Pt. I: The Little Hooded Guy
[I will assume that Zeton makes his remark to Mon'Fargret and returns to the other table as Nekshi is speaking to the "little hooded guy".]
At first the little creature draws back in either discomfort or annoyance when Nekshi turns toward it, but it seems to relax in response to the question.
It's reply, however, is singularly odd.
Nekshi, Zeton, Widjgleeby, and even Granite Spear could swear that all they hear with their ears (or skin) is a weird croaking sound. However, in their minds they all "hear" perhaps slightly different versions of the following:
ml'a h'uwan-x'êfumâ
Granite Spear's translator/com beeps. A text translation has been provided...as well as identification of the language!
(I assume Widjgleeby's translator is switched off since all the conversation so far has been in languages she speaks fluently.)
As the creature looks up, its face becomes a little more visible. It looks rather like a large frog. (Of course, Zeton is the only one of your characters with any idea what a "frog" is.)
The creature regards the party blankly with its luminous, unblinking eyes, and then it starts to fiddle with something under its cloak.
Part II: Welcome to Bar Tawk
Mon'Fargret stands up but doesn't have to go very far because Uskua is already returning with part of the party's order. Basically, she has a small, individualized pot of tar'go tea for Zeton, a Farbett-sized mug of what smells like Foldorian tea for Widjgleeby, and two smaller cups of the same brew for Mon'Fargret and Dabid. She also has what looks like a Hergoth-style appetizer plate (raw veggies and nuts) and a dish containing what she says is a sample of the local unba fungus for Widjgleeby to try, compliments of Wirg.
Striking up a conversation with Uskua proves to be very easy. Her manners need a lot of work (which doesn't seem surprising considering her rather wild appearance and demeanor), but she seems eager to talk and almost surprised by the attention. Wirg himself throws a word or two into the conversation as well, apparently flattered by Mon'Fargret's curiosity about his wares. Adulie, however, continues to go about her tasks pensively, doing her best to keep her back to the holovid.
The loyalist couple and Weather Nose are very enthusiastically wrapped up in the Talent Round-Up showing on the holovid, loudly commenting to each other about each performance and the judges' responses. The other people in the club seem to be watching the show as well with varying levels of interest.
"How did I come to be here?" says Uskua in reply to the question which Mon'Fargret eventually drops. The corners of her mouth draw back. "I'd call it either the will of the Entity or just good luck." She has an interesting, hissing chuckle. The she becomes more serious, even grave. "No, really, I was lucky. Most Ilfroi don't have it so well, you know. I can tell you this, though: we're a lot better off now than when my parents were little. No offense." She throws a quick look at the loyalists, tosses her nose at Mon'Fargret, and then struts back to the kitchen.
"This is all so ridiculous," blurts out the one Fasion in the cafe irritably. He gestures with a stunted hand toward the holovid. "It's so obviously fixed!"
"Oh, it is not!" retorts the loyalist girl. "Watch! They've been giving good marks to Foldorians, Hergoth, Besteengs, Bol..."
"I have been watching!" the Fasion shoots back angrily. "I've seen the marks! But I've also been keeping track of statistics."
Weather Nose and the loyalists wave off the Fasion and turn back to the holovid.
A Zanthi sitting near the Fasion asks him a question in Fasion Dialect. The Fasion's reply is quite animated, though those members of the party who hear it can't understand a word of it.
51 comments:
Granite shows the translation to Nekshi, being careful to let no-one else see. This action is more one of respect for Nekshi, than distrust of the others.
Another reason for this action, is to place herself between the LHG ("little hooded guy") and Nekshi, paying special attention to the fiddling it is doing under its cloak...
[Seymour, you have an Avatar! Cool - that's from that robot show you watch, isn't it?]
Yep, that's a tashikoma or "think tank" (literally, an armoured AI) from 'Ghost in the Shell'. I love those little guys.
Nekshi reads Granite's translator screen and says to the hooded guy, "Some cultures view matters of dietary significance to be impolite topics of conversation. I was ascertaining your level of sensitivity to this topic before moving onto more specific avenues of discussion."
Without being impolite, Nekshi will do a quick search of her personal computer's memory bank to identify this individual's race and cultural background. Knowing the language as Xa'am should help.
Xa'am: (n) The native language of the N'gaina. It is semi-telepathic in nature; the true spoken component of the language consists of only very rudimentary sounds which, when augmented by the speaker's psy emissions, cause the listener's mind to render it into more complex phonemic elements.
The way in which the language is "heard" depends to a considerable degree on the species in question. The minds of most Sark-, Atlan-, and Ahmon-type humanoids interpret the language in more or less the same way, which has led to the creation of a standardized phonetic rendering. Zorl/Tybri- and Thulsi-type humanoids apparently hear slightly different sounds but close enough for common translation. Farbett/Poldites and Dubians are reported to hear completely different sounds, but the syntactical structure and phonemic rendering remain more or less the same. Some species, notably the Toekians and Argetians, apparently lack psychic compatibility and thus find it difficult if not impossible to "hear" anything coherent. The other extreme is the Her-Galad-type humanoids, i.e. the Hergoth and Arglemians, who hear their own native language.
[Assuming Nekshi clicked the appropriate link...]
N'gaina:
1. (adj.) Anything indigenous or pertaining to planet N'gai'ai in the Bartep system.
2. (n) The sentient species indigenous to the planet N'gai'ai in the Bartep system. The N'gaina are an amphibious species, able to live on land but requiring moisture to survive. Somewhat clumsy on land, they are able to move quite swiftly in an aquatic environment owing to a form of waterjet propulsion that is a natural part of their anatomy. Their physical forms are not particularly strong, but they are gifted with unique forms of psy talent and have a culture which puts great emphasis on sorcerous power.
A hermaphroditic species reproducing by infection, the N'gaina tend to be shy and solitary, and yet they remain in a form of limited psy commune with their fellows similar to that of the Her-Galad humanoids. Their world was colonized by the Old Sarkon Empire and is currently under Ahmonite administration, but the Ngaina have always tended to shun both technology and affairs outside their own culture. The fact that their powers give them unique foresight means that their counsel is particularly valued by the Ahmonites as well as others, but the N'gaina are loath to "intervene" where they feel they don't belong. They also possess a strongly pacifistic ethic. Thus, they live in relative peace with their colonial overlords while maintaining a strictly neutral standing.
(The accompanying image definitely looks like the little hooded guy.)
The little hooded guy stops fiddling under his cloak and "speaks" again, but this time you hear an accompanying translation in Her-Galad (which Granite Spear will have to understand via her translator):
"Sorry, I forgot that I turned this thing off. Machines can be such a bother."
Nekshi's eyebrows raise to unexpected heights.
She places her hand on Granite's flank (carefully avoiding any spikes) and whispers to her, "We have nothing to fear from this individual. Please remain calm and return to your seat my friend. Your dillegence honors me."
To the N'gainan, "Yes, technology can be limiting as well as enlightening. I suppose its all a matter of having the correct appliance activated at the right time. If you would excuse me for a second..."
Nekshi catches Zeton's eye and sends the N'gaina files via meson communicator, as well as a quick note *Unexpected meetings often yield unexpected oppurtunities. Unfamiliar with Lybolt PSY conditioning, suggest careful focusing of emotional and mental energies if we enter into negotiations/conversation with this personage."
To Uskua, "Excuse me, may I have another kifra? And please make it a rather large one. And perhaps more algae for my friend, Mr....well I don't even know your name. How rude of me!"
"If you don't know my name," retorts the N'gaina, "How could I possibly be your friend? Or does your culture consider everyone a friend? How odd that your species tried so hard to exterminate so many including itself! Does your kind usually kill its friends? Oh, and speaking of rude, I never did answer your first question. I really have no preference regarding algae. I prefer live insects, but those aren't served here."
Granite nods at Nekshi, and returns to her position at the table, though remains standing. Trying to look aloof, she dips a two-fingered "hand" into a glass of water, and splashes it on her torso.
Mon'Fargret ruminates on the words on Uskua until his attention is distracted by the Fasion.
He wanders back to Dabid and quietly says, "I wonder what his statistics show about this competition. Maybe he means that the injustice is occurring in a larger sense?"
Zeton sits quietly observing all that transpires. He nonchalantly checks to make sure he received the information Nekshi sent him. He drinks a bit of tea and eats a bit of his meal, but all the while he is remaining as observant as he can to the people around him.
Dabid shrugs.
"I haven't been watching the show, my lord," he says dismissively. "In fact, I've been making a point not to watch the show." He heaves a sigh and sips his tea. "It hasn't been going very long; only about three or four months I'd say. I only know what everyone else knows whether they want to or not. Round One isn't over yet, but thanks to their dogmatic recruiting drives they've already drummed up enough participants to select around thirty or so people to go on to Round Two. You can see their names and faces all over the local media, and I'm personally acquainted with one of them. I'd say about the same number have gotten Second Chance passes, but there's not much info about them. I know two who've gotten them and am familiar with one other, but I haven't heard anything about them. Come to think of it, I haven't heard anything from them, either...or even seen them for that matter. As for what Betchmat over there is squeaking about, I really can't say."
Uskua, who has just brought another trayful of dishes for the party, chimes in:
"Yeah, I know what you mean. You know Adulie over there?" She nods in the direction of the tall, blond-haired waitress. "Her sister was one of the first ones to go on the show. She got a Second Chance pass, but Adulie says she hasn't seen or heard from her since."
Overhearing Uskua, Betchmat the Fasion says in Yangae, "That's exactly what I'm on about! Look at the numbers! There are twenty-four going to Round Two so far, including fourteen local Yangae, seven local Hergoth, and three off-worlders, two of whom are Foldorians."
"Eh, watch the noise, shorty!" cries the loyalist girl.
Betchmat sneers in reply, stands, and approaches Uskua saying, "That's not strange, but look at the Second Chance passes! Every single one of them so far, twenty eight total, has gone to an off-worlder! Not only that, but as far as I can tell, every last one of them has gone to either a Sark-type human or a Perdic Foldorian, who look like Sark-type humans!"
"So the judges have no taste!" snaps the loyalist girl. "Now, will you silence yourself?"
"No, wait, he's right!" cries the lone Besteeng woman (Sark-type human) in the cafe. "I've noticed that, too! And my friend, Nekkrie the Juggler! He got..."
Her line of talk is broken by the sound of a thrown glass smashing against the wall.
"WILL YOU PEOPLE CORK THOSE HOLES??!?" shouts Weather Nose, and he whirls angrily back toward the holovid.
"You're payin' for that," says Wirg.
"Fine!" retorts Weather Nose, and he plops his credit chit on the bar.
Both of the loyalists give the Besteeng woman an odd look.
"Y-you know Nekkrie the Juggler?" asks the girl quietly.
"Very well!" replies the Besteeng.
"He came here all the time," adds Wirg.
"Ah," retorts the loyalist girl, and she turns her attention to the holovid again.
"If you must know my name," says the little hooded guy to Nekshi, "My self is known as Kuluf, but my state is now Wanderlust."
He turns his attention to the conversation (and flying glassware) going around him in the cafe, and then he leans forward.
"This is all so silly," he observes quietly.
Widjgleeby pours a little more tea in her mouth and tosses back another piece of fungus. This is the strangest job interview she has ever been on. The purple person is a kind she has never seen before. She is quick to fight and protects the other. Widjgleeby makes a note to remember not to make either person angry. She has seen the other kinds of people, except the one in the hood that the others were talking to. His talking makes her brain buzz. She has a bad feeling that this job interview may get her into trouble.
Nekshi sighs, "Yes, it is silly, and until only recently I was hard pressed to understand any of it. But it is important to study the cultures and beliefs of one's neighbors, otherwise one might grow more fearful and paranoid everyday until finally lashing out with violence,like my ancestors did."
She stares off into space for a time, and continues, "My name is Nekshi, Kuluf, and I thank you for speaking with me. Here is my business card in case your 'wanderlust' overrides your good sense in dealing with a murderous species. Good day, friend."
Nekshi turns to Widjgleeby and says, "I'm sorry about that, now can we discuss the terms of your employment? Just keep an eye open for flying glassware and disgruntled arcane amphibians while I print up a standard contract."
Kuluf Wanderlust eyes the card blankly (apparently the only expression he's capable of).
"Very good," he says. Then he takes a long sip of his algae and stretches.
"This is all so silly," he says again. "If that Besteeng woman, or anyone else here, wants to find out what happened to the juggler, why don't they just ask them?"
He gestures lackadaisically toward the loyalist couple.
"After all, they know everything!"
Nekshi looks at Zeton, "Yes, perhaps someone should ask them."
Zeton waits for a commercial break and then diplomatically asks the two Yangae loyalists what they know about the juggler.
Granite motions to Uskua, and uses her translator to relate the following: "Do you have yo-da? It's a type of cabbage that grows near the river..."
Granite hopes they do - it's a nice source of moisture she can use to water her eyes. Had she known this interview would turn into a conference, she'd have brought some herself!
Nekshi offers Widjgleeby 600 BMUs per month with a 1500 BMU security deposit payable upon signature of contract.
She also begins to look for a spray bottle so she can spritz Granite.
Uskua looks at Granite Spear with furrowed brows, wrinkles her nose, and then turns away with a shrug. As she heads toward another table, she can be heard muttering, "'Yo-da'? 'Kab-idj'? What in the Flames of..."
(Understand that there is at least eight meters [twenty-five feet] of semi-busy cafe between you and the loyalists.)
The awaited commercial break arrives, and Zeton walks toward the loyalist couple. Noting his approach, the man curls his lip, whispers something brief to the woman, and turns his back. The woman looks at Zeton intently, her face a mixture of curiosity and wariness.
"Wow," she says with honest amazement. "I've seen you around, but never up close before. You can't possibly be Hergoth! Are you half or something?"
[What is Zeton going to say?]
Yes, my family tree is quite a mess! But you were talking about the Nekkrie...
The loyalist woman leans on one elbow and gives Zeton a fetching smile.
"Nekkrie...oh, the juggler?" She giggles and tosses her hair. "Yeah...I remember him. He was...really something to see!" She bites her lip and throws a wry glance to her partner.
Her partner keeps his face turned away, but he sighs impatiently.
"It was quite a unique performance, wasn't it?" she adds.
Her partner elbows her. Then he points at the holovid.
"Ah!" she says. "It's on again! We're at the final judgment! Why don't you sit down and watch it with us?"
Her partner looks rather bemused at the invitation.
"I think he should return to his own company," he says in a low voice.
"I don't want to spoil the holovid for you two, so I'll leave you both in peace. Thank you."
Zeton returns to the table with Nekshi and Granite Spear and drinks a bit of tea and eats a bit more food.
Zeton waits for the two loyalists to become engrossed in the final judgement and then quietly says, so that only Nekshi, Granite Spear and Widjgleeby can here:
"So, do you think she had an affair, or used him for sport and then killed him?
Sport? Didn't the man she used to work for mention sport? Some of those men who came to the house lived in those big big houses, gated, guarded. Anything could happen in there. Perhaps people in big big houses liked to eat sentient meat. Widjgleeby's eyes crinkled up in what passed for a toothy grin. No. Most races only ate dumb things cooked to brown. Maybe slavery, or ethnic cleansing. Since Loyalists bore no loyalty to the new emperor maybe they want the whole planet to themselves. A nice place where the past is not dead.
Nekshi looks at Zeton and quietly says, "I don't know, I think we might be jumping to conclusions. I'm sure they know something, but there's no reason to believe this juggler has been killed, or have I missed something?"
She rubs her chin in thought, "Perhaps we can investigate this matter further, we can have them followed and see who they meet with. I'm afraid I have no experience in this type of thing."
As the final judgment for the week's Talent Round-Up approaches, the people in the cafe become more intent on the holovid. The atmosphere becomes more charged as high-tension background music starts to play and the lighting changes to a suspenseful shade of pink.
"And now," says the host in fricative-laden Yangae, "heeeere are the results of this week's Talent Round-Up!"
A drum roll starts. The Yangae/Foldorian participants clench their fists in front of their stomachs, and the somewhat fewer Hergoth participants press their palms together prayer-style. There also appear to be two Fasions on the stage, and they just look impatient.
"And today's second-place finisher is...Lu'Hesra of Grissin District!"
She's a female Yangae of the Alyam (Asian-looking) racial subtype, Manager caste. She looks happy...and haughty as hell.
"And the first-place finisher is...Ben'Markda of the Central District!"
He's a male Yangae of the Tembo (African-looking) racial subtype, Petty Tradesman caste. He's ecstatic.
"Can you believe that?" remarks the loyalist woman in the cafe. "A 'scratcher', and a dark one at that, outdid a 'bark'! He did deserve it, though, don't you think?"
The other Foldorians in the bar (other than Mon'Fargret, whose reaction I'll hear later) seem to concur.
"And as for the rest of you," says the host, "do not despair! There is a chance that one of the judges will decide to give you a Second Chance! Sir and Lady Judges, we humbly ask for your decision! Will there be another chance?"
There is another suspenseful pause, and then a bell rings as something appears on a reader board.
"Matchlak of Ekr'im District!"
One of the Fasions jerks up with open-mouthed surprise.
"Yes, you have been given a Second Chance! Sometime during the next two weeks you will be allowed to perform for a paying audience at a respected establishment somewhere in Mul'ein! If you impress them, you may even have a chance at a professional booking! Are you ready to accept the challenge?"
Matchlak the Fasion still looks stunned, but he indicates affirmative.
The host smiles wide. "So there we have it, Lords and Ladies, friends and neighbors: two lucky winners and one potentially lucky individual! Just think; someday you could be one of the ones leaving here with a plaque! Anyone can play, and all are welcome! Are you ready to accept the challenge? Are you ready to be a part of the Yanda Talent Round-Up?"
The show ends with the final credits, end theme, and the usual recruiting pitch and contact information.
"Okay," says Wirg, "show's over. The local cables're back up now, too. Can I put it on Felk-Seven?"
There are no objections, so the Bolgan switches the channel.
"So how about that, shorty?" jeers the loyalist woman to Betchmat the Fasion. "No Sark-type humans got the Pass this time, did they? It was a Fasion, JUST LIKE YOU! What does that do to your 'statistics'?"
Betchmat frowns. "There weren't any Sark-type humans this week, so I can't judge." Nevertheless, he looks deflated.
Mon'Fargret raises his eyebrows as if in muted agreement with the other Foldorians, but Dabid knows it is a facade. He is still trying to ferret out whether this contest bears any relation to the sense of suspicion in some corners of Wirg's.
He works his way over to Betchmat and says in a serious tone, "Perhaps this episode was an equalizer to cast suspicion aside...how does this affect your statistics? A single Fasion receiving a pass does not change the overall picture much from what I can see. In any case, I do wish Matchlak well."
Betchmat frowns.
"It won't really affect the statistics at all," he snaps, but he is clearly relieved and even encouraged by the acknowledgement. "Your concern for Matchlak is reasonable. The statistics say we likely won't be seeing him again.
The loyalist woman stands and approaches Betchmat's table, her face crinkled into a cheerful smile.
"Oh, what is it with you?" she says merrily, doing a cute little dance step. "The Free Channel has tried so hard to bring some life to this dreary, little bushtown, something the Hergs haven't even tried to do, and all you can do is spew doom and gloom? Puh-lease!"
Seating herself at his table, she adds, "If you think it's all so bad, why don't you stop complaining and do something to make it better? Why don't you sign up for the Talent Round-Up like your friend did and find out for yourself how wonderful it can be? As you just saw, anyone can be a winner!"
Betchmat's entire face somehow exceeds its usual frowning limit, which is pretty frightening.
"That seat is NOT free, lady," he growls.
"Oh, my apologies!" The loyalist woman stands again, performs a neat bow, throws out a hip cockily, and steps away.
To Mon'Fargret she says, "Roots and branches, my lord! Can't we please anyone here?"
Nekshi says to Granite, "I never thought I'd feel this way, but I think the Fasion is more likable than that slag of a Foldorian."
To Zeton, "I wonder if it was a coincidence that the local cable feeds just happened to be down during this Talent show, and then seemed to come back up afterwards. This might be another avenue of investigation."
Zeton waits until the Loyalist woman has moved out of ear shot after her conversation with Mon'Fargret and Betchmat. Once she is well clear, Zeton continues speaking.
"You are right Nekshi, I was just trying to be a bit silly, but the loyalist lady certainly gave the most interesting reply about Nekkrie."
"Also, isn't it odd that contestants who are awarded Second Chances are not heard from again? I believe the Besteeng woman was going to tell us Nekkrie was also awarded a Second Chance before Weather Nose lost his temper, (and his glass), and interrupted her."
Those two loyalists don't add up either. I can't put my finger on it, but they aren't wearing any caste insignia and why is the woman doing all the talking? I think the male loyalist is not what he seems. Maybe he's a Noble in disguise; but why is he associating with that dreadful woman?
"I like your idea of following the loyalists, but I think it would be a bit tricky. I stick out like a sore thumb, but maybe we could hire someone, or something to follow them. Anyone know of any good security companies that hire out trackers?"
"Nekshi I believe you are correct, the local cable feed being down during the contest was probably done on purpose."
"Well, I want to confirm my suspicions about Nekkrie the juggler with the Besteeng woman and then we can make plans about what steps we want to take next."
Before Zeton walks over to the Besteeng woman's table, he turns to Widjgleeby and says in a friendly manner, "I hope you are a good guide, because we are definitely going to need one."
With that Zeton goes to the bar, finds out from Wirg the Besteeng woman has been drinking, orders two glass of it and then makes his way to her.
(For the record, the layout of Wirg's Cafe & Bar looked like this when everything started.)
Zeton goes to the bar. (Assuming he doesn't want to walk between the loyalist man and Weather Nose, that would mean he'd have to lean in at the rounded extension next to the holovid.)
When he arrives there, Weather Nose, whose face is looking decidedly pink, raises his glass toward him and says, "Hey, man, how's everything goin' tonight?"
Zeton gives him a courteous but noncommittal response and then turns to the bar and asks for service. Adulie responds, her soft, brown eyes seeming to have trouble making contact.
Zeton quietly asks what the Besteeng woman is drinking. Adulie replies with a pensive smile and says in very melodic Her-Galad High Speech, "You refer to Lirassa, kind sir. Her favorite drink is Âbr'eĕn [a local brand of Hergoth rum]. I trust you wish two?" When Zeton answers affirmative she goes to the rather impressively-stocked bottle rack and pulls down an exquisitely-sculpted bottle.
As she pours the drinks she adds quietly, "I must warn you, though. Lirassa's soul flows blue [i.e. she's basically a good person], but her bark is brown [i.e. she has an attitude]. Step lightly into her meadow, good sir."
Mon'Fargret cocks an eyebrow as replies, "The roots intertwine such that it is good to examine the environment in which they reside. It ensures that harmony of such stately branches."
He gestures slightly to her as he says the word "branches."
To the Fasion he says, "My shop has some crafts worthy of Fasion taste I believe. Dabid or I would gladly assist you. Consider this an invitation."
Then more quietly, "If you wish, please bring your statistics. Something odd is afoot and I've grown to truly appreciate the diversity here."
He then returns to his seat to think about the exchange.
Oops, a typo. "It ensures the harmony of such stately branches."
"Thank you very much for your advice Adulie, I shall definitely follow it." To show his appreciation, Zeton leaves a sizable tip along with the payment for the two glasses of Âbr'eĕn.
Zeton carefully makes his way over to Lirassa. He makes sure to catch her eye before approaching too close, so she isn't surprised by his arrival.
Once he is opposite Lirassa, Zeton discreetly says, "Hi, I'm Zeton and I couldn't help noticing you were rudely interrupted while you were talking about Nekkrie earlier. I'm very interested in learning more about the talent roundup. May I offer you this glass of Âbr'eĕn as a token of my friendship and join you?"
While Zeton places Lirassa's glass on the table awaiting her reply, he takes a small sip from his own Âbr'eĕn and savors the taste it.
Lirassa stares at Zeton for several heartbeats before she gestures toward a chair and says a bit uncertainly (in Yangae), "Well, then sit down!"
As Zeton complies, she lifts the new drink, swirls it a couple of times, and says (still rather uncertainly), "Um...thanks! I um..."
She takes a deep breath, looks around, giggles nervously, and says, "I'll be honest with you. When I...uh...saw you bringing this I got all ready to claw your eyes out," drawing the last four words out for dramatic effect. "That's...usually what I do to guys who do this sort of thing. You don't seem like the usual sort of creep, though. I'm sorry I don't speak any Her-Galad, and you probably don't speak Brekka, so we'll have to keep it in the 'Civilized Tongue', I suppose. What is it that you want to know?"
"You're right, I don't speak Brekka and for that I am truly sorry. I'm sure Brekka is much more civilized than the language we are forced to use... and thank you for not clawing my eyes out, I appreciate it."
"I'm curious to learn more about people who earn second chances. I think you were going to tell us your friend Nekkrie was awarded a second chance and you haven't heard from him since, right?"
"I hope I'm wrong, but I've got a feeling I'm not. Is there anything else about the talent competition you've observed that seems unusual?"
"Oh, where are my manners! I haven't asked you for your name. Please forgive me. I think it's being forced to speak the 'Civilized Tongue' of Yangae that has made me act in such an uncivilized way."
The loyalist woman stares at Mon'Fargret in response to his remark as he heads back to his table. Then she bows properly, intones, "I thank the lord for his kindness," and returns to her seat quietly.
Betchmat scowls. He glances at Mon'Fargret and mutters, "Chukma sifoldorinehemma shakmen domanang chotma bao?"
Lirassa grins and glances past Zeton.
"I'd be careful what I said about civilization if I were you," she says, "particularly considering the fine representatives of the modern Civilized Realm sitting right behind you..."
There is a feminine "hmmph!" from behind Zeton, and then Lirassa says more quietly, "Frankly, if you want to learn a really brutal language, that's Brekka. No subtlety at all! That's the culture I come from. I learned Yangae because I mainly do business with Foldorian traders in this part of Ergothei space and just over the border in the Empire. Well, I did, at least..."
She polishes off her original glass of rum and switches its place with the one Zeton has bought for her.
"Nekkrie? Yes, I knew him well. Really well. He was a weird one, but people liked him. He knew how to turn a bad day into a much better one." She grins and sighs, and then she becomes more grave. "Yes, he went on that show about two weeks ago. He got a pass. The last I heard from him was a quick call saying he was going to be performing in a really high-class club over in the ritzy corner of Ekr'im. Not just a Yangae tree, but up in the branches! He said he'd try to find a way to get them to let me in."
She makes a movement of her head that Zeton doesn't quite understand.
"That was the last I heard."
Then Lirassa jerks upright spasmodically.
"Oh, you asked me my name!" She chuckles and takes another drink. "Lirassa." Her demeanor becomes more serious. "I'll tell you more if I decide there's a reason for it. You said your name is...what...Zeton? Did I say that right?" She clicks her tongue. "Interesting name. Obviously not Hergoth or Foldorian. What's your story?"
"My story? I'm a journalist always interested in a good story. When I heard you say you are a friend of Nekkrie and then how the Foldorian woman acted when she learned that, I could sense there was more to learn."
Zeton turns to look over his left shoulder and subtly gestures to the main group sitting at their tables.
Looking back to Lirassa, Zeton smiles and continues, "As you can see, I travel with an eclectic group. I'm hoping together we'll find many good stories to tell."
"Lirassa, You've been very kind and I don't want to wear out my welcome, so I'll leave you in peace. If I hear anything about Nekkrie I'll be sure to contact you and tell you what I learn."
With that Zeton gets up and politely excuses himself from Lirassa's table and heads back to the group. Taking a seat next to Nekshi, Zeton looks at everyone at the table and asks, "So, what's the plan?"
Mon'Fargret to Betchmat quietly (after the mumble but before he returns to his chair to think):
I apologize for my ignorance of your language, but I do hope that my deference to the Yangae will not dissuade you from an opportunity to "have a sympathetic ear" in this situation.
Normal volume: I bid you adieu and I hope to see you at our shop soon.
(Then he gestures thanks and returns to his chair).
To Zeton, he says:
"It is odd that a simple holovid could contain such strange anomalies, but I think we can help each other out. For some, it is a story to be researched and for others, it could be a sign of changes on the wind. In any case, let us gather more information and meet in our current configuration soon. Any suggestions as to when adn where?"
Lirassa watches Zeton under furrowed brows as he departs, then she quickly shrugs, mumbles something to herself in Brekka, and turns back to her drink.
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Betchmat finishes his kifra, and then he drops off his chair and toddles over toward where Mon'Fargret and Zeton have met before returning to their seats. In the process he makes sure to keep as much space between himself and Nekshi as possible.
[Don, remember Zeton is only now coming back from Lirassa's table. You haven't made your comment to him yet. I assume you're moving to intercept him before he gets to his table.]
Noticing that a discussion is about to take place, Betchmat pauses at a discreet distance, apparently waiting until he's acknowledged.
[engaging Gamemaster Override...]
Seeing Betchmat standing nearby, Zeton makes a subtle gesture to Mon'Fargret after he has gotten as far as "It is odd that a simple holovid..." Mon'fargret glances back over his shoulder. Seeing the Fasion standing expectantly behind him, he turns and says, "What can I do for you?"
Betchmat purses his lips and then replies, "You can let me correct my error. Your apology was reasonable but surplus. You're supposed to be ignorant of my language! It was my error to use it!" He moves closer, glances around, and then says more quietly, "All I said was, 'What's gotten into that Foldorian woman all of a sudden?' Didn't you notice how quickly she changed? Maybe these things are normal for you Foldorians, but for me it was an anomaly! That's it. No interruption was intended. Oh, and by the way, I have no use for art, but I think I owe you a visit for the simple reason that you've been very reasonable."
With that, he starts to turn, pauses, frowns, turns back, and then makes a comical attempt at a Foldorian-style bow. Then he toddles toward the front counter near the entrance, apparently to pay and go.
[Disengaging Gamemaster Override. To be continued on a new post.]
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