Players: Kargan, Child of the Light
Odessa, Master of Acrobatics, Entertainer's Guild.
Setting: Common Room: Flaming Arrow Inn, Tar Valon
Background: Needing to get away from the Guild Hall for a while, Odessa pulled on her warmest cloak, a patchwork fur one she... aquired... during a brief stay out of town when Aldus was acting like an idiot. But now Aldus had changed; yesterday he had even proposed, which surprised her. He had never seemed the 'devoted' type before. Still, uncomfortable thoughts roamed through her mind, thoughts that needed some time to themselves... mostly worries of bringing Aldus into the danger she herself had faced as a result of her blasted yellow eyes. Memories... so many horrible memories. Memories of being questioned by the WhiteCloaks after that Tolemac incident, then... somehow... released. Memories of the stories she'd heard of another like her losing himself to his wolf half, and of Saralae, seemingly already started down that path. How could she make Aldus face that risk? What if it were to happen to -her-? Memories of being called Darkfriend, of being shied from in the streets... memories of Tel'Aran'Rhiod, and of the scars she gained in that Wolf Dream. How do you get hurt in a -dream-? She couldn't let Aldus face that... being with her would surely bring more trouble than he wanted. Absently her fingers touched those long scars on her right arm, no attention paid to her course as she wandered through the snowy streets. It was with some surprise then, that she found herself in front of the Inn, and suddenly she realized how cold the night was that evening. A drink and a warm fire certainly couldn't hurt... though she doubted it would take her worrisome thoughts from her.
The door opens slightly as Odessa slips in, her bright amber eyes perusing the room quietly as she shakes the snow off her cloak. Spying the white cloak near Kargan, she selects a seat at the opposite end of the bar.
The whitecloak's head turns slightly as a gust of cold air arrives with Odessa and the open door. He sets down the mug of ale in his gauntleted hand as he watches Odessa, particularly her golden eyes.
[You hear Kargan's heartbeat accelerate a little as he catches sight of you... the slightly 'rabid dog' smell hangs about this man also, though not nearly so strong as other Children. Yet there is something unsettling about this man, perhaps most often seen in wolves that have been loners too long...]
This slender acrobat has never trusted Whitecloaks, particularly after the Tolemac Incident. She does a good job of ignoring Kargan, placing a few coins on the bar before her, quietly nodding to the man there for some wine. As she's served, she swirls the dark liquid around in the glass, and turns to study the man, curious. She inclines her head as she sees him watching her, too. It'd probably be stupid to pretend she didn't notice.
"I must admit, it is not often one sees eyes that shade of ripe wheat, mistress... are all Taraboner's eyes so tinted?" the young man asks after appraising Odessa for a time, out of what seems open curiosity.
Odessa allows herself a lingering sip of wine, regarding you over the top of her glass as though not quite sure what to say to that. Finally she shakes her head, only slightly. "No... most don't." It's evident she doesn't trust you, but then, it's easy to guess why.
Kargan smiles finally as he leans forward a little, the golden sunburst upon his tabard glinting in the firelight. "So you are one of a kind then, mistress? How odd. But then many performers I've seen are original in their own way, no?"
Odessa inclines her head then, a small, smile quirking her lips... though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Exactly. We're paid to be unusual. If we weren't, we wouldn't be doing a very good job." She neatly side-steps the issue of her eyes, seeming more content to follow your train of thought; that she isn't any different from anyone else who performs for a living. A nagging thought enters her mind, though; a vague feeling of discomfort that he so easily knew her profession. It's not good when Whitecloaks know of you before you meet them.
"Quite... I am not certain you would pass the mandolyn player who was here a few nights ago." Kargan says, leaning back into his chair. "He did not have golden eyes, yet quite lively was he." He tilts his head to the side. "Did not your group of performers visit our camp some time ago?"
Odessa cocks her head at you, the movement causing the firelight to reflect eerily in that amber gaze. "Our performers do not usually stop to do acts in your camps," she says evasively.
Kargan looks surprised as he leans back in his chair, gloved hands folded before him. "But whyever not? While I am the first to admit the Light has a serious calling..." he says, suddenly smiling, "...I would be the last to miss a gleeman's performance, no?"
Kargan smiles and nods his head politely to Alister before settling back into his chair to watch Odessa across the room.
Odessa busies herself with her wineglass, peering at it as she speaks. "I don't know. Performers themselves dictate where they will perform. And camps of the Children... do not appear to be popular locales." Perhaps because since the entertainers often do performances that seem impossible, they'd be easily labeled darkfriends by any Whitecloak with a little too much zest for his job.
That, and well, people just don't like Whitecloaks.
Kargan laughs softly. "Nonsense! I prefer to think that all of the Light's servants are held in high regard for their selfless sacrifice." He tilts his head as if to hear an especially faint voice (or emit ;P ) but shakes his head to clear it. "Do the performers ah... prefer not to play within the Children?"
As a fine tendril of dust lands upon Kargan's head from an especially loud thump from the ceiling, he glances up in annoyance.
Odessa again shrugs a shoulder. "There are better venus, if a performer needs to find an audience. In a camp of any military sort people are more there for work than for play. There are people on watch, doing duties... they don't want that distraction. Better to find an inn, work in the streets, or town square." Now wasn't that a well-phrased answer. It really tends to help a person's longevity not to insult the personal habits of Whitecloaks while talking to one. "Is that not so?"
Kargan feels for something beneath his undershirt, eventually retreiving a worn piece of parchment. "Well... if you so insist, mistress performer. By the way, I have always wanted to see where you actually do perform in Tar Valon. Do you think I would be permitted to see this place, mistress...?" he asks. This time he seems to be prodding for a name. Kargan stands leaves the Window Table.
As the whitecloak rises from the table, the parchment faces you for a moment. Your wolfvision allows you to pick out odd words... the parchment definitely seems to be some sort of 'Wanted' list!
Odessa stiffles a sigh by pressing her lips. "Odessa." After all, he would only have to ask his Whitecloak buddies to get it. "And the Entertainer's Guild is open to the public. There are daily performances, and you, like anyone else, are welcome there." She seems more to be reciting part of some Guild ledger rather than extending an invitation, but there it is. "I am sure you know where it is."
Kargan bows his head slightly and stiffly, smiling as he raises his head. "Child Kargan Denar will be pleased to take you up on your invitation, Mistress Odessa." A charcoal stylus appears in his hand as he notes something on the parchment, then placing both in hidden pockets inside his tabard.
Picking up his cloak, Kargan takes his leave. "Perhaps one day, you will cross the Alindaer bridge and see for yourself what a 'popular locale' the Children are." A wry hint of mirth comes through his voice as if the place indeed was anything but for Odessa. "Good eve, mistress, a pleasure to have met you."
Odessa's brows furrow for the briefest of moments as her yellow eyes fix on the parchment of yours, and, downing the last of her wine, she pulls her cloak around her shoulders. "Yes. Well. Perhaps." In other words, no. There is an odd look to her eyes then, something which suggests she does somehow manage to keep tabs on that village despite the demands that keep her busy within the Guild. "Likewise."
---
Seeing the Whitecloak leave, Odessa waits a few minutes and then exits the Tavern as well -- making sure to specifically turn in the opposite direction from that where Kargan's scent leads. She walks the dark city streets, her mind troubled; and it's troubled for good reason. She may have only gotten a glance at the parchment Kargan had pulled out to peer at, but her eyes have grown sharper in the past months, sharp enough to detect a few words on it... and those words only help to confirm her fears about bringing Aldus into the trouble her life -- and the wolves -- have led her to.
Her name was on that list.