grabbed a small phial filled with a dark murky liquid. He had no clue what was in it. It had been sitting in the cart for about a year getting progressively more terrifying to look at...

With a leap from his cart and a quick slamming of the door with a foot Meseli Hastur stood at the mouth the Alley. Yorick glared with disdain at his owner for waking him from his sleep.

"My most auspicious lady!" He cried out with a merry yell. "Might you be looking for a pick me up? I happen to carry some of the very best of such delicate things."

((He's baaaack!))

Rosalie did have that look about her - except that instead of an extravagant hairdo, her was cropped short and wild, and she was dressed more like a longtime sailor than a delicate flower. Worse than that, though, was the flavor of her field as she turned her attention to Meseli -- or rather, the lack of flavor. She had none; all he had to do was look a little to know her for what she was. Passive. What was the point of the tattoo, when it was this easy...?

Her eyes, green and sharp, landed on him for a moment, and the mask was broken with a brittle edge of something that might have been scorn. Down to the beast [which seemed to be wearing a matching expression on its face], then to his cart, and finally to the vial.

Rosalie chewed on her words, mild and considering, before she found the right ones. "Are you shitting me?"

"Why no!" He exclaimed twirling the vial in his hands. "Why this fine little product will cure anything." He would have to turn the charm up to ninety he had the feeling. "Poor Yorick over yonder used to have a horrible cough." he began as he shifted to his other foot.

Even after this amount of time his leg was still tender. His shoulder not much better. Bruises covered where he had forced it back in...His clothes were crusted from salt and his hair was streaked with white and gold. His tunic was a stained turquoise and his pants hung horribly over his thin frame. Patched together with a multitude of colors.

"Now, I will say this much. It may be true Yorick is a bird of the highest form and figure. But tell me if one sip cured his cough imagine what one swallow will do for a person?" Behind him yorick glared with a scowl aimed at the back of his master's head.

"I suspect that one swallow of that sludge would, at best, lead to a terrible case of indigestion." Rosalie spoke with an even, comfortable, precise accent; perhaps she could only half read, imperfect, and beyond that she knew more about cooking and cleaning than anything else, but she still spoke like a proper galdor woman.

She took half a step closer to squint at the mess of his cart and beyond it, up the street. Rosalie thought she could make out one corner of the Black Dove in the distance, and that soured her expression all the more. "At worst, I'd end up looking and smelling like you."

Meseli grimaced for a brief second and carefully took a step closer.
"Forgive me my lady for not being of such a noble and divine lot." He said in a mocking tone. "But, I think I would hang before letting myself get dressed up like clown."

He held up the glass vial between the two of them with a snear.
"as for my products I will prove to you that they are of a finer quality than anything a galdori apothecary could conjure and cook. One sip for myself and one for you? Free of charge." Should you not like it you can be on your way. But, you must drink at least. If you do not you shall not be rid of me till the die you die."

...oh, wonderful. That dragged her attention back down onto him -- his face, his hair, the limp, the way he moved. Instead of scaring her, the threat made her eyebrows raise. She met his eyes, comfortable and fearless. Harassing passives was not a noble use, she didn't think, especially when she had done him no harm. Of course, he was a wick...

"You are a wreck. How can one expect to help others, or expect to be trusted, without being able to care for himself?" Still mild, she raised a hand in a dismissive gesture and looked up toward the Dove. She hadn't tried there, yet, but there was a fatalistic part of her that asked 'why bother?' "Clean yourself up. Get a job."

With that, she eased away. Carelessly so, barely affording him another glance.

Artemis had not been able to leave the harbor as quickly as he had hoped, and was now trying to lie low so as not to gain the attention of the Brothers; it was honestly a miracle they hadn’t already found him and run him through in his sleep. He was not wearing his armor, as, beside the fact that he only wore it on a job or when he expected trouble, it would be a dead giveaway. He instead settled on simple, fitted black pants and a loose white shirt. He had also discarded his sword, but kept his daggers at his side incase he needed to defend himself. He was now taking a stroll through Old Rose to work out his sore muscles, slowed only a little by the constant pain that shot through his leg with every step. The wound was not much better than it had been three nights ago, and it didn’t help that he’d had to redo most of the stitches after his last encounter with the passive- who he now noticed ahead of him speaking with another wick.

He paused midstride, arching a brow, and then smirked, sidling up to the pair in a swift, silent motion. Though normally he would be avoiding social interactions when possible, something about the passive’s irritable nature intrigued and amused him, “I am not sure I would be making such threats to this particular woman,” He said in an almost-purr, “She’s quite the spirited one and would be more likely to run you through than settle for idle threats.”

Meseli turned to the newcomer. His smile stayed roughly the same or perhaps even grew slightly.

"This is likely true. But come now. what is your take of my fine potions? Perhaps you should be the one to prove they are of a quality? A neutral party that is not a feathered fiend?" He said smoothly.

Rosalie had been retreating from Meseli the way one retreated from a wild beast; slowly, backwards, strolling -- but her escape was broken by the sudden heat of the man behind her. The man dwarfed her, his presence like a slimy hand against her spine for the three seconds they came in contact before she twisted away, hand going immediately to the butt of her weapon.

Of course it would be him; why not? This city was only crawling with who-knew-how-many people she could bump into, why should it afford her the benefit of not meeting up with this one? For the moment, though, she kept her mouth closed. Biting her tongue, hand on the sword, posture stiff.

Let Art deal with the crazy wick, and she could beat her escape while they argued. Or she could neatly take care of the pair of them while they were distracted.

Artemis cocked a brow at the suspicious-looking liquid, then glanced at his own feathered friend, who was currently preening his feathers on his shoulder. Artemis smirked, giving the bird a quick, sharp whistle and Horas perked up, his golden eyes taking in the vial in Meseli’s hand. A split second later, the bird was off, snatching the vial with it’s talons- clawing Meseli’s hand a little in the process- and dropping it in Artemis’ awaiting, outstretched palm, whereupon he rewarded the bird with some form of meaty treat, which the bird tore apart quite greedily on his master's shoulder. Artemis examined the vial with narrowed eyes, then gave it a tentative sniff, wrinkling his nose and turning his gaze back on the wick. “You take me for a fool? Tell me, kov, how long has this been sitting in your stalls?”

((Meseli has approved the Falcon's actions beforehand, ))

Rosalie had eased another step backward, halfway holding her breath. Two wicks who wanted to slam her one were not something she really wanted to deal with, and if she just moved carefully, they might not even notice her leave. She could deal with Artemis another time.

...but now, of all things, the pain in the ass seemed to be defending her. There was a [very small] part of her that wanted to see this pan out. So one step, two, three, and then she'd pause, safely out of either of their reach.

Meseli quickly clutched his hand to his chest a grimace on his face as he felt something wet coat his palm.

"I do not sit in such a thing. Sir." He snapped. "I move freely as the wind. Restricted only by the likes of this galdori." Meseli stared at the vial.

"Of course you could at least return that. It is a powerful curative." He lied. He still could not remember what was actually in it...

"You're a terrible liar," Artemis said in a low, rumbling voice, "You want it back, then? Catch." He nonchalantly tossed the vial in the wick's general direction, uncaring of weather he caught it or not. "Honestly, it's no skin off my nose weather or not you sell defective wares." He shrugged, "But try to fool me and it might be off yours." He let his hand rest on the hilt of one of his blades to get his point across, "Ah, and incase you haven't noticed, this lovely lady," He put a slightly sarcastic edge on the word as he indicated the passive, "Is no galdor. Do you sense a field? I think not. In any case, I doubt if she would have fallen for your deception any more than I." The smirk returned to his lips, “Good day…”

His intent was to get a rise, almost certainly, and he got something -- even if it wasn't the flash of fury through her expression that he might have expected. Instead, Rosalie let out a slow hiss between her teeth, like a balloon letting out air, and looked frustrated. Almost, but not quite, injured. No need to draw yet more attention to her condition. In the face of this, his sarcasm over her attitude was nothing. 'Passive' in itself was an insult.

Even if it was true.

Meseli looked at his fellow wick dumbfounded. Barely noticing the spinning vial. As Rosalie simmered Meseli set his face into grimace and Moved to kneel.
"You have bested me sir." He said calmly. "I am a humble fool."

Meseli focused upon his field feeling the mona and focusing a spell. Wild Lights Seethed in his mind as he prepared to at least surprise his company.

The vial Artemis tossed so carelessly hit the cobblestones at Meseli's feet with a dull clink, contents not yet spilled, but glass cracked. As the strung-out wick gathered his field, he could feel the mona move sluggishly at his words, like everything was momentarily moving against the tide. Meseli's frustration was apparently communicated as brilliant, chaotic, but unclear images briefly flashed between himself, Rosalie, and Artemis.

The Wild Lights weren't blinding so much as confusing and strange, almost an expression of the wick's own day-to-day demeanor. The sheer brightness of the light was almost as surprising as the grating, salty taste that suddenly filled everyone's nostrils.

Artemis raised a brow at the wick's petty display. What was this kov playing at? Surely there was an underlying--



He blinked in the brightness, taking a step back and almost choking on the thick salty taste. Bastard, Artemis set his teeth, his concentration back on the wick as he ignored the flashing lights that danced chaotically before them. The wick was a fool- a simple jester with silly little parlor tricks up his sleeve- tricks Artemis had no interest taking part in. "Tell me, was there a point to your little trick?" He sneered, gripping the hilt of his dagger.

Rosalie made a sharp annoyed noise, her own head ringing from the sudden blossoming of imagery -- but she held her ground. It meant that she and Artemis ended up shoulder to shoulder [or her shoulder to his ribs, perhaps], facing the odd wick. Except Art only had his hand on the weapon, and Rosalie's rang free with a fluid ease, the rapier in one hand an the short sword half drawn in the other.

"...I don't need this. I play nice, and I mind my own business. You do the same; get in your filthy excuse for a shop and trundle it along down the street."

Meseli scooped up the phial and backed away moving towards his cart.

"Why...there is no point." He replied smiling. "Only the sheer chaos of light and sound that is life."

Meseli slammed the cart door shut and quickly barred it moving towards the shelf from whence the small phial had come. He paused as he glanced at the contents. He dully remembered what was now leaking from it.

Ground and powered willow and opiates. A crude painkiller.

Artemis cocked a brow at this, lip curling slightly. The man was not only a fool, but he was insane. What held little point was the prospect of even drawing blade for such a pathetic thing as this. He stayed his weapons, stiffly dropping his hands to his side.



Artemis glanced at Rosalie, then returned his gaze to the corroboratively, chaotically crazy wick who seemed to be in the process of fleeing. Though he felt the urge to say something, he couldn’t think of anything charmingly uncouth enough for his tastes and remained silent.

"Let him run." Almost as if she'd read his mind, her eyebrows knitted and sword still out, even if now it pointed a more relaxed line down toward her toes. Off-guard, but only halfway. After all, Artemis was still there...

And that though brought up a scowl, an accusing edge to her voice as she pointed at him, not quite touching. "Are you following me? Just let me be, I have enough problems."

"But of course," Artemis purred, "He's not worth running through, coward that he is." The passive, on the other hand... he grinned, eyes flashing.



"Tcht," Artemis clucked, smirking in a cat-like manner. He could almost kiss the passive for that opening. Almost. “Now, now, no need to be so haughty,” He rumbled, “Why would I be following you, of all people?” His smirk grew, enjoying watching her expression change as he spoke; there was something almost endearing about her when she was pissed, “You’re, what was it you said? Not worth the time of day…?” He shrugged. “If anything, you should be the one following me.” Perhaps he was taking things a bit too far. He didn’t listen to the little warning voice in the back of his head that screamed for him to stop. Perhaps it was fortunate for him that he was expecting her to lash out at a moment's notice, and had already placed his hands at the ready on his blades.

((Yes. He is SO asking for it.))

It stiffened her spine, but didn't change her expression -- which remained locked evenly on his face, her chin tipped up just a little. Why did he have to be so much taller than him? It was hard for Rosalie to intimidate when she was stuck staring at his throat...

"I don't know what your reasoning is, but it seems obvious you've been following me." Both of her eyebrows raised slowly, meaningfully, something relaxing in her expression as the right words sprang to her tongue. "I suspect it's some kind of strange fetish, and as such I'm going to have to politely decline."

With that, she moved slowly back a step, away from him, fingers still shifting around her sword. "If you get that much pleasure out of being beaten bloody, there are places where they do that. I wish you luck at finding them."

Artemis was slightly irked by the lack of change he had been expecting in her expression; she was hiding her anger well. It did offer him some amusement, the way she attempted at being intimidating. He listened to her response with an unchanging smirk, though one brow was raised slowly.



His expression fell at that last comment, first in shock at what she had implied, then twisted into irritation that she could assume such things, then seemingly neutral, though his left eye was twitching. Then the corners of his lips twitched. Then he was laughing. Laughing! An all-out cackle as he grew amused at her words. Calming himself, he managed to speak in his low, smooth tone, “I must say, madam, that I have not met a woman with such a witty tongue in some time.” He grinned broadly at her- it was a dangerous one, with a threatening air behind it. “Perhaps you should take more care in whom you endeavor to offend.” He leaned in uncomfortably close, his lips curled into a smirk, “Someone might just cut out that sharp tongue of yours.”

In an instant, he was standing back away from her again, looking her over. “But, perhaps you are correct. Why should I stoop to waste my words on a mere passive?” He had no real qualms with passives, though she had seemed to be irritated by pure mention of the fact that he couldn’t help but bring it up again, if only to take a blow at her pride.