Improbable Odds

Posted on Sun Sep 25th, 2022 @ 2:15am by Lyndon Zahn & Liha t'Ehhelih
Edited on on Sun Sep 25th, 2022 @ 2:18am

Mission: Mission 16: Hysperia
Location: Marketplace, Hysperia
Timeline: MD02
2688 words - 5.4 OF Standard Post Measure

"I have every faith in your expertise and I absolutely acknowledge that I am the employee here and you are the event manager. Yes, I am aware I am not a local and that I have never attended the festival before. You're quite right, I'm exceptionally ignorant."

A quick turn sideways allowed the insistent man, who had trailed behind a stern-looking woman at least twice his age for almost the entire length of the market street, to slip between oncoming traffic in an attempt to keep up.

"But innovation and adaptability are at the core of all forward momentum. There's nothing blasphemous about attempting to stay relevant, and besides," he continued desperately, managing to catch up as the woman stopped to mark something off on her clipboard, "It's historically accurate!" Steepled fingers pressed against his chest. "I took it upon myself to check personally."

"Mr. Zahn."

Nothing good had ever come from sentences that started as such. Lyndon straightened as the event coordinator turned to face him.

"What makes you think that anyone would be so inclined as to pay for the dubious privilege of kissing you?"

"First of all, ouch." One of the hands flattened over his chest bone. "Second point, I'm not suggesting it only be me. Certainly, I'm willing to handle the management of it, and the roster, and all accountancy considerations, but variety will definitely need to be a consideration."

Silence greeted his enthusiasm, with Lyndon took to be a positive sign.

"One day," he reasoned. "Give me one day to prove that it's not a waste of tent-space."

A resigned sigh was the only permission he needed.

"You won't regret it, on my word!," he called, already turning to push his way back through the crowd. He got all of several paces before arriving face-to-face, or at least face-to-chest, with an unexpected obstacle. "Whoa! Okay, easy there, my bad." Both hand held aloft, the Risian surrendered immediately to his own clumsiness. "You okay?"

Liha glared up at the man, cocking an eyebrow. "Of course I am. I'm hardly fragile."

For a moment, Lyndon struggled to find an adequate response. This hesitation was partially due to the somewhat-tardy realisation that it was not a local that he'd nearly sent flying, but a very definite and pronounced specimen of exactly the opposite. Surprise drew his eyebrows upwards. "A Romulan?" This, judging by the stormcloud expression that hadn't shifted, was not an ideal introduction. He rallied, a broad smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "No, of course you're not. That doesn't change the fact that I should have looked where I was going."

For a moment her scowl deepened since it sounded as if he'd correctly identified her as Romulan then dismissed the idea. But with the next words she realized he was acknowledging that she was not fragile, but that his clumsy inattention had resulted in their near collision. "You are correct, and I suggest you pay better attention in future."

An open mouth was promptly closed again. She wasn't wrong, this woman with the ice-cold eyes and slightly intimidating bearing. It still seemed a little lacking in standard, predictable social etiquette to be quite so blunt about pointing it out but Lyndon couldn't fault her accuracy. "I will certainly endeavour to do that." A brief pause followed, slightly mystified, though she'd certainly got his attention. Several blinks preceded his next attempt. "Lyndon Zahn," he introduced himself, hand pressed once more to his chest. "And though I've made it a little difficult to tell," his eyes angled upwards in the direction of his forehead a moment, "I am likewise a visitor here. Are you looking to work at the festival?"

Contrary to some opinions, Liha did understand social graces. She simply didn't generally feel obligated to observe the humanoid ones. But given what would count as an apology by Romulan standards, she decided to in this case. beides, he wasn't bad looking, despite the round ears. "Liha," she replied. "I have work. I'm here on R&R."

Something about this seemed to amuse the man, in an approving kind of way. It was less a reflection of her situation and more the affectionate realisation that, no matter how far from home he traveled, he invariably ended up meeting people whose only motive was to relax. Hand pressed higher against his clavicle, Lyndon dipped his head in deference. "Well met then, Liha-who-is-hoping-to-relax." He winked. "There's certainly no end of opportunity for it here." He craned his head, considering the marketplace as an entire entity, before turning back to regard her with open curiosity. "Have you been given the guided tour?" The implication was, should the response be in the negative, that an attempt could be made. To rectify his previous poor manners, of course.

Liha tipped her head. The veiled offer was clear enough, though the motive was not quite as clear. Despite her tendency toward Romulan paranoia, which any real Romulan regarded as simply self-preservation skills, she did not feel at all threatened by the taller man - she could take him easily enough if he tried anything and she wasn't stupid enough to be lead into some back alley where others could waiting for a target (though, depending on the others, that could be a nice warm up for the tourney's melee later). More than that, he seemed sincere in that odd open way some humanoids had. On the other hand, faking sincerity plus a certain level of charm was every grifter's bread and butter. "That's what you do here - give guided tours? What do you charge for those?" she asked in a tone just on the edge of teasing.

The look of surprise that drew Lyndon's eyebrows upwards seemed as sincere as anyone could be when taken aback but also concerned with not appearing completely incompetent. "Me? Oh no, completely free of charge." His eyes smiled again. "Mostly owing to the fact that I'm still learning the place of things myself. This is only my second day here," he explained, flippant with additional information but apparently unconcerned with any potential for it to be gathered and used against him. "However, I did almost tread on your toes and it beholds me to attempt some form of conciliation." Mimicking any number of people currently moving around them, the Risian stuck out his elbow as a more palpable invitation. "I promise to do my level best to make it relaxing."

Only two days and he was offering a tour? Still it might be all he had to offer as apology. She eyed the elbow - it was one of those vague humanoid gestures with multiple meanings. An offer of escort, either to provide support to someone elderly or unsteady, or a signal of 'this person is with me'. The latter seemed grossly presumptuous from a guy she'd just met, while the former clearly did not apply. At least not to her. "I'll find it more relaxing if I don't have to hold you up."

The elbow lingered a moment, a chicken-winged attempt to follow local customs, before Lyndon lowered it with an obliging dip of his head. "I can certainly attempt to avoid giving you further reason to." An extended hand in the direction she'd been moving, despite it being the exact opposite way to where he'd been rushing, was punctuated by a slight bow. "M'lady."

Since arriving, which wasn't very much time at all but hadn't hampered his spirits, Lyndon had found every excuse to immerse himself in the eccentricities of local etiquette. Hysperia had been his mother's dream retirement, back when she was alive and had scope to plan for such things, and it had always been her son's intention to one day attempt the pilgrimage in her honour. Now, having found himself tacked onto the end of his step-sister's galactic 'gap year', there was finally time to sink himself into the culture that, admittedly, had a certain appeal. It definitely suited his natural tendencies, though it was difficult to avoid a twinkle in his eye when an over-abundance of manners brought out his sense of mischief.

"As we move to the central hub," he announced, hands now clasped pointedly behind his back as he walked, "You'll notice that a lot of the artisans focus their wares here. There is a forge further on, I believe consideration for its stench and noise were probably involved in its location, but the woodturner is here, and the weaver. A boot-maker. Further along is a gentleman who makes rather rakish hats, I've considered getting myself one."

"I'm not much for hats," Liha replied, tipping her head to show off the ear tips that all too often chafed on hat brims. "The forge might be what I'm looking for. I assume a metal worker fashions weapons - knives, swords, maybe a nice hand axe."

A gentle upsweep of eyebrows threatened to become a permanent expression. "Decisive. I'm impressed. There is a fletcher, and adjacent bow-maker, if ranged marksmanship is at all your fancy. I believe they are somewhere along that way." Lyndon gestured off to the right. "But, if it's the forge the lady wants, then the forge she shall have." He veered again, taking them down a route that meandered around the back of a long line of permanent structures. "Be prepared for it to be quite loud."

Liha held up ear plugs. "I am prepared." No need to say that she brought those in case the festival involved loud music (as human gatherings frequently did) and had not in fact entirely thought through the proximity on the forge to wherever its products were being sold. "However, a visit to the fletcher and bow maker would not be a bad detour. I've always wanted a small crossbow."

With a decent amount of fluid grace, Lyndon paused for a split second with foot in air and then turned yet again to change direction. By this point, the amusement was evident in his eyes, for all the curve of his lips maintained a genuinely polite humour. "Is there anything that interests you beyond the acquisition of a small private armory?," he teased, dipping his head as they passed a previous acquaintance.

The woman affected a thoughtful look. "A good leather shop that could make some items for concealing weapons," she deadpanned. It was among a number of things she wanted to find, but the opening for a reaction was too good to pass up. "And I could do with some armor. Wrist braces, a nice gorget - something that could pass as fashion maybe."

A hand, released from the grasp of the other at the base of his spine, settled over Lyndon's chest in a mockery of relief. "She has a sense of aesthetics after all." With an easy grin, the Risian regarded their surroundings as a means of orienting himself. "There's certainly a tanner, and any number of outfitters. I know that Devlin would give his right eye to design you something." And knowing the flamboyant man's proclivities, donation of body parts was a very real possibility, at least if first impressions were to be trusted. Lyndon, at least, felt the very palpable need to behave. "Ah, here's the forge up ahead." The hand, lifted from his sternum, extended towards the obvious sounds of an anvil strike.

"You can direct me to this Devlin later then," Liha said forging ahead toward the forge. "If you know of any outfitters who work in dragon scale, I've been thinking a jacket might be a good investment seeing as my CEO is a bit of a pyro."

"Tomas would be the one to ask," Lyndon indicated the sweating, coal-slathered smith currently bashing away at a red hot blade. "Since my understanding is that dragon hide, as a material, has closer resemblance to metal than leather. Admittedly," the Risian added, "that's more of a guess than anything else. Tomas!"

The summons earned the briefest consideration of a flicked-upwards gaze in between hammer blows. The apparent disinterest, or perhaps intentional avoidance, didn't perturb Lyndon in the slightest.

"I have a customer for you. Potentially," he added, glance at Liha. It wouldn't do to commit her to anything prior to consultation; a very keen sense of self-preservation hinted that it probably wouldn't be appreciated.

"That so?," came the lazy response, without any pause in proceedings. "This ain't another of your innovative ideas, is it?"

Like a crystal clear lake on the gentlest of days, Lyndon's composure wavered for a moment, as if someone had thrown a rock into his still waters. "I assure you, Lady Liha here is far beyond my meagre capacity to design. No," he added more succinctly as the smith's glare chastened him, "I am showing her around."

"Then gods be implored, let's hope she has a better taste in Metallurgy than she does men."

With both hammer and blade set aside, the large man gathered up a partially-soiled cloth and wiped his hands and face before approaching the pair. A dip of his head paid the Romulan an apology. "Forgive my manners, m'lady. Tomas Bigges, blacksmith, at your service."

"Liha," she replied, returning a precise nod. "I assure you this gentleman is not representative of my taste in men, and my taste in metallurgy is superb. I'm in the market for a pair of small stilettos, the kind that could be worn like kanzashi hair sticks, a brace of well-balanced throwing knives, a rapier and," she glanced around the smithy, "are you familiar with the Romulan tan qalanq?"

If the pair had drawn only cursory interest to begin with, at least one of them now had the smith's full, undivided, if not a little guarded, attention. "Been a while since I heard that request," Bigges eventually revealed, which Lyndon found to be quizzical in itself but thought twice about bringing up. In fact, feeling more or less redundant for the moment, not to mention the need to distance himself from the rather scathing summary of his potential, the Risian had moved to the side slightly to make a show of examining the already-completed wares. Tomas, on the other hand, had not taken his wary gaze off the Romulan. "You expecting some kind of trouble?"

"Not at the moment," Liha said with the air of someone confident she would gladly and easily deal with the kind of trouble this placed might present, and a slight undertone, not of threat but certainly of warning that making trouble for her would be a rather poor choice. "But being well prepared for trouble is the Romulan way."

It earned a grunt from the smith, which stopped short of being derisive but seemed to be garnished with prior experience. For some reason that Lyndon found quite unfair, the Romulan's order seemed to prompt a glare sent in his direction, followed by a resigned sigh as Bigges did what any good businessman does and decided the 'after details' weren't his problem. "The hair sticks and your sword will takes us a few days, since we don't got any of those in stock currently." The ironic deadpan of the man's expression nearly passed as humour. "But you can see if you like any of the knife-sets and rapiers over in the armory hall." A pudgy finger indicated the building to the right of the forge, already decked out in festive decorations.

"Very well, I'll take a look at your stock. For the rest, contact me when the ready. I'm on the Mary Rose." So saying, she tipped her head again by a precise degree and headed to the armory hall. She did not look back at Lyndon to see if he was going to follow. He was not after all attached to her in any way but happenstance, and if, as implied, there was some 'innovative' piece of work he wanted to discuss with the smith, the polite thing to do was to give them a degree of privacy.