Impossible Odds

Posted on Sun Oct 2nd, 2022 @ 8:51pm by Lyndon Zahn & Liha t'Ehhelih

Mission: Mission 16: Hysperia
Location: Marketplace
Timeline: MD 02
2938 words - 5.9 OF Standard Post Measure

It had actually taken Lyndon a minute or so to follow, though the reason for his delay was not to corner the blacksmith for a chat about his own aspirations but to inquire as to Bigges' familiarity with the weaponry requested. There was too much recognition, too little negotiation of design, and the Risian was aware enough of the significant events out in the big, bad universe to wonder at why Romulan weapons were something an Hysperian blacksmith could whip up in a few days.

He'd not found out very much.

His curiosity piqued, and good manners making their own demands, Lyndon had eventually caught up with his new friend with a decision to set aside interrogation, which likely wouldn't go in his favour anyway, and simply enjoy one of his favourite places in the market with someone who likely knew more about the contents of each display case than he did.

"Amazing, right?"

His voice appeared over her right shoulder as he leaned to admire the cabinet's dagger collection.

The Romulan's head tipped side to side. "It's okay. Somewhat earthcentric, but I suppose that goes with the culture and festival themes here. Though some of these are well designed," she admitted, picking up a slotted dagger knife with pressure latch that released short bodkin from the end of the pommel. The slot that allowed the weapon to either stab or catch a longer blade was simpler to classic Galae dagger, but this was more elaborately worked with patterning of damascus steel in the blade and dragon tail design worked into the grip. The hidden bodkin was an especially nice touch. "This one could almost have been made by a Romulan." It was high compliment from Liha, though others might be excused for not realizing it. "Yes. I'll be taking this one."

"Excellent!"

It wasn't his sale to make, of course, and he stood to gain absolutely no profit or commission for his involvement in her choice, but Lyndon saw reason at least to celebrate a final glimmer of approval from the Romulan. Taking credit for it was possibly a step too far but nothing ventured, nothing gained, so they said. He wandered a little way, extending the invisible tether he seemed to have fashioned to allow for his own perusal. Leaning over another display case, the Risian cast glittering eyes over the contents and immediately compensated for outright ignorance with absolute enthusiasm.

"I may never understand how they manage to fashion so many hidden compartments into one relatively small weapon."

"It's just a matter of thinking about the design space," the engineer replied matter-of-factly. "There's some skill in crafting it well, particularly using ancient tools like a forge, but in principle the object is to provide maximum lethality within limited dimensions limited by the essential elements of a dagger: blade, grip, pommel. Some include a cross guard for added protection, but it comes at the cost of having a knife that easily slips from a sleeve. The blade needs to be strong, so the only insert worth weakening it would be a small reservoir of poison. However, pills or a small vial are as easily concealed in the grip, which only has to be strong enough to secure the blade." She glanced over the display case. "But have to know what you're about to use one with poison. An solid pommel that can crack a skull plus an added bodkin to give you two options for stabbing is really sufficient for most close quarters combat."

It was, without equal, the most thorough explanation on the best way to plot murder that Lyndon had ever received. The Romulan's knowledge wasn't really the surprise; given her list of shopping priorities, it had been very easy to determine a theme. The casual way in which she discussed the intricacies of lethality also weren't really much of a shock, though Lyndon would have had to profess to a degree of racial stereotyping to unpack his expectations in that regard. It was the detail, the elaboration, the fact that it was the longest single contribution to their entire exchange that she'd willingly offered. That counted as having stumbled upon a passion, right? A lady's priorities? A sense of what motivated her and, therefore, the most likely topic to provoke an ongoing investment in their acquaintance. He had spent a great deal of time honing his skills in identifying and encouraging other people's hobbies as a means of getting to know them. This was the first time he recalled being slightly fearful for his life if he misspoke.

She was staggeringly impressive.

And, as it happened, terrifying. The adrenaline spike that caused was not a deterrent, however, though Lyndon's hands did find their way behind his back again to tuck his fingers away from potentially offering themselves as demonstration models. "You sound as if you should be designing them yourself," he observed, unable to keep the bemused awe from his tone. From there, Lyndon executed a slow turn and, taking in what he already knew from previous visits, attempted to recall as many of the weapons on display as possible. "How many of these would you say you could wield with any proficiency?"

An eyebrow ascended. That kind of query from another Romulan would earn a retort along the lines of 'pick the one you doubt I can wield and I'll gut you with it', but - contrary to what some might think - over her many years outside Romulan space, she'd learned a degree of thoughtful restraint when it came to non-Romulans. Besides, there was something in the way he seemed almost amped up that made her wonder if he wanted her to hurt him. It wouldn't be the first time she'd encountered the type. She'd even indulged once. It had been ...diverting, for a time, but ultimately not something she was that into. Still, her radar for that was pretty good by now and Lyndon hadn't sparked a ping until now. "All of them," she answered simply, without a trace of bragging. After all he'd asked about proficiency, not expertise (no one her age could be said to be an expert in any weapon, particularly compared against her old 150 year old weapons master). However, she'd learned to use nearly anything as a weapon, and various blades in particular, so there wasn't anything here she couldn't pull out of the case and use with enough proficiency to be effective.

The response earned a thoughtful pause from the Risian, which if nothing else spoke somewhat towards his sense of self-preservation. As far as cultural lenience went, he'd have been inclined towards a similar generosity of expectation when it came to his burgeoning fascination with her skillset. Whilst never one to shy from a strong woman, Lyndon was more of a mind to find appeal in the unfamiliarity of their conversation. Risa, for all its repute, didn't have much of a standing army and had struggled more with geological instability than it had with internal and external sociological aggression. The occasional drunken bar fight had given him ample experience at breaking up incompetent and sloppy fisticuffs but the true finesse of skilled combat just wasn't something that was readily available on his home planet. People went to Risa to unwind, wear a permanent sunburn and drink their bodyweight in cocktails. That's what they wrote on their customs declaration, at least. In Lyndon's experience, a good number of tourists went to Risa to indulge carnal fantasy. It wasn't objectionable; it was just very, very predictable.

Suffice to say, it wasn't common for him to meet people who poured most of their intent and focus into ensuring they remained better-off in any of the universe's numerous attempts to relieve them of limbs. There was nothing immediately hungry about his expression, more a pensive admiration that seemed all the more genuine for the fact that it wasn't ostentatious. A faint smile lent him a whimsical air, and the vague glimmers of discomfort owed their origin more to a sense of impending inadequacy than outright fear for his safety. Still, it did give one pause for thought.

"I don't believe," he eventually replied, "that I have ever met someone quite like you, Liha-whose-idea-of-relaxing-may-be-vastly-different-to-my-own." His expression relaxed into a easier grin and then he turned to survey the array of display cases once again. "Well, that may make choosing from them exceptionally difficult. I'm not even sure I know what half of them do and I still have a very strong compulsion to own them all. They are all unique," he added with thoughtful distraction. "There's something quite beautiful about that."

"Yes," Liha agreed, running an appreciative gaze over the display. "Some people believe everything has an energy around it, a spirit of sorts." The statement was worded so that it might be taken as an observation from her travels and truthfully she had encounter a number of other cultures that held beliefs at least parallel to that part of Romulan mysticism (which she had no intention of discussing with an outsider). It was also neutral as to whether she might have ever subscribed to it in any degree. "Others say things become imbued with it through continual use, or in their crafting. A quaint idea, and honestly one easy to dismiss with most mass produced items. These though..." she ran a hand across a set of slim finely crafted throwing knives, "could almost convince me there is something to it, at least for handcrafting." She lifted a shiny obsidian dark blade. "They are ultimately, simply tools, but they are also beautiful."

Quite astonishingly, the overriding sentiment that dominated the young Risian's expression as she spoke was pride. There was still a healthy dose of admiration mingled in, and an encouraging amount of thoughtfulness, which at least proved he had the ability to hold his tongue and listen, but Lyndon's odd affinity for the planet translated into a sense of satisfaction that someone clearly so knowledgeable and, he wagered, particular, thought so highly of local efforts. It left him not a little eager to develop skills of his own that warranted such esteem, which had been an overriding motivation for leaving Risa in the first place, but for the time being, Lyndon would settle on being pleased for Tomas in his absence. It was quite clear that impressing the Romulan was no easy task.

Moving alongside once again, Lyndon studied the blade Liha had isolated and then peered into the rest of the cabinet. Reaching inside, he took out a weapon of very similar design to the one she held, close enough that they might be considered an intentional pair, and yet there were subtle differences once he held it close enough for a proper comparison. He ran the pad of his thumb over the detailing on the pommel. "It seems almost too beautiful to be destined for bloodshed," he murmured. A very faint twitch of his lips was the only indication of his intentional avoidance of following the observation with a comparison to present company and, instead, he turned the blade to offer it to Liha. "It suits you, though."

An eyebrow once again ascended. Was he attempting to ...flirt? Or was this part of chivalry and minstrel phrasing she'd been told about? His language had been somewhat flowery and stylized since she'd met him, so the latter seemed more reasonable. Besides, if Taev were here, he'd have said something like 'beautiful and deadly, just like you' (which was proper flirting). There was definitely implied flattery though, but was as likely salesmanship; it had not escaped her that he had some prior relationship with the smith so perhaps he got a commission on business he brought into the shop. "It is a nice piece." She took it and balanced it lightly on a finger. Then replaced it and picked up the dark blade and its fellows in a set of throwing knives. "But I these are better weighted, and throwing knives should never be so finely done that you'd hesitate to throw one away."

Bigges may have resigned immediately had he any inclination that Zahn was being accused of representation, if for no other reason than the man's obvious unfamiliarity with most of the weapons on display made him a terrible choice and would have reeked of retail desperation. Was it flirting though? In as much as Risian demeanor always was, perhaps, the perpetually-dangled carrot that never demanded anything but was rarely disappointed to find it had lured a spark of interest. The Romulan may have been more surprised to learn that Lyndon held general interest in her insights, and was considerably more impressed by her knowledge and clear expertise than her appearance.

Though he found very little to complain in that regard, also.

"I did suspect some of this was intended for ornamentation," he agreed, hands once again finding the base of his spine. "Culturally speaking, I've seen very little evidence that Hysperians would engage in close combat outside their pantomime exhibitions, and possible dragon wrangling."

Liha nodded absently, more focused on surveying the other merchandise - she wanted to add some small throwing axes to her personal arsenal and there was a nice variety of options here - but she was listening. The observation struck as very much in keeping with what she'd expected from hearing about Hysperia. Quite a lot here seemed to be costuming, appearances to fit a role. She imagined a certain number of the people open carrying here had little idea how to use the weapons they displayed, and in her experience that meant 90% would never draw except in extremis but the remaining 10% imagined they knew what they were doing, which meant they could easily and randomly become dangers to themselves and others. They were the reasons she wanted a good set of ranged weapons to hand. "Ornamentation seems to be part of the culture," she replied, picking up a nice hurlbat and testing it for balance. "However, these weapons are well-made. For someone with training, they could be quite effective."

"If my understanding is correct," Lyndon remarked, seeming overly well-informed for someone who had only been present for a day and some spare change, "Tomas isn't actually a local." The Risian seemed to pause then as if reconsidering his remark, or at the very least the volume with which he spoke it, and glanced warily towards the main door before proceeding. "Which is to say if course he's a resident but he's not Hysperian-born. Arrived here a few years back and set up business. I suppose it makes sense really," he continued blithely, driving home yet another cultural difference as the other man's origin failed to spark any level of mistrust, "He didn't bat an eyelash at accepting your commission and I wouldn't exactly say that this is the centre of Romulan arms dealing." Another pause. "Or any arms dealing for that matter," Lyndon hurried on in an attempt to adroitly dodge any unintentional slur. "In fact, were it not for the fact that you seem impressed, I would have assumed most of these items were just for display purposes."

It made sense that someone who wanted to work metal the ancient way would set up here. Liha could almost see the appeal - like the people who lived using old ways so they weren't tied to modern convenience and therefore to the state. And it had certainly given Tomas a physique that made him rather attractive despite the lack of pointed ears. "It's good to know he isn't prejudiced toward Romulans, but most are unlikely to make a trip here to buy weapons. We have our own smiths."

"I think he just dislikes everyone equally," came the jovial response, influenced heavily by his own interactions with the blacksmith. It was a distracted observation, however, offered whilst Lyndon was in the process of slowly drawing a sword from its scabbard to admire the intricacy of the carvings that ran along the blade. It was a showy piece, which he took to mean, from the current conversation, that it was probably less functional than a butter knife, but it certainly looked the part. Perhaps it would do as a show prop. He gave it a swish.

"Once you're done," he added suddenly, diverting his gaze to offer an easy smile, "I'll be outside convincing Tomas to let me make a purchase. Otherwise, if you'd prefer to make your own way, just follow the path back around and the signs will point you in the right direction." It was, after all, the only reason he had any idea where he was going. With a dip of his head, and an impish purse of his lips to control the grin that still manage to reflect its mirth in his eyes, the Risian left the Romulan to her contemplations in order to hoodwink an impatient blacksmith.

"Tell him I'll be out to make my purchases." She tossed a brief smile, a rare show of almost mirth. "I may make a short trip back to the ship after that as I suspect some of the festival goers might be alarmed at someone walking about with so many arms."

"As thy lady wishes," came the glib response from the doorway, mere seconds before Lyndon moved beyond the range of even the most proficient marksman's best attempts to lodge a throwing knife into the back of his head.