(( I'm partly using dice for this. 5 for Vik, 6 for Trist's dodge and 1 for Trist's hit. ))

Vik's jabs were powerful but Tristaan was faster. He was out of the way, only feeling a rush of wind as Vik's fist passed by his ear. Tristaan's footwork moved him elegantly out of the path of Vik's fists but did not give him any opportunity to hit the other man. His own punch glanced off muscle. Vik barely felt it.

Tristaan was now behind Vik but the blacksmith likely had enough time to follow his trajectory. A woman was watching them from across the street, quietly smoking a cigarette as they fought. Her high-front skirt, red corset and garish makeup marked her as a local prostitute.

Tristaan's speed was astonishing. Vik had fought quick opponents before, he would just have to be smart, patient. He followed the passive with his eyes as the man's fist glanced off forge hardened muscle. Vik shot out a vicious kick at Tristaan's back as his blow carried him behind the blacksmith.

If he could knock him down or at least slow him up, the fight would be more in Viktor's favor. At least, he hoped so.

The passive had expected the impact of something, be it fists propelled by stronger muscles than his own or his knuckles into useful places. The sound that escaped through his teeth was a mixture of frustration and surprise, though it wasn't like he really had anything to say.

With nothing but an exchange of positions, Tristaan was left behind the larger human and in the path of his on-coming leg, facing the wrong way. Twisting in hopes of presenting some other part of himself besides his slightly important spine, he attempted to intercept the kick with an elbow to the knee, using the potential force to whatever advantage possible. Surely, that particular joint was not as much of a fortress most of Viktor's upper body appeared to be.

(( 5, 2. ))

Vik's kick was a lucky one. He caught Tristaan by surprise, sending him falling backwards towards the ground. Tristaan's attempts at blocking the kick had saved him from being blindsided and risking his kidneys to the sole of Vik's boot.

Vik found his balance had been slightly jostled by Tristaan's arm, which had deflected the kick in a smooth, though hurried move. Vik stumbled back a step, taking a precious moment to regain his balance. His right arm was still twinging from before but his leg had been lucky to escape injury.

Tristaan's entire left side burned from the fall but where Vik had strength, he still had speed. If he was quick he would have enough time to stand and get some distance before Vik could hit at him again. Another strong hit would be disastrous for him, though if he managed another block successfully, there would be opportunity to use his opponent's bulk against him.

The passive had no interest in wasting time on the ground, even if it meant taking a hit or two in the process. Grinding his teeth at the fire that raged across his side, he scrambled up from the wet cobblestones and recklessly leaped forward, seeking to take advantage of Viktor's momentary, stumbling pause. Like something feral let out of a cage, Tristaan was not at all thinking of his own personal risk, focused instead on the current breathing object of his projected personal ire.

Shoving up from the ground, he threw himself into the space between them, swinging underhandedly upwards for the blacksmith's face.

While the kick was mildly successful, it was not the smartest move to attempt on slick cobblestones. Vik steadied himself just as Tristaan lunged at him. It was a desperate attack fueled by emotion. The blacksmith attempted to deflect the strike and drawing back his powerful right hand threw a haymaker at the passive.

Viktor didn't believe Tristaan looked the type to take a power hit to the temple and keep his will to fight. Although, his side still burned from the last thing he hadn't believed his opponent capable of. The pain would probably serve to take some of the bite off of his haymaker as well.

Sarinah watched from the eves, hands over her mouth as they fought, gasping as they came to blows. As Tristaan took the kick to the side, she took a step forwards. The fall was hard, and it was just getting out of hand. She couldn't let this happen! Even as she began to run towards them in the muggy rain, the dancer watched as the passive lept at the blacksmith, fist heading for a solid under arm blow. In return, Viktor was throwing a strong punch for the shorter man's temple.

"Oh Gods stop it! Stop it!" The brunette cried, intending on getting between them.

Amani had finished changing and was now dressed scantily in a red dancer's outfit. Her curved swords were strapped to her waist. She was barefoot as she walked downstairs and found the main room deserted. Outside she could hear Sarinah screaming. The fighter sighed and walked towards the door, in no hurry to witness the brawl that was doubtlessly going on.

"I can stop them, if you like." Amani said in an uncaring voice. She glanced at her swords and may have smiled. "I will not kill them, if you do not want me to."

(( 4-6 ))

Tristaan was like a man possessed. He was under Vik's arms and striking out at his chin before Vik had a chance to blink.

Vik had, however, a moment to see and to prepare.

The punch hurt, Vik's chin was jolted sideways and he narrowly missed biting his own tongue. Vik was saved by the fact that he was tall and burly and capable of taking a hit. Tristaan was much finer than he was, shorter and now he was within Vik's guard. He had run directly into striking range and Vik's hit had not been stopped by Tristaan's. The haymaker was like a force of nature, once it had been started there was no stopping it.

Tristaan's vision exploded, red, white and purple. Vik's smarting right arm still had the strength of his human heritage, honed by the forge. Tristaan could not withstand a direct hit to the head from that. He hit the cobbles, unconscious and bleeding from the corner of his mouth. His temple was already darkening where Vik had struck him.

Sarinah was lucky to have been a moment too late to get between them. If she hadn't been, she might have been the one to get hit. Vik would have noticed how close he had come to sending his fist into her pretty cheek and not Tristaan's.

Sarinah paused, turning back briefly.

"Oes! Stop them...ne wait..I..vrunta!" Shaking her head at the blades, she scooted towards the men, a fraction too late. Far too late. Screaming even as she slid to her knees beside the unconcious passive, wet and muddy, skinning them on the cobblestones, the witch leant over Tristaan, shakily touching his face and the blood from his mouth.

"Oh Gods, ne...hama..." Lifting her other hand, she placed it over her mouth, muffling the crying that escaped her throat.

Amani winced as she heard the crack of fist against head. Ouch. That'd put the little guy out for awhile. The screaming drove her to the brink. Hulali be blessed! He wasn't dead or anything. Was he?

With a begrudging sigh she walked towards the body and grabbed the other woman's shoulder.

"Yaka, Poa'na. Stop your crying." She pulled the other woman away, firmly. "Sh. Enough." Bending she put a hand to Tristaan's throat. There was a pulse. The angle of his neck seemed normal. "He is fine. Bajea you would think his face was cut in half, the way you carry on. I have seen that. It is not pretty. If that were the case I would let you cry as much as you liked." Her display of black humor probably wasn't appropriate for the situation, but Amani had been known to make jokes while stepping on the freshly dead. This was hardly the worst of it.

Somehow, her outfit was making her mindset more...Mugrobi. It brought back old times, before the war. It also seemed to be strengthening her accent.

"Tch." She lifted herself and stretched. "You, big man. Help me bring him in. It is the least you can do." Her voice was as commanding as it had ever been on the battlefield, and it harbored no room for objections. She probably could have done it herself, but her swords were in precarious positions...

The uppercut had jolted Viktor. Damn fine hit, he had to give that to Tristaan. Sarinah had been entirely too close to his haymaker, women never understood fights, Tristaan would be fine. The body was not nearly as fragile as people seemed to believe. Sometimes a good scrap was the best way to put bitter feelings to rest. It wasn't about winning, it was about knowing the other man. Viktor and Tristaan had just avoided months of verbal jabs and tension.

Vik would keep his word and respect Sarinah's feelings for Tristaan and not get in the way. After this she probably wouldn't speak to him for a while anyway. If this worked out the way it had in the past.



"I'd planned on it. I've got no ill will towards him. We just had some issues to work out before they got too big. I'll do whatever Sarinah needs me to do to take care of our friend here." Vik replied.

He looked over at Sarinah but didn't dare smile or flirt in any way. "I'm sorry, Sar. I know you think this was futile and childish but sometimes its the best way for men to work out their problems. He'll be fine, just let him know what I said before still stands. I have no aims at stepping between you two."

Vik bent down to pick up Tristaan under the arms. Wet cobblestones was no place to lay unconscious.

Sarinah stood back as the galdori took charge, turning her face from the sight of her Tristaan, out cold on the wet street. It make her sick to her stomach. She knew she was a mess, she knew he was alive, and her pathetic whinging didn't help anything. Pushing wet hair out of her face, she swallowed back the rest of her crying.



Looking over at the smithy, she shook her head, stepping in beside the two.

"Why didn't ye say anything to me..." She asked quietly, unsure of exactly when she expected him to say anything to her, but embarassed by the whole mess. As they approached the doorway, she gestured upstairs.

"Ye think we can get him up there? I ent leaving him on the wood floor, ye chen?"

Vik hefted Tristaan over his shoulder as gently as he could. He looked at Sarinah for a moment before he answered with a small smile. "There just wasn't a good time darlin."

Viktor looked up at the stairs and nodded. "Won't be a problem and I agree, the last thing he needs is a hard floor. There a bed or a couch up there to stash him?" Vik asked as he readjusted the passive for the bumpy trip up the steps.

Lowering her gaze as he spoke to her, the witch felt terrible. How could she be so blind? Had her time in Cook's marred her ability to define between friendly and..something else? Stepping up in front of the burly man, she nodded.

"Oes, follow me, up here. Our room is the big aparment at the top." Numbly, she took the staircase, mind wandering through all the stupid things she had done, and the night in general. At least once Tristaan was down and safe, she could hold the auditions. It would keep her mind occupied at least. Reaching the landing, she led Viktor through the room with the piano and the chandelier, into their bedroom, pulling a thick towel off the door. The four poster bed, huge and neatly made, sat out of place with the boxes of crates around the walls.

"Just there." She said softly, pointing to the toweling she'd laid out.

At Vik's statement, Amani snorted, "Men." She muttered under her breath. She was surprised Sarinah didn't turn and punch the other man in the face. She would have done it.

"Be cautious with his head. I do not think he has a neck injury but it pays to be careful." As he walked up stairs and out of sight Amani made another unhappy noise. "If I could solve problems by punching them in the face my life would be much simpler." The pair were taking too long upstairs.

"Would you hurry up? I do not have all day!" She called in an irritated voice. Babysitting children wasn't what she'd come here to do.

Gem came trotting up the steps. She had worn her best heels and corset for the occasion, so it had taken her a little longer than usual to get ready and get over to the tavern.

When she burst in the door and saw Amani and no one else, she got worried that she had gotten there entirely too late, despite the fact that it was still early in the evening.

"Are... Am I too late?" She got a nervous flutter in her chest. Another missed opportunity. Another shot down the drain...

Sarinah cringed as the golly's voice drifted up the staircase. Grabbing a towel for herself and Vik, the dancer dried herself as the passive was placed on the bed. Looking up at the smithy, she sighed.

"I'm sorry Viktor. I'm sorry about tonight, I'm sorry about the way things turned out...I'm sorry I can't be that same dancer in Vienda." Throwing the towel over a crate, she moved to the doorway, resting a hand on the frame.

"I dont know what upset him so bad kov. He ent usually this..." The word died in her throat. Violent. Giving the unconcious Tristaan one last look, she gave the smithy a small smile.

"Come on kov." Walking out the door, she descended the stairs slowly.

"Hesta. Epaemo about the mess you just saw, ent nothing like the Rose right?" Reaching Amani, she stuck out a hand.

"Sarinah, welcome to The Blushing Hingle. Hesta Gem, ye ent late. Things just got out of hand with the kovs." it was an obviously short reponse, not inviing discussion on the matter. Turning back to Amani, she smiled.

"So, what can ye do?" 

Amani still didn't look very attractive, for all that she'd changed clothes into something much slinkier. Her hair was still pinned up, although it seemed to be held there by invisible strings. There was no clip at the top, or any indentation. She shifted slightly, moving from out of her soldier 'at ease' pose to something that looked less formal.

"I know two sword dances, and plenty of exercises without weaponry... I am best at moving to Mugrobi music but I can move to whatever is playing." A soldier's answer. She wasn't looking like an incredibly likely candidate.

Gem uttered a small sigh of relief and settled into one of the chairs to await her turn. She set a long box on the table in front of her gently. It contained her flute-- the most portable of her instruments.

Sword dancing, hm? she wondered. They could always be interesting. She had seen some beautiful ones done at a bar she had worked at that was favored by Mugrobi travelers and traders. She still remembered the cinnamon, dinzith, and clove scents that filled the space.

She couldn't wait to see what the woman could do-- despite the unpromising militant stance she took. Gem wasn't about to assume she couldn't do it just because she looked too rigid to be graceful now.

She wondered if the woman would need someone to play a song for her to audition. She didn't see any musicians yet. A spark went off in the back of her mind, Hmm, where's Robert?

Sarinah nodded, looking the golly over. There was a thrill in her stomach. Fear maybe, at what the woman was. But then, mugrobi gollies were supposed to be nicer...right?

Glancing at Gem as she settled in to wait, she shrugged at the mug.

"Well, if Gem can hold a tune for ye chip, think ye can show me some of your work?" Moving, she took a seat beside the curvy musician.

"Aye. Anything fast beat, please." She said to Gem, and walked towards the stage. "If you know any songs from Mugroba, that would be nice." She added with a half smile. She had only done exercise dances-- not anything that was good. Not lately. But her feet remembered the steps, although she herself was a little rusty.

(( I took your post in the other thread as an invitation; tell me off if I'm trespassing. ))

Robert was not far away. He was just behind the door, holding a bag that sheltered his guitar and a tambourine from the rain, hair damp for having stayed out in the open during the fight. He knew better than to approach such a fight. Not that he was that a coward, but a fight with a golly inside – why he hadn't used any magic to win was beyond the musician's understanding – and another one looking, that had trouble written all over, and trouble was tiring.

But now, everyone was inside the very building where he was supposed to audition, and he had no other choice than to risk it if he wanted a place to play music and a roof over his head. He stepped inside, just in time to see the golly walking toward the stage and ask for a fast beat or a Mugrobi tune. Gem was there too. Good. However disappointed he was on how that 18th night had turned, she was a known face and a fellow musician. Sarinah was watching too, this was surely the right place.

"Excuse me? May I join in?" Unless prevented, he would extract his tambourine from his bag. "I've got larger drums I can fetch later, but today, we'll have to do with this." Then he'd start hitting it in a fast Mugrobi dance beat he'd learn during his travels, and nod at Gem with a smile for her to join.

Gem merely nodded to Robert as she withdrew her flute from its case, carefully adjusting the connections and making sure the levers were setting properly.

She did a quick warm-up scale and nodded to Amani onstage before beginning one of the tunes she knew. It was a fairly well-known song in the Quarter Fords taverns and would do well to show off her flute as well as Robert's percussion. That, and give Amani a beat to work with.

It started slow and smooth, but would become quick and lively soon enough as the tambourine and beat set in.

(( I was thinking something like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1yVWmeFM3-Y ))

"I wanna hold your ha~a~and, I wanna hold your hand." Tito alternated between humming and whistling and muttering to himself as he walked down the rain-drenched streets. Jack, the loyal bander, slunk beneath carts and overhangs whenever possible, giving his owner the dirtiest glares imaginable as though damning the man for dragging him about in this weather. However, the dark wick payed him no attention, and continued splashing down the center of the street. His wide-brimmed fedora had been well oiled in anticipation of this season and was doing an admirable job of keeping his face and neck dry. He was otherwise covered in a large coat, obviously treated in a similar manner to his hat.

His eyes darted this way and that, scanning each side of the street intently. If he was anxious, Tito was doing a marvelous job of hiding it. Unfolding a moist piece of paper, he looked down at the smeared ink and cursed before flinging it over his shoulder. He was close, at least he knew that much.

When at last the thought of giving up and returning to his temporary residence crossed his mind, Tito caught sight of his destination. Deftly and quietly, he pulled the door open just enough for him to enter and moved inside. The sound of music greeted him. Pulling his scarf down from over his mouth, he unbuttoned his jacket and casually scanned the bar. He recognized the tune of Mugroba influence, but with merely a flute and tambourine, it sounded rather airy.

A face or two looked familiar, but lately he was beginning to seriously question the veracity of his memory. Then he saw Sarinah and shouldered his guitar as his smile grew. He was about to get her attention when he suddenly heard a commotion behind him and felt water hit the back of his neck. Turning around sharply, he glared at Jack who was vigorously shaking himself to get as much water off as possible. He hissed at the wolf and shushed him before turning around, the hint of a rosy blush rising to his cheeks.