"A Baffling Altercation" Log Date: 11/6/00 Log Cast: Bakari, Daezura, David Log Intro: Slowly, ever so slowly, and more often than not with the patient help of his friends Jackie, Nat, and Breon from the Pantheon, David is growing accustomed to the ways of life in the big city of Haven. But there are some things he still just doesn't get--like, for instance, why folks tend to beat up on one another for no apparent reason, and why other folks don't seem to trust a man when he wants to help them out. It's especially baffling when the involved parties are Atlanteans, who so far as David can tell seem to be the gentlest folks in the city. But when he's out one day on his rambles around Haven's streets, an altercation involving a Son of Water is exactly what he finds.... *===========================< In Character Time >===========================* Time of day: Morning Date on Aether: Thursday, May 9, 3907. Year on Earth: 1507 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Waning Crescent Season: Spring Weather: Breeze Temperature: Comfortable *==========================================================================* Northern Docks - Haven Here is a wilderness of masts and sails; where great wooden behemoths dwarf tiny fishing boats, and narrow skiffs glide atop the waves as fleet as deer. Here is the main harbor of Haven, and goods are unloaded daily by the burly dockhands, while others are toted aboard ships bound for distant ports. Day or night, the bustle of activity remains constant, and a few rowdy taverns supply drink and entertainment for sailors who've enjoyed neither for months. The smell of the sea--salt, brine, and fish--hangs over the docks, but not unpleasantly so. For those who make their living from the sea--be they shipbuilders, sailors, fishermen, or merchants--it is the smell of home. And whether they've settled down in this seaport town, or are merely passing through, it is a welcome reminder of a life beneath the open sky, with the wind in your sails and the stars above to guide you. Contents: Daezura Bakari Obvious exits: Docks Streets Siren's Song Town Garden The Spring morning is peaceful, the waves lapping gently against the dockside.. But it's so early that no activity has really started yet.. Most people are probably in their beds, or stirring. There's a hint of the sun somewhere beyond the horizon, but it's still mostly dark... Three figures can be seen standing near the dockside. One is a young Atlantean man, dressed in simple, short breeches and a sleeveless shirt, holding a walking staff in one hand.. He's merely a siluette against the very faint light in the distance, as he talks to the other two... The breeze brings the upset words over easily to anyone passing by.. "I told you, I don't want to have anything more to do with this! Stop pushing me. I am not going to fight!" The voice is exasperated, yet firm, filled with some kind of determination.. The other two men, street toughs of some kind, are advancing on him. Bakari Bakari is somewhere over six feet in height, making him fairly tall, yet not overly so. But it is enough to go well along with his rather strong and sleek form. His sandy brown hair is like ocean waves, rolling down each side of his face to stop just over his shoulders. Every time it moves, it seems to shimmer with a subtle, red-gold tone. Pale grey eyes are a startling match to this, with the same golden flecks dancing among the irises as if the young man was a treasure, half buried under a sandy sea-bottom. They are somewhat slanted, giving him an almost exotic appearance. His facial features are strong, smooth and youthful, but his jaw seems to be almost too sharp, as if something in his past had altered it, making it stand out from the rest of his personality. His complexion is lightly tanned, with an almost golden sheen to it, perfectly matching his eyes and hair. At the back sides of his neck, two thin lines can be seen. Most likely gills, small and underdeveloped. It's unlikely he has spent much time in the seas where he was once born Bakari's manner of dressing is very simple. He wears a pair of light brown breeches, often rolled up to just above his knees. They hint at strong legs underneath, as well as revealing his bare, sleek ankles and feet, covered only by simple sandals. Hanging loosely over his breeches is a thin cotton shirt that buttons up at the front. It hints easily at a firm, strong form underneath, and it seems to be of a special cut without sleeves that leave his broad shoulders and quite strong arms bare. The shirt is unbuttoned almost halfway down, revealing a bronze medallion that hangs about his neck, resting against a smooth, broad chest. It shimmers in the light, and shows the stylized engraving of a sleeping woman. Daezura steps out of the Siren's Song into the chilled early morning, and wraps her arms about her body to ward off the cooler air. It does not really bother her, as it might a lander, but the warmth of her arms is nice. Inhaling deeply, she lets out the breath slowly. The loud voices catch her attention right away, and she turns to look in that direction, narrowing her eyes to see who it is that is threatening who. Before David really comes into view, the young Mongrel's clarion voice rolls out through the morning ahead of him. It can never be said that he is the brightest of men, but there's one thing David has going for him: unquenchable spirits buoyed up by the simplest of things, even a spring morning on the docks of Haven. Well, okay, two things: his spirits, and the uncanny ability to pull up a song on any number of topics if he feels inclined to sing. Such is the happy result of spending several months in Haven in the company of actual musicians, even if they're Mongrels, like him. --Everything here that your heart desires Thanks to the rollin' sea, thanks to the rollin' sea... The big rangy young Mongrel chokes himself off, though, even as he draws nearer to the Siren's Song and chances to glance up to see the two ruffians cornering the Atlantean. His guileless face shifts immediately from affable cheer right over to a look of bewilderment -- and in apparent utter oblivion to any possible danger the two thugs might present, he strides right up to wave a bronzed hand at one of them and call out, "Hey, hey now, what're y'all pickin' on 'im fer? Ain't hardly neighbor-like!" His accent, even after months in Haven, is still thick with the cadences of the country -- and marks him pretty fairly immediately as Not from Around Here. "Mind your own business boy!", one of the street toughs shouts at David, with a sneer on his face. A dagger suddenly appears in his hand, which he waves close to Bakari's face. "Not so tough now are you, huh? Walking around with that ridiculous staff of yours giving things away like you were some.. god or something! It's time for you to pay back, punk. " The other roughian joins in, with a knife as well. Bakari stands his ground.. Not that he has much choice. He will fall down the edge of the dock if he moves. His eyes are wide, but he still stays firm. "I will pay you nothing", he says, his voice starting to become shaky. " His hands tremble, and there's something growing in those pale, sea like eyes. A storm. Uncontrollable rage. "Just leave me alone!", he growls loudly. "I am not going to fight. I am not!" "Yeah? And what choice do you have?" Daezura blinks at the audacity of the young mongrel, and then chuckles to herself. With her arms still crossed, she wanders over towards the scene, tilting her head at the men as she stops a few paces away from them. "His choice, as he told you, is not to fight. That is what he decided. Now, you two have a choice. Will you murder him in cold blood when you know you have two witnesses to your crime, or will you go away and continue your lives as free men, rather than guests of the Hounds in nice smelly cells? Hmmm... Tough choice, isn't it? But, then no matter what you choose, some result will come of it. Which would you like to have? A cell, and possible execution, or freedom? Hm?" There is a confidence in her stance, but it is not arrogant at all. Audacity, or just plain lack of intelligence? It's always a tough call, with David. The young man looks a trifle alarmed as Daezura emerges from the Song, but as if the sight of a woman on the scene strengthens his resolve, he straightens up to his full lanky height. The beginnings of stern admonition crinkle up his suntanned features, black brows winging down low over those dusky blue eyes of his. "Ah'm afraid I cain't do that, mistah," he drawls, chin determinedly set. "An' iffin yer gonna try t' carry on in front of a lady on top o' pickin' on this here feller, Ah'm gonna hafta make this mah business!" Daezura A cool evening sunset over the vast prospect of a calm sea, Daezura claims the aspect of an unconcerned reflection, unwittingly taunting the sky with colors to rival its brilliance. Silken locks of silver, blue, and green with warmer streaks of red and orange drift about her face and shoulders in unhindered play, occasionally drawing attention to her gently rounded face. Long green lashes frame large lavendar eyes, and often obscure any chance one might sieze to determine her true nature. Petite in stature, with curves that are pleasant despite their obvious fullness, Daezura seems well versed in art of drawing every advantage from her rather veluptuous form, accenting some areas while detracting from others, with her choices of clothing. Today, she wears a dress of unique style and design. Perhaps unusual by Haven's standards of fashion, the blue and green material drapes down from around her neck, covering most of the swell of her breasts then sweeps around her waist where it joins the downward flow of the skirt that clings just below the top ridge of her hips. The material is light and flowing with every step she takes. The faint jingle of bells often follows her steps as well, from a single treasured anklet. Her arms are left bare, the vaguely greenish tinge of her supple skin offsets the silver armband that wraps about her forearm. It is the image of an otter clasping a green gem to its belly. David Just another Mongrel, from the look of him -- but this one at least is easy on the eyes, as Mongrels go. He's young, seemingly fit enough, and not _too_ scruffy of appearance; his features, while not necessarily refined of line, are pleasingly symmetrical. Short but unevenly cut black hair stands out in striking contrast with his sunbrowned skin and big sky-blue eyes, of a shade that suggests he's got an Empyrean or two somewhere back in his ancestry. He's tall, his frame rangy and lean, though his awkward carriage suggests shyness, post-adolescent clumsiness, or both. So does his voice, since he appears to have a habit of stammering his words -- but still, something about the clarion young baritone falls quite pleasingly upon the ear. He fidgets a lot, too, seemingly unconsciously, often rhythmically tapping his foot or hand upon whatever's handy. He's humbly but decently clad as one might expect of a Mongrel -- especially one who's managed to score a position working in a fairly classy establishment like the Pantheon. His simple blue linen shirt, brown breeches, and brown boots are all a working man's clothes, clean and in good condition; the shirt is of a vivid enough blue, too, that it nicely sets off his eyes. The Hounds.. Or some other fate? Bakari's storm suddenly becomes out of control, and he moves, with speed, and suddenly tosses the staff at the two men. "Catch!", he growls. And with blind rage in his eyes, he smashes his elbow right into the face of the man closest to the dock, with a sickening crack as the nose is no doubt broken. He cries out in pain and falls over the edge of the dock, into the water. The second man is quite taken back by suddenly having the staff in his back too, but barely gets a chance to react before his legs are swept away from under him.. Grabbing the staff again, Bakari lifts it to stab a crushing blow against the falling man's ribcage. There is nothing heroic about it. No romantic beauty of battles and deeds. Just anger, hatred and unrefined violence. It's as if a side of the peaceful atlantean, that had been supressed for so long, suddenly explodes. Forced out of him. And here Daezura thought she'd get a somewhat shocked and pleased expression from the man whose been trying to teach her about Karma! She blinks as both men are dispatched quite easily. She lays a hand upon David's shoulder to pull him back a step or two to get out of the way of the beating. Her features show no major reaction to watching this display of hatred, and a wall has been slammed down over her emotions. "Great Lady Tyche," David blurts bemusedly, as the fellow he'd thought to try to help out seems to have the situation well in hand. As his shoulder is touched, his gaze swivels around to find the Atlantean woman; startled by the explosion from the Atlantean man, the young Mongrel seems easily led enough out of the range of the fray. "Oh, uh, howdy ma'am," he pipes, then winces in guileless sympathy as the staff cracks home on its second target. And he proclaims in a knowledgeable tone that sounds a trifle odd in conjunction with that boyish expression, "Them fellers cain't be too bright, tryin' t' jump onna man with a big ol' stick t' whomp on 'em with, huh?" There are splashing sounds from the water beneath, that slowly grow fainter. No doubt, the man with the broken nose is swimming away somewhere safe. Soft waves of coppery hair sway and bob around Bakari's cheeks, as he the staff misses, wood clanking hard against the cobblestones, just a few inches from the man's face. He growls loudly and kicks his side. Hard. A gasp of pain is emitted from the man, who tries to back away, to scramble up on his feet, hatred and fear combined filling his eyes. "Yes! Run away like the little dog you are! Go back to your big friends and whine!", Bakari hisses, his voice almost unnaturally heated and baleful. He makes a jerking motion with the staff, and the man scrambles back again, eventually makes his way up on his legs, and runs, half limping away from the scene.. And there Bakari stands, staring after him. So close.. Just small bit of control.. He could have killed. Suddenly, his arms, legs, hands tremble, and the staff falls to the ground, cluttering and rolling away.. His knees give away as he sinks down onto them, covering his face between his hands.. Daezura flashes a quick grin at David as she releases his shoulder. Shaking her head in agreement with the young man, she sighs and looks over Bakari. Violet eyes wander over the man who has fallen to his knees, curiosity and concern mingled on her features. "Apparently, they underestimated him." she murmurs to David. As quickly as what passes for wrath upon the Mongrel's earnest features had arisen, so does concern flood across them. "Awww," he murmurs, as the Atlantean slumps. Then, seeming to take to Daezura as sufficiently informed as to what might need to be done here, he whispers -- unconsciously over-loudly -- to her, "He looks kinda shook up, ma'am, y'want Ah should go git 'im a healah or somethin'?" Bakari holds his face tightly with his hands, bending forward, trembling. "No... ", he breathes, barely loud enough to be overheard. "No!" He slowly lets go of his face, looks down at the ground, with his eyes blank, and picks up the staff. In a sudden smooth and graceful motion he swings up on his feet, and throws it out into the sea. Then he turns, to walk away.. And after a few steps, he notices Daezura and David for the first time, and he freezes completely. Daezura has nothing really to do with Bakari, how would she know whether he needs a healer or not? She gives David a small, slow shake of her head and a light shrug before Bakari rises to his feet. Watching the descent of the stick into the sea, she listens for the splash before returning her eyes to Bakari. "Do you need a healer?" She asks him unconcernedly. Ah, but well, Daezura is here, she seems to know what she's talking about, and generally, that's enough for David. He scratches his dark head for a moment, trying to decide what further help he might provide. It seems to take him a few moments of frowning earnestly to himself before his expression clears and he adds brightly, "Maybe you should oughtta go sit down somewheres? Git a whisky. Mah friend Nat says iffin a man gits shook up he needs a whiskey or a gal, but it's kinda early in th' mornin' f'r, uh, well, y'know--" He grins sheepishly, ducking his gaze a bit and rolling a broad shoulder in a bit of a shrug. "Carryin' on an' all...!" "No healer can cure my spirit, Daezura", Bakari says blankly, as he suddenly seems to move and speak again. With sudden arrogance, he gives his partly bared shoulders a shrug. "Send a healer for the other two, if you feel a need for it. " His voice is even, cold, and distant, and the coppery flecks in his pale grey eyes seem to be gone too, like a sparkling treasure on the bottom of the sea covered by sand and rocks. "Strong drinks dulls the mind, clouds the spirit and fools the body", he tells David, in an almost lecturing tone.. Well, it would be lecturing, if he had sounded at all as if he cared. He blinks slightly and looks back at Daezura. He avoids meeting her gaze, shame growing in his eyes. "Good bye. " He brushes past them, and starts walking away, towards another street. A delicate bluish brow rises on Daezura's face. There is no blush for the suggestion of getting Bakari a woman, but she casts a humorous sort of smirk toward David. "They got what they deserved, I expect. They can find their own healer." She returns to Bakari. She does not seem to question his judgement in this, even it if did seem extreme. "I'll see you later, Bakari." She calls after the man, "You still owe me a dance, remember!" She smirks after him and shakes her head, turning to David, she gives a shrug, "Men." She rolls her eyes and then heads in the direction of the water. To find that walking stick. "Oh," is David's primary reaction to Bakari's not-quite-a-lecture, looking a bit blank about the eyes himself -- either evidence that the Atlantean is in fact right, or perhaps simply evidence that David's just like that, whether or not whiskey is involved. He does frown a bit again, though, anxiously. "Ah-Ah was jes' tryin' to he'p," he mumbles in doleful tones. This seems to be his purpose in life even as the man who'd previously wielded the staff chooses to leave. Like a puppy eager to please, the young Mongrel offers, "Ah could jump in an' hunt down th' staff f'r ya, ma'am?" There is no response from Bakari, at least not in words, as he walks away towards one of the alleys.. Perhaps a short-cut to wherever he's heading.. His shoulders are slumped, and his head hangs forward slightly, hair partly covering his face.. Weariness, bitterness and defeat. Daezura watches Bakari a moment more while she walks, and then glances toward David and his offer. "Can you swim?" She asks. Her eyes flicker again to Bakari, and then, he is seemingly dismissed. "Ah sure can!" Farmboy pride swells through David, making him straighten up a bit and lifting his mood. "Ah swum 'round in th' rivah all th' time back home. Cain't do it nearly so good as th' waterfolk, Ah-Ah mean, Ah gotta breathe an' all, but Ah c'n hold mah breath a good long time!" Big tanned hands move to his shirt-tails, ready to tug his shirt off if need be. "Want me t' go git your friend's stick then, ma'am?" Bakari travels to the western edge of the docks along Seaside. Bakari has left. Daezura can, of course, get it herself. The water is her home, after all. But, rather than deny the boy the opportunity to seem useful, she nods, "If you would, I'd appreciate it." She tells him quietly, looking over his face and giving him a small, soft smile. [This scene was never finished, but kept for posterity. It may be assumed that Daezura humored David and let him help her locate the missing staff, before they parted ways. End log.]