Wendy juggled. With one ball. She was really just practicing the motions.

I'm being ridiculous. Wendy thought to herself with a smile, Juggling! ME! First rocks, now juggling...soon I'll be a real wick.

The thought gave her some backlash. She'd woken up this morning not knowing where she was-- and completely confused. Then she'd remember everything and it hurt just as much as the first time.

Keep busy. Learn. Laugh. Think.

And on the last step she'd met Warwick. Who was going to teach her how to juggle....With one ball. Again, the dreamy smile lit her features. It really was ridiculous but for once, Wendy didn't care that this wasn't the most useful thing to learn. She was having fun.

Her eyes followed the ball as she made circles and circles and circles with it. Be a wick. Do I want to be a wick?

Wendy caught the ball in her left hand and examined her right shoulder, tracing the shape of the key and the dark shadow beneath it. The symbol was gone. But that didn't mean Wendy could suddenly speak monic. Could use the language to do what she wanted.

She was still helpless...even moreso among these wicks. Her mind flashed back to when Sarinah had threatened her and she felt the same insult as if the woman had just done it a few seconds ago.

I need to learn to let go.

But it was hard. Wendy grunted and started to catch the ball again, focusing on this activity. Too much thinking wasn't good for you either.

"Ye chen th'Circus might be hirin' again 'fore th'festival's over."

Tristaan was actually on his way in the direction of said Circus to finish gathering his few possessions (specifically the finer clothes he purchased from Fion, which were hopefully not terribly lost in some random storage box) when he'd spotted the blue-haired woman. They hadn't spoken since everything that occurred after he'd first seen and recognized her in Petra's kint, and while it may have been his own fault for preferring to avoid the mess instead of deal with it, he didn't have much of a choice now.

There she was. Juggling. Caught between wick-life and her past. Or so it seemed by her expression.

The swordsman slowed his walk to an uneasy, almost listless, stop, struggling not to look chagrined or frustrated, hooking both his thumbs in his belt for lack of adequate pockets.

He sighed and offered what could only be described as an apologetic smile, "If you're thinkin' of stayin' a spoke, that is, Wen-Ven–" He seemed indecisive about which name he was more comfortable with, but surrendered to the knowledge that it wasn't necessarily about his comfort, "Venadi."

Wendy caught the ball and turned uneasily, "I don't know. Do they need maids?" She asked dully, staring at the ground by Tristaanian's feet.



Wendy braved a look into his face, "Y'don't have to call me that. Not if you don't want." Looked down again, unsure of herself. "I don't know...what I'm thinkin'. The Black Hand...Petra especially-- they've been-- they're good." Mostly. She recalled the times when she'd seen some of the other black hand members she'd met looking slightly shady. But Wendy had never minded a little bit of that.

She felt an awkward silence settle over them and cleared her throat, "So how's your woman?" Still threatening Passives with magic? Wendy almost winced at the thought, "I think we may've gotten off on the wrong foot...arm. I apologize if I caused any...discomfort between you and her."

Wendy struggled with words, "I'm trying-- I'm trying to be nicer. I was so scared when I saw you last--" But that needed explanation, and Wendy didn't want to give it. It would mean revealing her terrible insecurity. I was hurting you before you could hurt me. "I said some things-- You didn't deserve to hear...especially when you've done nothing but be a friend to me. Your letters've always cheered me..."

A deep breath, "So, I'm sorry. Your wo-- Sarinah was right. You deserve better treatment."
And better friends than me. "Tell her I apologized." The accusation was on her face although Wendy didn't know it. After all, you only came because she sent you, right?

Tristaan smiled, wistful but wry, remembering just how welcome and yet how terrifying his first few years with the Red Crow had been. He'd loved it but hated it. Then, everything changed. Sort of.


The swordsman grunted, a bit of a pained look washing over his features for a moment, but his smile remained. He also remembered how angry he'd been, how once he seemed to claw his way out of the hole of the factory, everything that felt real was almost too much handle. "Well, that wasn't pretty. At all. For anyone. An' th'only real discomfort was my arm. Everythin' else will work itself out in time. It always does."


He sighed.

His gray eyes softened, "I understand your fear, ye chen. An' I shouldn't have put you on th'spot like that, but ... I was so happy."


"Oh, Wendy. It's okay." Tristaan looked at her, really looked, and shook his head, "It's hard. I know. Gods, do I know. I spent a few maw after th'Crow's found me so angry. It's different out here." He waved his right hand because he now could, "It ent easy, but it's better."

"I ent gonna apologize for you." The passive grinned, taunting, "You'll have t'do that yourself 'fore th'festival is over. It'll be good for you."

Wendy let a small smile slip onto her face, "Yeh? Thank you. That's sweet."



Wendy shrugged and nodded, "Yeh I guess it isn't any easier. I used to...I thought it would be different. I thought everything would be fixed, if I ever left. Or that it was fixed for the people who had already left." She shook her head, "I didn't know anything except what I dreamed. If our letters had lasted, I might've learned better."



Wendy scowled at him, "Yeh, Petra'll say th'same thing. You do realize she threatened to light me on fire, right? Not even regular like. She wanted to witch me." And now she was getting to the root of the matter, "Tristaan I don't know how much your-- how much Sarinah," she corrected herself again, "Knows about passives but it's a little hard for me to let go of something like that."

She bit the inside of her lip, glaring at the ground, "I don't like feeling helpless at the best of times-- but with the mona it just adds insult to injury, ye chen? Because I couldn't do anything to stop her." Wendy stared at Tristaan intensely, wanted to make sure he understood this, at least. "It's bad enough in Brunhold. It's expected...when it happens here. On the outside, though. It's worse. Not that I expect people to know better-- but it's like being so close to freedom an' them having someone topple you again. Because I can't do that."

Wendy sighed, clutching her head, "I sound like an idiot. I don't know if I'm explaining this right or not."

"I don't think there's a passive out there who doesn't think it's supposed t'be different," Tristaan sighed, speaking distantly, "Or at least hopes it should be. As much as I'd wanted th'outside t'be different, all I did once I left Vienda was try t'go home. Home. Like it would've mattered. I thought I'd die on th'way t'Muffey if th'Red Crow hadn't found me along the road."


He winced a little at the reminder, at the memory, at the lingering occasional ache. The swordsman hadn't entirely expected the reactions that had exploded between Wendy and Sarinah, and he'd been more than just a little shocked at just how out of hand things seemed to get. He was just too easy-going to have seen any of that coming; it had been like another run away cart.

He tried not to scowl, "I'd have t'say that there was a bit of over-reactin' on both your parts. You can't say you didn't take things a little far, but I ent gonna deny that Sarinah got a little fierce. Everyone's got their insecurities, Wendy, an' everyone's got their triggers." Tristaan wasn't being dismissive, and he breathed thoughtfully for a few moments before continuing, "What she knows about passives is what she knows of me, diablerie an' all. She ent got any comparisons, 'fore you, an' even I ent got much of an idea 'bout th'differences 'tween a textile mill, th'streets, an' Brunnhold."


The swordsman removed his thumbs from his belt and crossed his arms, arching a slim brow, "Y'ent helpless just 'cause y'ent got vroo. Gods, Wendy, there's humans out there who don't even think that way. You've just been told you're helpless, unworthy, cursed, and broken. That doesn't make it clockin' true. Neither of us are broken, an' you don't have to stay helpless."

"Just because th'mona don't listen our voices doesn't mean that they don't hear it. It's just different, an' apparently n'one's bothered t'try an' understand why. It's been easier for gollies, for our own people, t'subjugate us than t'see the truth." Tristaan bit his lip, afraid he'd spoken a bit too far over the line when it came to his personal opinions. He shifted his stance uncomfortably, changing the subject quietly by returning to Wendy's feelings of helplessness. He'd once felt that way, in the face of so much oppression. It was Guaril's patient teaching and skilled swordsmanship that allowed him to discover self-confidence, regardless of his deep unspoken fear of volatile, uncontrollable magic.

"Whether you've got vroo or not, Wendy, a bullet in th'chest or a chiv in th'gut is still gonna stop any golly or wick in their tracks. Petra ent always been a healer, an' if I know anythin' about th'Hands and combat, you're in a place where you could learn t'defend what you've found for yourself, if you wanted. Nothin' fancy is necessary, but once you realize it's possible t'handle yourself, freedom becomes easier to grasp."

"I ent a fan of feelin' helpless, either. Why d'you think I do what I do? It ent just because I used t'think I had somethin' t'prove. It ent just t'make a livin', neither."

"I suppose." Wendy said stubbornly, biting her lip. She still hated that it had happened.



Neither of us are broken? Wendy asked herself, not quite believing him. But he was right about one thing...she had been told all of those things...



"There's a professor at Brunhold...he's trying to help us. And the Headmistress is a sympathizer. A sympathizer, Tris." Her eyes were shining when she said this.



"Are you suggesting I kill people?" Wendy asked quietly, feeling a shiver of fear climb down her spine. Because I've done it already. "I don't want to hurt anyone. I just dont-- I--" She couldn't think of how to say what she felt, "I don't want to not be able to defend myself. In Brunhold I carried a knife around...But I never used it. I didn't know how, and of course after Pascual..." Her face redened and her throat closed up for a moment, "I stopped carrying it places."

She paused, "Petra's-- she's done some things. I don't mind. But she mostly does magic...I...think." Belatedly she realized she'd never really asked Petra about her past, just as she'd never asked Rosie. "I guess I could ask her if she could teach me something..."

The task seemed impossibly daunting.



Wendy glanced at him, surprised. "I didn't know." She said honestly, and sighed a moment later. Her face was pale, and drawn, "I'm scared. I'm scared I wont...be able to do it. That I'll try and try and I wont be able to do it."

Her face hardened, "Neh but that's stupid, isn't it? I can do whatever I want. I'm free."

"Sympathizer?" Tristaan smirked, practically hissing the word, doubt passing like a cloud over his features, "They're all talk unless somethin' changes. An' I can't see how that's gonna happen, given that two gollies 'gainst a bunch more ent good odds. What d'you mean by help?" The swordsman tried not to sound indignant; he wasn't sure what he needed helping with, especially from those he longed to consider kin.


"Ne, Wendy. There's a difference between killin' and learnin' t'protect yourself, especially when you've been kept powerless your whole life, told y'ent nothin' but indebted t'everyone just 'cause of how you were born. Understandin' you're somethin', whether it be by findin' a trade or a skill or a good weapon, would do you more harm than good. Alioe knows, there's a place for us all, whether those in power choose t'recognize it or not."


The man chuckled, rolling his shoulders in a shrug, "Free, oes, but th'meanin' doesn't come easy. You've spent more of your life not free, more than I can really fathom, t'be honest. Even once I lived with th'Crow, I spent a few maw—a few years— angry and afraid. I thought th'whole tribe was stupid for wantin' anythin' t'do with me, an' I still feel dangerous, unfit an' unworthy t'feel what I do for Sarinah or the wicks I call family. It ent easy. I ent sure if I'm still runnin', really. For once, I can't tell."

Tristaan sighed, uncertain, "I hate bein' afraid. Afraid of hurtin' people against my will. Even knowin' now what my diablerie is capable of doesn't take that fear away. Afraid of bein' found out an' sent back t'somewhere I don't want t'be, just 'cause of what I am. Afraid of never havin' a family—not legally, anyway."

"I s'pose there's things we shouldn't do, Wendy, at least accordin' to th'way things are, but I've come t'believe that doesn't mean we can't."

"You're one to talk. You believed Khymarah on the spot." Wendy said dryly, but moved onto the next question, "Research, Tris! He's trying to find out what went wrong-- how we work-- the monic pathways in us! I was going to--" Her face turned a little grey, and then regained it's colour, "I was going to be his test subject. Things happened before we could start."

Horrible things.



Wendy nodded in agreement. "Aye, alright. I just have my doubts. It isn't easy to leave my past behind. I can't-- It's stupid." She cut herself off again with a frown.



The passive nodded. She understood completely. "Aye. I don't understand why Petra, or you, or anyone would want to-- talk to me, even. It isn't...natural. But Petra'll box my ears if she hears that talk. I guess..." Wendy shrugged, "It isn't natural but it'll have to do. I can't change it. Petra almost killed me when I tried to leave. And I don't want to leave...not anymore."



At the word family Wendy's eyebrows drew together. She spat into the ground, "Tch! Family! I had some o' that." Her fists had clenched, "Tristaan I've found better friends here than I've ever had my whole life-- even from Brunhold. They're my family. Damn legality! Our very existence entails slavery and you're worried about whether or not they'll let you have a family? Isn't that kinda like getting an arm chopped off and worrying about a paper cut on your foot instead?" The small passive rocked back and forth on her heels, looking rather perplexed, "The laws...they're all fucked. En't you learned that by now?" She smiled in what she hoped was an encouraging way.

In truth, she couldn't understand why Tristaan would think there was a barrier to having children at all. What was one more broken rule when you were breaking the biggest one of all?

We're all dead men anyway. All of us freed scraps. It doesn't matter what we do, because chances are we'll be caught in the end anyway.

It wasn't a particularly positive mindset but Wendy thought it might be accurate. But she hoped it wasn't.

"I'll be honest though. I don't now much about fear yet...I had a taste in Brunhold when I thought they'd caught me but we got out quick. And here...what's anybody going to care about a dumb runaway here? Nothing."



"We shouldn't be free, according to the way things are." Wendy grumbled, looking as if she were prepared for a fight again. "And I'm gonna do whatever I want. Including learn how to fight. So there!"

At some point during the conversation Wendy had lost her original point. She had obviously been convinced but was being ornery just for the sake of it.

Tristaan looked concerned, confused, and slightly crushed in a single, mixed expression. What went wrong? Test subjects? That implied a great many things that the passive wasn't sure how to deal with. It felt almost as though it implied the way things were had some truth behind them—wrong wasn't that far off from broken. Tristaan didn't want to feel broken so much as disenfranchised, didn't like the idea of being wrong so much as rejected.

He scowled, voice perhaps verging on the bitter, "Test subject? So, somethin's broken? Somewhere? Inside? An' you trusted this man's opinion? He wasn't just another golly lookin' t'hold onto th'power they already have, pretendin' t'care so it looked pretty on th'outside?"


"Ne, it ent. There's plenty I haven't—I won't ever—forget."


Tristaan ventured a slow, cautious smile. Gods, it was different to hear such words from the mouth of another passive. No one else could've said it with the same sort of stinging, purposeful truthfulness. It wouldn't have sounded the same. He looked away, not ashamed so much as thoughtful.

He'd had friends in the factory, but they had all just played at family. It was too uncertain, too dangerous, and too busy to be real. It was just enough to get by, to get to the next day, to get through another accident or another beating.

The Red Crow taught him family. There was something genuine, accepting, and unchanging about the kind of support and affection he'd experienced in their midst that was obviously so real as to be disturbing, considering his initial, hateful reactions to their persistence. The real thing had been so painfully clear that he'd nearly refused it completely, and here he was, still very bent on running from it.

Tristaan finally looked back at Wendy, exhaling slowly, but found he didn't have words so much as a grateful facial expression.


"Th'truth is n'one cares more than yourself. Fear's been beat int'us harder than it's been educated int'everyone else." He knew they shared the physical ramifications of social prejudice, regardless of their different circumstances.

"Sure, there's a few who'll notice. We ent got fields. We ent exactly on th'human side of appearances, given our folks're gollies. I'm used t'bein' thought a wick. I ent complainin', mostly, 'cept maybe in Vienda with th'mung law against 'em bein' there. But, most folk's'd rather do nothin' than risk themselves confrontin' a passive."

He might have grinned a little at that, having slowly begun to realize that his curse was also his boon.


The swordsman laughed, not dismissively, but simply, uncrossing his arms and holding out his palms in a placating manner, "Oes, Wendy, we ent s'pposed t'be free, but Alioe has found that givin' us freedom o'er vroo suits you'an'I best, for whatever reason."

((Looonnnng. ))

Wendy blinked, "No. He was real. We were-- we were in Brunhold, Tristaan. And he spoke to me as respectful as any passive might've. Maybe even more. Like I was human. He didn't show me pity or none of that, it was just respect. He isn't-- he's trying to find out more about us. He isn't trying to fix us. He wants to know how we work...what..."

But that didn't sound right. He was trying to find out what had gone wrong in passives. Wendy didn't mind...she felt wrong. Whether she'd been trained to think this or she'd come to this conclusion herself, the way she was...wasn't right.

"No, that's wrong. I don't know what exactly he's trying to do. But he's doing it for the right reasons, anyway."



Wendy smiled back at him, "Yeah." She said. It was kinship. It was understanding.



"I en't afraid of getting beat." Wendy growled, "I'm afraid of-- getting put back in Brunhold. I wasn't afraid when I was there. But now that I'm out--" Her heart beat faster just thinking of how horrible it would be to get caught, "I can't go back. I can't go back."



"Tch. Ignorant." The other passive said, shaking her head and brushing her bangs flat. Lately they had been getting into her eyes. "Not to say that we're harmless but it's not like we're going to try to magic 'em." There was most definitely a hint of bitterness to her tone.



"Neh. Isn't Alioe's doin'. Alioe wouldn't be so cruel." Wendy murmured, "At least I hope not." Bronley's face-- or lack of one, flashed into her mind again and she winced. "I--"

The truth almost jumped to her mouth, she shut it and tried again, "It wasn't nice. How I got out of there."

Tristaan sighed, listening carefully. His expression softened at her last words, and he leaned against the broadside of the closest kint, uncrossing his arms and returning his thumbs to the thick leather of his belt. He was quiet for a few moments, regarding Wendy with a wordless sort of empathy that really didn't need explaining.

"Gettin' out wasn't pretty for me, neither. I lost a friend ... if I can say I had friends back then." The swordsman's grey eyes unfocused, and he looked past the blue-haired woman, "I got dragged off th'streets an' grew up in a textile mill, which is prolly a bit like Brunnhold, but without any of th'polite rules th'gollies put on for th'students. Maybe worse, I dunno. It doesn't matter. Just a few days 'fore I turned sixteen, one of th'boys on my line fell asleep at his post, an' th'whole row broke. Shut down th'place all because of one machine. He was sick an' n'one bothered t'care. He still worked fourteen hours like th'rest of us. Anyway, he was beat in front of th'whole crowd of us, as an example—"

He paused, anger clearly visible in the set of his jaw, "I shoulda' said it was my fault an' got my ribs broke instead, but I was too afraid. I knew Ox would kill him. Th'boy was another passive, an' his diablerie practically mummified th'man beatin' him in front of our eyes. We all felt it, time slipping away with th'boy's own blood."

"I ran once all hell broke loose. That was enough for me. I knew then that if I didn't get out, I never would. I also thought I had reason t'be afraid of myself ... though I know better now that I've seen m'own diablerie."

Tristaan sighed, focusing his gaze back on Wendy. He hadn't shared that story with many. Guaril, yes, but Sarinah ... not yet. Not entirely. He understood that Wendy needed to know she wasn't alone, and there was a strange form of relief that came from normalizing terrible experiences, "I doubt there's many of our kind who can say they got outta anythin' – be it a factory, Brunnhold, or wherever in Anaxas – unscathed. Whatever happened t'you in Brunnhold's over, an' y'ent gotta go back there."

"I'd rather die some slow, horrible, lonely death than ever end up back in a factory. Ever ... but it ent Alioe who's cruel, so much as it's th'ones who were once our own families who've obviously lost sight of the truth."

"Yeh. It put me in a bad...state..." She trailed off. "Well you read the letters. I don't...know what I wrote, exactly. I can't remember. That's how I know it was bad. Because I can't remember the days after that until I--"

Tell him.

"I killed--" She couldn't.

"Until I left." She felt the temperature drop around her and a tear flew down her cheek suddenly. Wendy pulled it away hastily, glanced at the hand that still had the ball. Where had her good mood gone?

She threw the ball up and down to distract herself. Anything to stop thinking about that day.

"Tristaan-- are you a good judge of sillyness?" she asked suddenly, looking up. "I met this boy named Warwick earlier and he was teaching me how to juggle and then we got into this contest...and I have to find a judge who'll be fair to judge it. It's tomorrow. It's um. It's fine if you can't."

Viator had been wandering. Again. Nothing could keep his feel from moving; seaside he'd always had to work, kept on the move by this line or that rig, and here's another one of yer lads, Viter, best make 'im shape up afore he kills hi'sself. Now he didn't have anyone (Besides Wendy and she didn't want him she wanted her and she couldn't be here alright, can't ye see that girl, she ent here...) and there was no work. Oi, he helped Petra with whatever he could but she was used to doing things n her own. She didn't need his help, she was merely humoring him. The sad thing was, Viator was happy for what she did give him.

Sighing, he realized that he'd been awkwardly avoiding Wendy since their conversation a few days before. He needed to talk to her... apologize. Hear her apologize. Get it out of their systems, move on.

He heard her before he saw her. And there was a male voice, too. He paused; should he interrupt? She's my beata, in heart, an' if any bloke's got his eye on her I wanta meet 'im. Swinging in languidly, he called out jovially to Wendy.

"Eh, Venadi! WHo ye got there witcha?" He nodded to the... human? Passive? Wick-like thing? And lightly patted the girl on the shoulder.

"Hm? Oh! Hi Viator." Wendy glanced at Tristaan, "This is Tristaanian. Tristaan, this is my friend Viator. I met him after you left, Vi."

Things had been awkward with Viator, lately. She didn't mind him. But Adalare was gone... she just had to think of him as a seperate person entirely.

"Junta." Tristaan smiled, standing up from the kint he had been leaning on, lifting his thumbs from his belt, and offering his calloused hand to be shook by the wo-er-man. Yes, man. At least, he was hoping. Viator had the look of someone from the Harbor, despite his smooth face and weathered, subtly delicate features, which the passive only slightly discerned, but he noted that between the three of them, there was not a single field. It was amusing, to say the least.

His gray eyes flicked between Wendy and Viator for a moment, "Apparently, you're an old friend."

"Pleasure t'make yer aquaintance, Tristaanian." It was hard to keep the subtle seadog accent in line with such a mellifluous name, and Viator cursed himself for not trying to stumble more on its drawn out sounds. Eh, we're all passives here, if'n th'name gives anythin' away. A gentle sense and he knew it to be the case. Well, we're either passive or human an' wit a name like 'Tristaanian' ent likely t'be a plowfoot. The racial slur made him wince. Eh, damn ye sailors. I coulda said that seaside wi'out notice. Here, summun'll catch me on it.


Viator grinned, showing good teeth and creases around eyes and brow. He looked slightly older than his three decades with the wrinkles, but the smile was warm enough to balance it. "Aye, as old as they come fer us types." Ahh, we have ourselves a bright one. As a passive, he should have expected Tristaanian would see beyond appearances. It was just a sense, but still... Throwing some chunks of hair from his eyes, Viator shook the other man's hand.

"But there's more important things than all that, right? Ent a helluvalot I like about th'past 'cept th'fact it ent now." Viator tapped his nose, brows arched. A non-Brunnhold passive, eh? Well that saved him from more awkward discoveries. If he trusted Tristaanian, perhaps-- then again, perhaps not.

Glancing to Wendy, his smile became slightly sheepish. Her expression boded as well as could be expected with her. She didn't seemed inclined to take their 'spat' any further, something he was grateful for. Wendy was always quicker with her thoughts than he-- than Adalare had ever been and Viator was just as slow. She would win, and he would have to dash away again, unable to put words to how he felt.

"We're a cheerful lot." Wendy grumbled, folding her arms and hunching her shoulders. "Vi I was just telling Tristaan I got into this contest with this man named Warwick. We're uh...supposed to be silly."

Her face was turning pink, "I don't know how-- I managed to get into it but-- well there isn't any turning back and-- um. I'm not usually silly."

She was completely red now. Yeah it was pretty dumb. She wanted to say, but she was too embarrassed.

"Har, jus'Tristaan'll do." He chuckled, catching on quickly enough to the interesting trio they all made, grin broadening, "Been a while since I've been in need o'formalities, ye chen?"


Smaller hand, but still worn with work and time. Firm, well-practiced handshake. He kept his curiosity at bay, meeting Viator's gaze instead of looking down at their hands. His grin became a smirk at the words 'us types,' and he wordlessly understood the confirmation of their similarities. There was nothing to say to that if everyone present already knew.


Tristaan laughed, shaking his head as if to dispel any heaviness the comment had brought to the surface, "Oes, ent that th'truth." He ran his previously extended hand over the lower half of his face thoughtfully, as if weighing which course to steer the conversation. In their own ways, they were all in hiding, just perhaps at different depths of the same sea. While he and Wendy had now established a sort of open understanding, Tristaan had no idea what was safe territory between the three of them when it came to who they were and where they'd come from, "You been in th'Harbor long, chi-uh-kov?"


"Well, now's as good a time as any t'learn." The swordsman teased with a wink, noting the blue-haired woman's discomfort, "It ent like it's hard, anyway, 'specially when you're surrounded by party-minded wicks."

Viator grinned and rolled his shoulders, a mix of a shrug and a bodily nod. "Aye, I gotcha. Grit an' grind'll do it t'a man. Or woman." He nodded lightly to Wendy.


Shaking his head, Viator tried to not notice the slip up. It grated, though, and a furrow formed on his brow at the not-quite factual insult. He may be fine of feature, but ask any of the lads shipside, he did a man's work fair weather and foul. Sexuality didn't matter all that much so long as the work got done, but most tended to believe what they were told. Feh.

"I'm not o' the harbor much, 'cept for lately. Tend t'stay away from the pirate type. I ent got a love o' them and enough have seen th'business end o' my blades that they feel th'same. I mostly do business in an' about Hesse, or if'n I am Anaxas-side it's Virthmore." Viator hoped he wasn't speaking to a pirate. He could have been, he guessed; plenty of runaways went to the wrong side of the law. However, Viator was one for legal Passage and cargo. Pirates took the only thing since Wendy...




"Warwick, eh? He's a good lad. Bit... flippant fer my tastes but thats youth fer ye I guess." He ran his tongue over his teeth in thought. "Oi, I'm a tad taciturn fer foolishness but I'd be willin t'play captive audience or assistant." Bowing low at the waist, he cocked his head. "Anythin' fer yer sake, Wendy!"

Blah blah blah piratespeak... Wendy allowed her mind to wander.



Wendy shrugged. The task still seemed daunting, and she wondered if she had insanity in the family after all.



"You know him? He was up a tree when I met him..."



Wendy giggled and shoved Viator, "Shut up!" she crowed, hugging him round the waste and planting a kiss on his cheek. It was her way of apologizing without actually saying the words.

She untangled herself from him, "You can be the judge if Tristaan won't do it." Wendy swept her eyes at Tristaan, "So? It's tomorrow at noon...O'er on the square where the dancers usually are."

Tristaan chuckled, realizing he'd mistaken the other's accent for evidence of long-term Harbor residence instead of simply long-term seafaring, "I ent a fan o'pirates much either, but everyone's gotta make a livin'. Sounds like you're almost better traveled than any spoke, what with Hesse an' more'n'half of Anaxas ground int'th'soles of your boots."

The swordsman's grin was wistful, a wordless expression of understanding. He wasn't the only one still running, it seemed.




"Oes, I'll come an' play along, since you're so kind t'invite me. Ye chen I'll want t'bring your favorite guest." His grin widened into something taunting and mischievous as he spoke obviously of Sarinah, "It'd be a rather benny time for you two t'work things out, don'tcha think?"

Tristaan held up his hands in placation before Wendy could respond, unloading his thoughts both as precaution and apology despite Viator's presence, "Her'n'I have fought already over what happened, rosh, an' while I understand both sides, I'd really 'ppreciate it if th'two'f you could find a middle ground. I got much more'n'simple feelin's for Sarinah, an' you'n'I share a perspective she can't always understand. Y'can't say nothin' went sour that y'didn't have a choice 'bout, but it's partly my fault for callin' y'out like I did. Ye chen?"

"I think y'two could get along." He added, reaching up to thumb his nose with a small grin, "If y'both tried."

Immediately, her eyebrows snapped together, "Tristaan..." She said in her 'I'm warning you' voice.



"Oh aye," Wendy growled, "You told her to set me on fire! That's how it's your fault. You're mungo. Mung. Mu--whatever! Who you like and what you do with 'em is none of my business, but I don't have to like them. Especially when said persons are immature, have a lack of empathy and threaten their vroo on me!"

Wendy let out an exasperated sigh, "Look-- Ep...Epaemo." Her cheeks had turned red. After all, he'd just told her he practically loved her and Wendy was already mouthin' off. You're no better than his girl.

"I didn't mean to insult her, ye chen?" Wendy bit her lip. Ye chen means...what I think it does, right? "I just don't like being forced into apologizing. I'll--" She took a deep breath, "I promise I'll do it. Just don't-- Not tomorrow. It'll distract me." She muttered lamely, looking down at the ground.

She didn't really have a real reason that she didn't want to apologize tomorrow specifically...other than pure and simple cowardice. "Sorry." She added again, glancing up and taking a step closer to Viator, as if he could shield her from her own humiliation.

Durrr Wendy. Nice. Please, keep insulting people's girlfriends. You're being so much more mature because of it.

He was about to agree to judging said silliness when an old arguement sprang up before his eyes.


Viator's expression lost it's jaunty amusement and settled into a studiedly neutral line. In the dour expression, he perhaps looked half a decade older than he actually was, lines deepening and harsh sun showing more clearly. Threatening Wendy was not a way to get on the older man's good side, especially after the allusions to gender he had made. Things were slowly spinning out of Viator's control and by gods he didn't like it.


Viator slung his arm about Wendy's shoulder's protectively, whispering comforting things to her. "Oi, lass, if'n ye don't want her there I'm sure there's no problem." Truth be told, whether Wendy had insulted whoever this womans family was right down to it's roots there was no excuse for magical abuse. None. Ever.

Keeping a level gaze at Tristaanian (only friends got nicknames), Viator clicked his teeth together in thought. "I'ma go out on the bowsprit an' say that whatever squall yer woman and Wendy had ent gonna be solved at her contest. It kin be saved fer another time, eh?" His tone brooked little argument; Wendy was his charge, his sister, and this 'kov' ought to know better than to let anyone threaten such shit on a passive. He could deal with himself, but Wendy was new to this world. She deserved better, especially from someone she considered a friend.

Wendy folded herself into Viator, hiding half of her face in his chest and encircling him with her arms, looking at Tristaan with only one eye nervously. It was an unconscious movement on her part, but to the unsuspecting bystander it might have looked as if the pair were a couple.