Post by Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro) on Feb 22, 2014 11:07:03 GMT -8
3076.03.20 | morning
After the better part of two and a half turns at the Weyr, K’tar had gotten used to the salty air. He’d also gotten used to the smell of dead fish permeating the air when he passed too close to Cliffside’s docks.
Whistling for Altahyr to follow him, the young rider strode off, deeper into the market. Sure, it wasn’t an official Gather Day, but being a port, Cliffside’s market was never closed and always interesting.
Spotting a stall boasting of tomato, pepper, and herdbeast shish-kabob, K’tar ambled over. It probably wouldn’t be as good as the ones made at Stormy Plains, since the food had to be shipped here, but he wasn’t in a mood to be picky.
No sooner had K’tar reached the stall then he was grabbed, roughly, by the arm and spun around. The grip on his arm was tight enough that it was guaranteed to leave a bruise, but he didn’t really notice that. His attention was taken entirely by the two men standing in front of him. Both of them dressed as guards.
K’tar swallowed. The only thing he could think was that they had him pegged as one of the two boys who’d picked those councilors’ pockets and borrowed the men’s runnerbeasts, but he’d been wearing different knots...
“Those your actual knots?” one of the guards asked, in a tone that made it clear he thought the answer was “no”.
“Why else would I be wearing them?” K’tar shot back. “And while we’re at it, what is the meaning of this?”
“Funny thing for a thief to be asking,” the other guard said.
K’tar assayed a glare, but it didn’t go over the way he’d hoped.
“Well, if those are your actual knots, then you shouldn’t mind waiting in detainment for someone to get here from the Weyr to vouch for you.”
The grip on K’tar’s arm tightened. His eyes narrowed, seeming to flash for a second, but a shove to the back got him walking alongside the guard. The guard didn’t let go until he’d thrown K’tar into a cell in the Hold proper. Fortunately, the guards had dispatched a message to the Weyr upon their arrival, because the man who came down to “check on the prisoner” was the sort of man that K’tar would much rather have avoided. It wasn’t anything obvious, but K’tar was something of an expert on getting in trouble, and he knew the look of a man that no sane person would want in charge of their punishment.
Viarth? Could you back up that message?
Done. Maybe next time you should change-color-dye your hair, like weavers do fabrics.
K’tar turned his face to the back wall and grinned.
After the better part of two and a half turns at the Weyr, K’tar had gotten used to the salty air. He’d also gotten used to the smell of dead fish permeating the air when he passed too close to Cliffside’s docks.
Whistling for Altahyr to follow him, the young rider strode off, deeper into the market. Sure, it wasn’t an official Gather Day, but being a port, Cliffside’s market was never closed and always interesting.
Spotting a stall boasting of tomato, pepper, and herdbeast shish-kabob, K’tar ambled over. It probably wouldn’t be as good as the ones made at Stormy Plains, since the food had to be shipped here, but he wasn’t in a mood to be picky.
No sooner had K’tar reached the stall then he was grabbed, roughly, by the arm and spun around. The grip on his arm was tight enough that it was guaranteed to leave a bruise, but he didn’t really notice that. His attention was taken entirely by the two men standing in front of him. Both of them dressed as guards.
K’tar swallowed. The only thing he could think was that they had him pegged as one of the two boys who’d picked those councilors’ pockets and borrowed the men’s runnerbeasts, but he’d been wearing different knots...
“Those your actual knots?” one of the guards asked, in a tone that made it clear he thought the answer was “no”.
“Why else would I be wearing them?” K’tar shot back. “And while we’re at it, what is the meaning of this?”
“Funny thing for a thief to be asking,” the other guard said.
K’tar assayed a glare, but it didn’t go over the way he’d hoped.
“Well, if those are your actual knots, then you shouldn’t mind waiting in detainment for someone to get here from the Weyr to vouch for you.”
The grip on K’tar’s arm tightened. His eyes narrowed, seeming to flash for a second, but a shove to the back got him walking alongside the guard. The guard didn’t let go until he’d thrown K’tar into a cell in the Hold proper. Fortunately, the guards had dispatched a message to the Weyr upon their arrival, because the man who came down to “check on the prisoner” was the sort of man that K’tar would much rather have avoided. It wasn’t anything obvious, but K’tar was something of an expert on getting in trouble, and he knew the look of a man that no sane person would want in charge of their punishment.
Viarth? Could you back up that message?
Done. Maybe next time you should change-color-dye your hair, like weavers do fabrics.
K’tar turned his face to the back wall and grinned.