About the Town ((Atrice))

[Anonymous]

The sun was creeping lazily accross the sky, seeming unmoving but with it's position telling the city it was about three o'clock. A figure with a long coat on made his way through the crowded streets, hands in his pockets and black hair brushed but hanging about, strands of hair falling in his face here and there. Dark, feathered wings were hidden beneath his long coat, but at a glance, it simply looked like folds in his coat. Invisible they were, and even if a feather was to come into veiw, it would blend in with his dark clothes. His silver eyes, ringed cobalt, were watchful and relaxed at the same time. They seemed to see through things rather than look at them. Something about his light-skinned face's features was a bit feminine, but couldn't be pointed out easily. His boots rythmically clicked against the stone of the path he was on, bringing him foreward with grace. He leaned against a wall, sighing and looking up at the sky. Oh, how he wished he could fly right now, fly off into the far reaches of the sky. But, it was rather odd for a 'human' to take off and fly right in a city. He watched people go by, wondering what each was up to.

[Anonymous]

Disgusting was the word that leapt into Miraj's mind, unbidden, as he strolled down the main thoroughfare of Arca. Miraj was accustomed to the overcrowded squalor of Serendipity's capital city, of course, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Sure, Arca was one of the cleanlier cities of Le'raana, but still... he wrinkled his nose as a particularly pungent itinerant hurtled by. "Hasn't that man ever heard of a bath?" he wondered aloud. "I swear, I've smelled sweeter farts."

A small, tinny voice from within the hood of his cloak responded. "We could toss him into the river, I suppose, but then we'd miss lunch." A moment later, a small, furry animal pulled itself up onto Miraj's shoulder. It curled its tail around Miraj's neck to anchor itself in place, then clucked its tongue sympathetically. "I'm starved."

"We've already missed lunch, Achash," Miraj countered. His cloak billowed out behind him slightly as he walked. Its fabric was a rich Prussian blue, bunched at the throat with a silver brooch. Underneath the cloak, he sported a garnet on a leather thong around his neck, and it bobbed against his chest as he made his way through the throng. The silver brooch, the red garnet, the blue cloak -- they were all finely-crafted, expensive-looking pieces of finery, clearly marking him as something more than a simple commoner.

Miraj spotted a rickety kiosk on the size of the road, sporting a badly-misspelled sign claiming to sell some of the best fried squid tentacles this side of the Draconi forest. He wrinkled his nose, again. "Haven't you spotted any taverns? I would kill for some fruit..."

[Anonymous]

Tristan saw a figure with a small animal, who he appeared to be talking to, stroll past and wonder aloud if there was a place to eat. Tristan knew of such a place, it was nearby. He wasn't sure if he should tell this person, but he figured it would be fine if he did. He walked up from behind, saying quietly, just loud enough to be heard above the clamor of the crowd, "There's a place to eat down this street." Tristan wasnt looking at the person he was talking to. He pointed in the direction and walked in front of the building, glancing briefly back at the man he had directed to this building, and entered. He sat at a table, a bit hungry himself. He ordered a little something to eat and crossed his arms, looking nowhere in particular.

[Anonymous]

Miraj blinked, his eyes following Tristan's finger to a building off the side of the main thoroughfare. It looked like your typical tavern -- creaky rafters, stains on the front porch, greasy fog coating the glass windows -- but hell, it was nearby. And he was beginning to get hungry. "I'm surprised you missed that, Achash," Miraj said. "You usually have a sixth sense for food."

"I was distracted by the squid tentacles," Achashverosh defended himself, looking sheepish. Miraj reached up to pat the creature gently on the scruff, then set off for the tavern. He paused at the threshold, scanning the dimly-lit interior for any possible threats. Sometimes, you couldn't be sure what sort of establishment you were walking into until you were stabbed in the back. Thankfully, the place seemed decent enough, if you could ignore the stench of overcooked meat and heavy-handed spices.

Miraj spotted the boy from the steet and strolled up to his table. "May I?" He asked. Without waiting for an answer, he plopped himself down on the chair opposite Tristan, and smiled. "What's your name, child?"

[Anonymous]

Tristan watched the man he had met sit down in front of him, asking his name. He found it amusing, being called 'child', as that was only what he appeared to be. He said, after a hint of a smirk crossed his lips, "Tristan. And yours?" He sat back in the chair, his wings a bit uncomfortable in this position. He once again wished that he could spread his wings and fly...

He glanced up at the man's face, and found himself in a bit of wonder. Those eyes...those eyelashes! What pretty eyes...he found himself staring into them for a moment, only to look away rather abruptly.

[Anonymous]

"Ah, Tristan, hm? What a pretty name," he said. He'd always thought Tristan a rather feminine name... than again, he was one to talk. "Miraj" wasn't exactly the manliest name on the planet. He wondered what his mother was thinking when she came up with it -- probably how much she wanted a girl.

He caught the boy staring at his eyes, and grinned. People were always staring at his eyes; Miraj never got bored of it. The boy himself wasn't bad-looking himself, with his pale skin and youthful features. He had the most ususual silver eyes, a striking color against the inky black of his hair. "Miraj al-Shaharyar, at your service. I'm on a sort of, ahh, tour of the continent, you could say. Seeing the sights." It wasn't a total lie: he was a traveller, more or less. Someone in his line of work got used to never staying in one place for long. "What brings you to Serendipity?"

[Anonymous]

Tristan shrugged at the comment about his name. 'Pretty.' he hadn't ever heard that word used to describe his name, but he didn't mind it too much. Not that he'd admit that. Ever. He nodded as Miraj said he was 'on a tour of the continent'. He'd heard that one before. It was another way of saying he was a wanderer. He looked at him again, this time his gaze almost seeming to go past. He said, "Nothing special." He was thinking about meeting up with a friend, but he realized they had left elsewhere.

[Anonymous]

Miraj sat back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest, watching Tristan thoughtfully. The boy looked oddly uncomfortable -- not like he was nervous, but rather like he couldn't sit comfortably in the chair, like it hurt him to lean against it.

Achashverosh interrupted his thoughts with a furious chitter that he used when he was too hungry to speak coherently. "I hear you, pet," he said. A serving woman swung by, and he ordered the closest thing they had to fresh fruit -- a raspberry tart with a glass of apple cider -- and a slab of venison for Achashverosh.

As the serving woman disappeared into the kitchen, Miraj said, "You look rather ill-at-ease, Tristan. Something the matter?"

[Anonymous]

Tristan shook his head. "Ah, its nothing..." He received a sandwich with little on it. He bit into it delicately, his manners strangely good for a common person. He shifted uncomfortably, his wings being pressed a bit tightly against his back. He said, after swallowing a small bite, "Is there any business in particular that brings you here?" He glanced up from his sandwich, the cobalt ring around the silver part of his eyes seeming  to almost glow.

[Anonymous]

Miraj blinked, wondering whether it was a trick of the light that made Tristan's eyes glow so vividly. There was definitely somthing... intruiging about this boy. He clearly wasn't a commoner -- all the commoners Miraj knew would have been all over that sandwich, bits of bread and meat flying every which way. Commoners were like dogs.

No, this boy -- he was definitely of noble blood. Or if not noble, then certainly... special. So he decided to humor the boy and answer his questions, in the hopes that Tristan might answer some of his own. "Yes, in fact. You wouldn't like it if I told you, though."

[Anonymous]

Tristan was aware of the glances he was getting from some people, considering his rather dainty way of eating. He was quite used to stares, so it didn't bother him. He tilted his head to the side when he answered his question, the faintest of smirks playing across his lips again. "I've heard and seen some crazy things. Tell me if you dare." He was pretty odd himself, and, after all, he didn't think it would phase him, whatever he had to say. An unruly bit of his dark hair was brushed into place by his hand.

[Anonymous]

Miraj watched the boy brush the lock of hair out of his eyes. He was a good-looking boy, and that pleased Miraj -- he didn't like talking to unattractive people. Did this mean he was shallow? Absolutely.

He flashed a devious smile, leaning across the table and lowering his voice to a whisper so that only Tristan could hear him. "Well, boy... to tell the truth, I'm here to collect a bounty. I'm a... headhunter, as they say, though I find the word somewhat unappealing. I much prefer 'contract killer.' There's more an air of professionalism to that, I think." He smiled, hoping he was scaring the living daylights out of the boy. Most people were suspicious of headhunters, and a good handful of them were downright afraid of them. Almost everyone was wary of them, though, and Miraj wasted no opportunities taking advantage of that fear. He liked intimidating people; it was probably the reason he was so attracted to the job description in the first place.

[Anonymous]

Tristan didn't have the reaction that any normal boy would have to such a thing. Well, he wasn't normal, and he was older than one would expect. He looked almost more interested in the sandwich than what he had said. He said, an equally quiet tone, his voice sounding none-too-surprised and smooth, "Hm, an interesting reason to be brought here. I, in fact, did a job or two like that a while ago." As he took and swallowed a bite of his sandwich, he brought his eyes up to stare into the other man's eyes. Although the ghost of a smirk had dissapeared, it glittered in his eyes.

[Anonymous]

Miraj didn't let his surprise register on his face. Instead, his face broke out into a flourescent grin. "Well! You're all grown up, aren't you?" He laughed, genuinely amused by this unexpected turn of events. The serving woman swung by with the venision and tart, but Miraj ignored the food, his eyes fixated on Tristan. "And what did you hunt? A forest-pixie? Wood-elf? I hear those buggers are fierce." He was mocking the boy, seeing if he could get Tristan to let his guard down.

[Anonymous]

Tristan didn't seem to notice the mocking. Or, at least, he didn't show it. He liked this little game, it was rather amusing. He almost chuckled at the mention of him being all grown up, joking or not. He would be most likely considered quite old in human years, but he wasnt truly human, so it didn't apply to him. He glanced at the sandwich, which was near gone, licking his lips. Then, he said, "Ah, what I hunted...who, to be more specific....they were quite difficult before I pieced their minds apart and got my pay." He glanced back up at his companion. "How about you? Hunt anything difficult, perhaps an angry old woman? Those walking sticks can cause bruises, you know."

[Anonymous]

Miraj reached for the tart, but his hand stopped midway. He blinked, not sure whether to believe the boy or not. Pieced their minds apart? Was this child some sort of psychic? Miraj hadn't much experience with psychics; he'd met a clairvoyant once (who, ironically enough, had been an elderly, bent-backed old woman), and he never wanted to repeat the process. Warily, he took the tart off the plate and took a bite. Achashverosh was already busily tearing into his venison, making little snarling noises with every bite.

He chewed thoughtfully, biding his time. At last he said, "I never underestimate old women. That's the preferred form of pagan death-gods. Did you know that?" He knew he was evading the question, but then again, so was Tristan. "So. About this hunt of yours, Tristan. How did you say you killed your target?"

[Anonymous]

As Tristan thought if how to reply, he took the finishing bite of his sandwich. He found that the question of his was avoided amusing. He received a cup of tea from the waitress. How he got a cup of tea in this sort of place? Well, he wasn't to have alcohol, and that's what was around. "Interesting view on the abilities of the elderly. I'd like to see you defeat one of them sometime." He thoughtfully sipped his tea. "Hm, I never said I killed them the way I mentioned; that was only the prologue to the carefully planned, slow incline upward to the frightening climax of the whole event, plunging like a hawk downward in plot to slowly fade out into their demise, smelling of blood and a composing of a sword stained to the hilt." He took a sip of his tea, eyes glittering again. How poetic.

[Anonymous]

"Poetic" wasn't the word Miraj would have chosen, though it certainly fit. He was thinking more along the lines of "messed up," "crazy," or just plain "scary" -- any of the above would do. He was still puzzling over whether thid kid was telling the truth; teenagers were prone to making up all sorts of fantastical lies to make themselves seem more powerful than they really were. It was all part of the miserable pit of despair called adolescence.

There was only one way to find out whether Tristan was telling the truth. Miraj took another bite of his tart and leaned back in his chair. "In...deed. Well, I'd like to see this... ahem... power of yours, if you'd be so kind as to indulge." He paused, as if thinking. In reality, he'd already decided what he wanted to ask of the boy, but hell -- Miraj liked to be dramatic. So he sat there, pretending to think, when suddenly a light came into his eyes and he asked, "Why don't you come with me on my little hunt, hmm? Come on, it'll be fun. Two hunters, one target. And I promise it isn't an old lady I'm looking for."

[Anonymous]

Tristan chuckled a tiny bit. "To see my power that I have spoken of...I'd rather not. After all, I see no money involved....and, after all, credibility is not something I am concerned with. Believe me, don't believe me...either way, the world still spins around." He sighed, looking into the distance. "Just for good measure, let it be known that people aren't always exactly as you think they are by appearance."

[Anonymous]

Miraj didn't stop to think about the consequences if this child really was an innocent fabricater. He didn't think that inviting a teenager on a dangerous hunt was the least bit irresponsible or amoral -- indeed, he didn't think at all. Morals were for priests and nuns, not Miraj al-Shaharyar. The only thing going through his mind was an intense curiosity, a desire to crack open the mystery that was Tristan.

So he was visibly disappointed when Tristan turned down his offer. He actually pouted, looking like a toddler who's had his favorite toy taken away. "Pfft. Child, there's more money involved than you're likely to see in the entirety of your life. But no matter. You, child, seem to be exactly as you appear -- a child whose head has been filled with so many fairy-tales he can't distinguish reality from fantasy. You know, you shouldn't make up stories with people like me. They're inclined to believe you."