Pt. I - At the Outdoor Marketplace
The (staged) altercation between Nekshi and Granite Spear reaches a high point; the Shurian reacts to the Zorlan's loud tongue-lashing by assuming a threatening pose, giving a retort that no one except Nekshi understands (since no one around them speaks Zorlan Standard), and stomping off. With a (very well played) huff, Nekshi storms after the retreating creature.
The people milling about nearby shrink back in alarm or confusion. If nothing else, the pair has certainly attracted a lot of attention.
While the "fight" was in progress, both Nekshi and Granite Spear noticed that a peace force (i.e. police) flier-bike was approaching, carefully easing into the crowd as if to pull up next to the pair. Almost right after Granite Spear's intimidating display, however, the flier-bike suddenly revs up its repulsorjets, rises up above the crowd again, and tears off in the direction of Artists' Square with its siren blaring.
Nekshi concludes that the ruse has worked. It takes her a while to bring Granite Spear to heel, however, as the Shurian has gotten a bit carried away and buried herself in the part (most likely one of those instinctive things). By the time they stop, they have left the marketplace and are now in one of Ekr'in's many narrow, twisty roads lined with small shops and flats.
"It appears that we have been successful," says Nekshi. "Now we must contemplate our next action..."
Then the pair is startled by a hissing sound in a nearby alley. Turning to look, they see a small, hooded figure standing there eying them. There is a bit of activity under its robe. The only thing stopping Granite Spear from tearing into the newcomer like a shark into a drowning goat is the fact that she has seen that little hooded robe before.
Kuluf croaks, and his translator says in Zorlan Standard, "I'm sorry. I was busy contemplating the way all these threads connect, and I didn't read your meaning. Did you want me to come with you? And why aren't we at the river?"
Pt. II - The Long Arm of the...?
Mon'Fargret doubles back to the boutique which he saw the loyalist woman enter. It is a fairly well-known Aragonese shop called "Llynfóramhyá" (pronounced hleen-FOR-ah-VYA). (Mon'Fargret vaguely remembers hearing somewhere that the name means "I like this" in the Soeki language.) Unfortunately, it is also a testament to the recent problems being suffered by merchants on Lyranell. The mannequins are dressed in all manner of exquisitely-crafted (if not very civilized) garments for men, women, and "female men" (another sadly uncivilized fact of Aragonese culture), but many if not most of the shelves are bare. A number of rather gloomy-looking shoppers are poring over what forlorn wares there are, mostly in the shoe, accessory, and handbag corners.
There is no sign of the loyalist woman.
There are two people, most likely the shopclerks judging by their dress, having an animated discussion near the employee door. One of them is a gold-skinned Aragonese woman. The other is a towering, gray-skinned Crygan woman who looks a bit out of place (but definitely not unattractive) in her Aragonese dress. After a little while an Aragonese man comes into the room through the employee door. The two women turn to him, and he shakes his head. They start to talk quietly, but then the man notices Mon'Fargret and nods in his direction. The Crygan woman approaches with a smile.
Although the Crygans are a powerful and very loyal vassal of the Foldorians, Mon'Fargret has never seen one in person before. She stands at least two heads taller than him and is completely hairless. Despite the gracefulness of the Aragonese dress she's wearing (which looks rather odd on the Amazonian Crygan!) she looks like she could probably bench-press a small car. Approaching Mon'Fargret with a smile, she bows primly in the Aragonese feminine style and says, "Llynergaáln váljhalé!" (A common Soeki greeting...which also seems odd coming from a Crygan.) Then, in very polite Yangae, she says, "How might I serve the good lord?"
Mon'Fargret fancies he catches a whiff of a very subtle perfume. It's faint, but it makes him go all tingly.
"Um..." he attempts, still glancing about for the loyalist woman.
"Is there anything in particular you're looking for?" asks the Crygan sweetly.
Funny she should put it that way, thinks Mon'Fargret to himself. His thinking seems to be going a bit fuzzy. Is it just nerves, the fact of the policeman hovering about outside, or is it just that he's talking to a woman who could probably tear him apart in a couple of seconds? No, it's probably the perfume. It's so faint, but so exotic...
"I know what the good lord might be thinking," the Crygan goes on, ushering him to one of the aisles, "but Aragonese men's wear is not at all like what I have on. It's both acceptable and fashionable in the Civilized Realm. I bid the good lord have a look!"
"Have a look..." mutters Mon'Fargret following after the giant, gorgeous woman. He has never thought about it before, but bald women apparently turn him on much more than he thought. And those muscles... Is it getting warmer in the shop? But why is he trembling?
"Is my lord okay?" asks the Crygan very quietly, a knowing grin on her face. She does a sort of turn, and the strange perfume becomes stronger for just an instant. Her dress brushes against him, and it's like an electric jolt.
Wait a minute...isn't there something he's heard about Crygans? Something about...uh...
"Here is a seat, my lord," she says into his ear, easing him onto a bench. Her breath on his cheek sends his glands into a frenzy. Her touch is deliciously warm and shiveringly frosty at the same time. Sheer ecstacy! If only there weren't all those people there! That simple store aisle could be transformed into a den of pleasure! But wait a minute...come to think of it, why was he there in the first place? "I bid you sit while I show you some of the fine garments we have available! I apologize for our shamefully small stock at present, but I'm sure we have something to suit the good lord!"
"I'm sure you have something..." mumbles Mon'Fargret, settling onto the bench. Yes, he has heard something about Crygans, but what is it? Total blank. Fog. Getting foggy. Getting FOG-gy...
"Now let's see..." says the Crygan musically. "Ah! I know just what would suit my lord! How about this?" She holds up a suit that looks like it's made of real leather. Dead animal flesh. But it's so exciting! "Such style and elegance! It would make my lord look so distinguished! And this shade of tolek brown goes so well with my lord's wonderful, red hair!" She runs the back of her fingers across his hair, and he shudders. "What does my lord think? Would my lord like to try it...OH!!!" Her solid blue eyes go very wide.
"Try it, oh..." mumbles Mon'Fargret. He hears the thump of boots approaching somewhere in a distant universe.
"Welcome!" says the Crygan in Her-Galad to someone behind Mon'Fargret. All sweetness has vanished from her character. Now she looks very uncomfortable. "Is there something we can do for you?"
"Armed police," barks a masculine voice in Her-Galad. "Stand aside!"
The Crygan does as she's told, and a helmeted Hergoth peace force officer comes around in front of Mon'Fargret. He's holding a stun baton.
"Keep your hands where they are," warns the officer in Yangae.
"Where they are..." mutters Mon'Fargret.
The officer pauses, studying him. Then, to the Crygan, he says in Her-Galad, "Did you pheromone him?"
The Crygan looks as innocent as possible. "Maybe a little. But I can't help it, can I? I haven't haven't done anything wrong!"
"We'll see about that," retorts the officer. Turning back to Mon'Fargret, he says more quietly in Yangae, "Why are you here?"
"Why am I here?" echoes Mon'Fargret. "Why...why..." He shakes his head.
"Tell me why you're here! Were you looking for someone? Did you meet with someone?"
"Um..." replies Mon'Fargret. The perfume is gone. His mind is finally starting to clear.
The male Aragonese shopclerk approaches. In perfect, melodic Her-Galad, he asks, "Is there a problem, officer?"
"Do not approach!" warns the officer holding out the baton. "This is a matter of the civil authorities, by right of the Holy Magistrate, and this man is under security quarantine!" To Mon'Fargret again, "Now, tell me! Why are you here?"
Mon'Fargret struggles to clear his mind. Wait...now he remembers why he's here! "I'm looking for someone!" he says.
"Who?"
"Um, the loyalist woman from Wirg's!" He says it, but he feels strange doing so. But why? It's the truth, isn't it! But maybe that's the problem. Then again, lying to a Hergoth was generally a stupid thing to do without some very good mind shielding.
"Why? Did you meet with her?"
Honesty was probably the best policy. "She was following me! I wanted to know why!"
"Is that all?"
"Yes!"
"Did you see her? Did she say anything? Did she give you anything?"
"No! I didn't find her!"
"I'll vouch for him," says the Aragonese shopclerk assertively. "A Foldorian woman came into the shop before he did. She ran straight through and out the employee exit. I couldn't stop her."
The officer turns on the shopclerk and lifts his baton just a bit. "Did she say anything to you or anyone else? Did she touch anyone?"
The shopclerk gestures negative in Hergoth fashion, a look of confusion on his golden face.
The police officer steps toward him. "Did she drop anything?"
"What...?" says the shopkeeper.
"Did - she - drop - anything?" spits the officer, carefully enunciating each word as he takes another step forward. His baton raises a little more.
"GOLD TWO!" comes a shout from the store entrance. "STAND DOWN!"
The officer sighs, steps back, and lets his baton drop.
A second officer approaches, throwing back his visor to reveal Constable Betham. He has his stun pistol in his hand, but he quickly holsters it.
"These people are NOT under quarantine!" he snaps at the other officer. To the shopkeeper he says, "I apologize for the disturbance. I think my officer here got a little carried away. Isn't that right, Gold Two?"
There is a sigh, and the other officer apologizes quietly.
"Now get back on your ride and look for the woman," says Betham curtly. When the officer moves to comply, Betham turns to the Aragonese and Crygan shopkeepers and says, "I think you have customers to attend to. If you don't mind..." They move off, and Betham sits on the bench next to Mon'Fargret. "I'm really sorry about that," he says with a deep sigh. "He's young, and we're all under a lot of stress right now. You and your friends aren't helping matters, either. I know you enough to know you're not wading in bad water, but do us all a favor. That whole business in Wirg's this afternoon? Just forget about it. It didn't happen. You had your lunch, and you went back to your shop. That's it. Just put the whole thing out of your mind. Promise me, okay?" He stands up and turns to face Mon'Fargret. "I mean it! Promise me! I can see it in your mind. You want to find out what's going on, maybe even right some wrongs. Am I right? I don't blame you. But you'd only make things a LOT worse. Just stay away from it. And if you see either of those loyalists or that gang of Blues, don't talk to them. Don't look at them! Just pretend they don't exist!" He lifts his arms, lets them fall to his sides, then starts to leave. Then he stops. "I'd really hate to have to bring you in stunned like that Besteeng woman." With that, he leaves the shop.
