Niamh eyed the man's hand for a second before, finally, grasping it in her own. A man that gave money to the very boy that had stolen from him...that didn't exactly reek of 'murdering psycho', but she still couldn't let go of that part of her that screamed to be careful, that it could be a trick, and that they were in the middle of a marketplace made her feel no better. She had been taken from marketplaces twice before.
Still, the man didn't seem unkind, so she lowered her guard just a little. A year ago and she would have likely refused his hand just by virtue of him being an outsider, but living in Serendipity had forced her to adapt, had softened her prejudices a little.
"Name's Niamh," she introduced, but his next question made her freeze, eyes going wide as a cornered doe's. She quickly withdrew her hand and took a small step back.
"Um, no, I've been here a while..." she said, and gave another glance toward the crowd. It was a lie; she had only been here since the last night, and it had been nearly a year since she had last been in the Lumenari encampment here. "I'm, uh, I'm with a group, too," she added, as a sort of way of saying, They'd notice if I was gone.
They probably wouldn't; she had been forgiven, but was still unsure of her place. But it didn't hurt.
Doyle wasn't sure what he had done that made the girl pull back, but the fear in her eyes hurt. He moved back, giving her space and doing his best to not seem intimidating. Which was hard when you were 6'4", scarred and built of muscle, but he tried. He hated it when people treated him like he was a monster.
"Oh, well, uh, that's good then." He wanted to say something to calm her down, but he wasn't sure what to say. And the promise he wasn't as scary as he looked didn't seem to work very well. It just made them look at him funny.
"Um....I'm sorry...if...I scared ya any..."
When Doyle backed off and apologized, looking far more hurt than predatory, Niamh felt herself relax and immediately realized that she'd been mistaken. Still, she did not regret erring on the side of caution, and she couldn't help it if that was a question that triggered old memories and a panicked sense of fight or flight. Fortunately, it appeared she would need to do neither.
She ran a hand through her hair and took a deep breath, trying to calm her jumpiness, the way her heart had started to race. "No, it's...it's okay. Sorry, it wasn't really...you." She grimaced as soon as she said it, realizing how that must sound, and threw up her hands in dismissal. "Uh, never mind. It's alright. You didn't scare me," she added, as though to reassure the both of them—because even though it was true, that he had startled her, she'd never admit that she was scared and the suggestion prickled her pride.
Niamh took another deep breath and wiped her palms off on her syrma. Well, now that she'd just gone and made things awkward... "So, uh...do you live here?"
Doyle relaxed slightly; she wasn't scared of him, which was nice to know. But she seemed spooked by something and that bothered Doyle. No matter who it was, he always wanted to ride to their rescue. Find the thing that made her so jumpy and destroy it.
But that wasn't really his place or his business. Doyle firmly reminded himself of that and shoved down his white knight tendencies. He wanted to ask her about it, ask her why she was so scared, but that didn't seem right. He hardly knew her and she hadn't asked or implied she wanted his help.
So he just nodded, giving her a twisted, eerie smile, "Yeah, just down that way," He pointed in the direction of his house, "Just on the edge of town. I've lived here on and off for years now. Do some butcherin' for the town, ya know."
He shifted his weight, feeling awkward, "Ya said ya were with a group yeah? What group is that? Is it with the collage?" He didn't really know many groups that would want to visit here, but he knew Ruben was involved with the collage, so that was as good a place to guess as any as far as Doyle was concerned.
"College?" Niamh shook her head. "No, I'm with the Lumenari. Uh, was with the Lumenari..."
Even though announcing that had brought her bad fortune in the past, she still saw no reason to hide it (especially not here where the Lumenari themselves were stationed), because she felt no shame and hiding it would be a sign of that. She had joined the Lumenari to better serve her Mother, after all...though she had failed, betrayed them, and now no longer knew her place here or whether she even had a place at all. It was doubtful; she may have been absolved, but Dimitri was still angry, and rightfully so, because fault and intent didn't matter—what mattered was what she'd done.
Shifting a little, she brushed imaginary dust off her wrap. "Never really was the scholarly type," she muttered.
Lumenari. Doyle felt like he should know that word. It took him a moment to remember they were the religious group that had moved into the village a year ago. He didn't know much about them besides they had some odd coloring and reminded him of the Essyrni people in how they dressed. He really hadn't had much interaction with them.
"Oh, well, uh...that's uh....good." Was he supposed to congratulate her or express sympathy? He really didn't know and so chose to ignore it. He gave another strange smile at her comment, "Ah, well, me neither. Never had the need, ya know? I don't know how all those types can do all that readin' and writin' and stuff. Seems so boring."
"It's not, really," Niamh said, looking up at him. "Reading and writing, I mean. I wouldn't call it fun, but it comes in handy." She gave a little shrug. She wasn't very good at it; writing a letter took forever, and she was a little slow at reading and processing the words, but she could still write a decently sized letter and read her faith's texts.
"But I guess butchers don't need that stuff. I mean, I only learned so I could read my faith's texts." Because before she had joined the Lumenari she had been interested in working within the church—which she no longer was, but the skill stuck, even if it was horribly rusty from lack of practice.
She glanced around the marketplace again, but this time it was less the nervous, bird-like scouting for predators that it had been previously. Now it was more curious, at ease. This man still made her a little uneasy—his height, his scars, his looks—but his own awkwardness eased a lot of her own. He seemed...kind enough, and she realized now that his question had just been him making small-talk and her being paranoid.
"So, know anyone who sells weapons around here?"
"Ah, well, I can see that bein' important." Doyle's faith had been passed down orally from his father. There were no texts to read, nothing to memorize. Just the simple knowledge that the gods were there, they loved a good fight, loved a good feast and helped those that helped themselves.
"Weapons? Aye, there is an alright weaponsmith in town. Not the best though. What is it yer looking for?" The small girl didn't really seem much of a fighter, but then, Doyle had learned it was a bad idea to judge books by their covers.
Niamh doubted she had money enough to afford a new bladed spear, and it might be that this weaponsmith didn't even craft any to begin with, but it couldn't hurt to look, and it was possible she may find something more in her price range.
"Just a bladed staff," she said, shifting legs. "Double-bladed, preferably. I used to have one, but I, uh...it got stolen."
And Light, did she miss it. It had been the perfect, balanced weight for her build and the blades had been made from incendia, that precious Solisi metal that burned like fire. She had gotten rather good at wielding it; back home she had been handy with a staff, which she used in her fire dancing, so the learning curve hadn't been too steep. She doubted she'd ever get another one like it, much less one made from incendia; that one had belonged to her father, and he had passed it down to her and had it remade to work for her.
"But a good knife or staff would work just as well."
"Ah. I'm sorry." Doyle frowned, knowing how awful it was to lose that weapon. The one that fit you and molded with you and just worked. It had happened to him and it was always disappointing, "Well, like I said, he ain't great. But I can take ya to him if ya like?"
It was a shame she was so small or Doyle could have offered her one of his own knives, but the handles would be a little big for her.
Niamh brightened a little. "Sure! That'd be great, I mean, if ya don't mind. It's not far off, is it?"
She didn't mind that the weaponsmith wasn't great, whatever that meant. It would do for now, assuming he was within her price range. As long as his weapons were functional and capable of lasting her until she could save up for her dream weapon (or find her lost staff, though that was just a fairytale wish), it was good enough for her. She just wanted to feel safe, and to get back into practice as she was certain that she had grown rusty over all those months.
"How are his prices?"
"Naw, I don't mind at all." Doyle smiled again. As his hope of getting new clothes today was gone, he didn't really need to be hanging around the marketplace anymore. He was going to have to try and get some butchering done soon, maybe while Ruben was asleep.
He started walking in the direction of the smith, "His prices ain't too bad, ya get what ya pay for. Though, don't let him sell ya none of his fancy sh-stuff. It ain't worth the extra money and he ain't the best with the fine details and they'll throw the weapon's balance off."
The forge was located near the edge of the town, one of the only weaponsmiths for miles. There were a few wears on display, though they were to show the smiths skill and most pieces were ordered and custom made.
Niamh raised an eyebrow when Doyle corrected himself. While she didn't swear much herself, save when she was upset or angry, she still found it kind of funny. She'd killed stuff and seen blood and gore and heard her share of cursing, so it wasn't like it offended her. Still, she kept that to herself and only nodded as he gave her the run-down.
"Thanks for the warning," she said, following along beside him and realizing, with a strange pang, how nice it was to just...wander around a village with someone that apparently didn't want anything from her except to help her out. It had been almost a year since she'd last felt that. But if there was one thing she'd learned over that time, it was that not all heathens were bad. Misguided, yes. Wrong and foolish, yes. But not quite the savages she'd been told they were.
"Didn't plan on buying anything fancy, anyway. I just want something that works, yknow?" Though honestly, she didn't really know what she was looking for. Her dagger was just a regular old dagger that fit in her hand perfectly, and the bladed staff had been given to her by her father, who took it to the swordsmith to get customized for her build and strength. She'd had help all those times, and while she could wield such a weapon fine, she wasn't sure how to pick one.
They were nearing the weaponsmith now, and as they did she felt herself growing more and more worried. She didn't want to look like some foolish kid that didn't know a thing about weapons and just wanted one for show. "Hey, Doyle?" she said abruptly, craning her neck to look up at him. "Do you know much about weapons?"
