Day 139 – Jan. 29
Tired hazel eyes watch the trees blur in front of her, the late morning sun glares down on them dully through her old dark brown, round sunglasses. Jasper is sitting in the passenger seat beside her, talking over his shoulder to his father in the backseat. They're all exhausted, they've been travelling in the rover for close to eleven hours now, and it's a strangely draining venture. Poor Max is probably feeling it the worst, the young dog is practically vibrating with the energy that he hasn't been able to run off.
Bringing Ray Jordan along for this job is a risk, but the man was adamant that he would not miss out on anymore of Jasper's life. For the entire time that the man has been awake, the two teens have taken turns trying to teach him bits and pieces of Trigedasleng to help him blend in. It's not taken too well, the car ride is barely long enough to help him pronounce the words right, and it's nowhere near long enough for him to recognise the words and their meanings coming from someone else.
Once they crossed the border a few hours ago, the two best friends changed tactics. Now, they're just trying to make sure that they really drive home the need for Ray to let them do the talking. If Delphi's having an issue with the coalition, they might not welcome more Sky People coming to their land, and the Arker's will need to watch themselves carefully. It's politics; all about maintaining images and perception to keep yourself in good standing with potential allies.
Because the people in this clan aren't used to anyone besides the people from Mount Weather using trucks, the group needs to ditch the rover soon and travel the rest of the way on foot.
"Okay, Dad," Jasper exclaims, twisting his head to glance at the backseat. "From the top."
"We're going to Kranat," Ray lists off with a sigh, "which is the Capitol of Delfikru, but it's not the capitol, capitol."
"Polis is the Coalitions capitol," Myles corrects, flicking her gaze around to glance behind Jasper, "which is also the capitol for Trigeda."
"Right," the man confirms, gesturing with his hand in the corner of her eyes. "And we're going to Delphi to meet with the delegate and leader of their clan, Joli and Falo, because someone stole a precious artefact, and art is a real big thing for them."
"Which will be like looking for a needle in a haystack," Jasper huffs, turning his head to look at the redhead. "There's no way it's anywhere nearby."
"How do you know that?" Ray enquires from his seat across the wall of the rover behind his son.
"Most thieves," the red-haired teen explains, lifting some of her glove-clad fingers off of the steering to gesture halfheartedly, "especially if they're stealing shit from Delphi, will take it somewhere else to sell it. They get a better price for it, that way."
"And it helps them avoid people like us," the brown-haired teen adds, twisting around again, "who come looking for the goods." Looking back through the windscreen, Jasper continues. "Alright, old man. How do you greet them?"
"They're not like the commander," Ray answers, "so we don't have to kneel. Shake their hands, but do so gently and drop your eyes."
"Always bring a gift, Dad," Jasper reminds him, and Myles slows the rover down, locking her car door from the inside. "Anything artsy will do, but glass and mirrors are your best bet."
Myles brings the rover to a complete stop amongst some bushes. The small twigs and branches make an awful high-pitched, scraping sound when they brush against the left side of the vehicle before stopping when the rover does. Sighing heavily, the redhead brings her hands to her face to rub under her sunglasses.
"What was the gift we brought again?" Ray questions as Myles grabs her large shoulder bag and slips between the driver's seat and the passenger's seat to make her way through the back of the rover.
"Something I made a couple months back," Myles supplies vaguely, opening the back door and hopping to the ground, feeling her weapons and their braces shift against her skin. "Come on, Max. Come here. Good boy."
Max jumps down onto the ground beside her, panting happily and immediately breaking off into short bursts of sprints around the rover. Hazel eyes watch him, shaking her head fondly with a kind smile on her face.
"There's a bunch of iron furnaces around Trigeda," Jasper states, grabbing a large backpack that holds their medkits and supplies as he holds a rectangular bag carefully in his arms. Slinging the backpack over his shoulder, the brown-haired teen jumps down from the rover, turning back and waiting for his father to follow them out. "Aggie used one of them two months ago to melt down some weapons and a whole lot of glass."
"So," Ray grunts as his boots hit the ground. "We're gonna give them one?"
"Kinda," Myles shrugs, climbing up onto the pipe they use for sidesteps to pull the leaf and twig woven blanket from the cylindrical bag along the edge of the rovers roof rack. "I made one that had the Delfikru symbol in it."
Jasper shuts and locks the back door before walking to the driver's side of the car to help pull the camouflage blanket that Myles tosses to him down. With the leaf blanket secured, the two teens head north toward Kranat. Ray immediately follows them, glancing around nervously.
"With the symbol, huh?" Ray quizzes anxiously, Myles calls for Max before turning in acknowledgment to the man. "That's some foresight."
"Delphi might not be the place that offers the most for things like that," the red-haired teen elaborates as the calico coloured dog comes sprinting up to them. "But they appreciate it a lot more. Rule number ten; don't work the system when you can work the people. Scout."
The familiar command paired with her tone makes the small dog snap into work mode, shooting forward to check out the land before them. When Max senses the coast is clear, he stops and turns to look back at them, silently checking that they're still following him.
"She was trying to make light bulbs," Jasper reveals, snickering lightly behind his hand in a lacklustre attempt to not laugh.
"Happy accidents," Myles sighs. "We wouldn't have figured out how to cater to specific clans if we didn't fuck up a lot."
"What," the brown-haired man wonders, "like, when trading? What things do they trade for?"
"You can trade for anything," his son tells him, calming down and glancing at them both, "food, clothes, shelter, medicine, kapla."
"Kapla?" Ray repeats, a puzzled expression taking over his square-shaped face.
"Kinda like working credits," Myles offers, shrugging with one shoulder. "Little pieces of gold, silver and copper that's melted down and squashed into chunks. Not everyone has them to trade at trading posts or markets, but there's usually a depository in the capitol that gives you kapla in trade for something expensive."
"It's mostly for the rich and shameless," Jasper dismisses, "the commanders and political figures of the world. We give all ours to Arkadia."
Ray's brown eyebrows get stuck together in thought, "but you keep things to trade?"
"Right here," Myles announces airily, tapping a mindless tune on her large shoulder bag that's full of junk. "It's our rainy day fund."
"Dad," Jasper calls after a stretch of silence, his brown eyes flicking between the nearing city and his father. "Have you got your ear in?"
"Uh," Ray drawls out, pulling the earpiece that's connected to his own walkie-talkie up under his shirt and through his collar. "I thought you said we're sticking together?"
"We are," Myles confirms, watching as the man sticks it in his ear and switches it on while she pulls up the hood of her dark grey, poncho-style coat.
Max sticks to Jasper's heel, looking up at the brown-haired teen when he adds, "rule number three; never be unreachable."
"God," the man smirks halfheartedly, "you two sure do have a lot of rules."
"Oh," the redhead chuckles, meeting the man's kind eyes, "only about a hundred of them."
"More like two-hundred," her best friend corrects, "all of the rule numbers have at least two different actual rules."
"You guys were always into your codes," Ray reminisces, and the soft look that covers over his nervous expression is like stepping into a time machine.
Memories of the three best friends locked away in the Jordan's compartment in Argo Station and laughing until their sides hurt. Flickers of them crammed into a desk in Orchid's library, sharing ration packs while they read books. The feeling of the uncomfortable 200-year-old mattress under their backs as they all lay squashed together on Monty's bed to tell exaggerated stories to each other. Sneaking into each other's compartments at night when they were lonely, scared, anxious or just bored to talk nonsense to each other until the sleep cycle was over.
It's kind and pure, everything that was good about her childhood brought back to life in one small smile. The images of Monty flashing through her mind and the flutters of his touches squeezes at her aching heart. Those three kids are gone, grown up and thrust into a world that's left them barely a shadow of the kids they used to be. Guilt trickles through her veins, giving her blood an icy sensation in the chilly winter air.
Myles' distracted mind is brought back to the present by Ray's amazed puff of air, and the redhead can't help the smile that stretches across her face. It's a drastic change from anything he's have seen in Trigeda or Azgeda. Past the tranquil woods is a large, bustling village. People chatter away happily, roaming the pathways as kids laugh and play among themselves, rushing around the adults.
Handmade structures are made of the mishmash of scavenged parts from the old world mixed in with lumber, stone and clay, but it makes Trigeda look bland in comparison. Everything is decorated or carefully sculpted, slathered delicately in paint made from wheat and water, with the pigment coming from fruits, vegetables and spices. Reflective mirrors and glass are scattered amongst the houses and village structures, with most being in pieces or crushed up to make something new and dramatic.
Instead of tattoos or identifying scars, most of Delfikru only have face paint, something that they can change from day-to-day to showcase their artistic abilities. Their clothes are fancy, and it's evident just by looking at them that they consider what they wear as its own art form. Patchwork clothes are dyed and seamless, keeping the colour and texture rich and vibrant instead of haggard and worn. Braids in their hair hold fabric scraps, beads and other objects as a form of jewellery, and light coloured natural hair has berries mashed into them to give it a splash of an unnatural colour.
"It's a whole society," Ray marvels, his steps slowing down while his eyes switch between all the people working away and living happy lives.
"This is just the outskirts of Kranat," Jasper informs him lightheartedly, a bright smile across his features. "Just you wait, Pops."
Eyes turn to them as they walk up to the stone path and walk down the randomly sized and cut flat rocks, heading north-west towards the Capitol. Their curious gazes aren't harsh, but kind and welcoming, lifting their hands to wave with a small, polite smile or merely nodding their heads in greeting. Jasper and Myles instantly return their gestures, and Ray quickly follows suit, his smile growing wider in astonishment. Myles isn't worried about hiding her face yet, the villagers aren't a huge concern as most of the bounty hunters that will have a sketch of her on hand will be in the Capitol.
Most of the people who travel to Delphi do so for the art, and it's what puts food on the dinner table for the people who live here. The few who don't come to buy, come to sell their junk, knowing that they'll get the best prices for things that an artistic eye can see potential in. This system makes Delphi one of the best places to travel to for an Arker, as most of the citizens are more interested in their art and what someone from space could offer them.
Kids rush past them, chasing each other carelessly down the winding paths and Ray slows to keep out of their way. It's the complete opposite of everything that the brown-haired man has seen of the grounders so far. These people aren't warriors; they're fathers, mothers, and children, they're artists, farmers and builders.
They're almost half-way through the village when it hits their ears. Music. Soft and warm repetitive strumming coming from further up the trail they walk down. It's a calming sound in the lively village, cutting through the sounds of light chatter, household tasks and the sharp dings of tools and weapons being bashed. The world continues down the branching path, following the line of creatively made and decorated huts.
Ray's head twists and turns, trying to take in everything around him with a look of boyish curiosity on his face. After a few minutes of walking, the village blooms, branching out into noisy city life. Horse's trot along, towing carts carrying working people and barrels through the tightly packed markets. People rush around with determined steps, weaving among crowds of people.
Men and women sit on the pebbled ground in front of a hut that trades in pots and cooking utensils, strumming a teardrop-shaped guitar, banging on small wooden drum barrels and shaking a plate with metal rings on it. Even their instruments are decorated, fashioned with intricate drawings, carvings and paintings behind the strips of fabric dangling off of them. Their mouths are moving, but Myles can't hear them singing over the noisy chatter of trades and easy conversations happening around them.
The next sense that's brought to life is their smell. Freshly baked bread and pies wafts to them, and Ray instantly shifts to follow the scent. Amused hazel eyes lock on Jasper's gleeful brown, letting the man go and following after him, as if they had all the time in the world. It's important that they let him experience this, it's important to show him there's more to grounders than war. These are human beings with families and jobs, only trying to make it to the next day intact, just like them.
Their noses lead them to a small hut, made primarily from differently sized chipped bricks and whole hand-sculpted clay bricks. Across the jumbled blend of different aged and sized bricks is a beautiful golden painting of wheat in a field of crops, the texture making them look realistic. The sun sits almost at the top of the vertical wall, shining a warm glow over the field as large flowers shoot up in random parts. Chopped and stripped wood logs line the front entrance of the hut, and a short elderly woman carefully sets up new plates of small bits of baked goods to sample on a table out front.
Faint singing can now be heard over the lively buzz of the Capitol as they quickly approach the small bakery, and Myles can pick out a few words. It's a song that revolves around the death rites of Delfikru. Arker's have their 'may we meet again' poem, Trikru have 'your fight is over' and the other clan's have their own sayings that resemble their different cultures and beliefs. For Delphi, theirs loosely translates to 'with the blinding colours we came, we leave in screaming colours.' Some villages, typically in the far north of the clans land, change the first 'kola', for colours, to the word 'houpgeda', for rainbow.
Both teens sense that Ray might completely abandon the idea of letting them do the talking, and they both jog up to stick close to his side. Max keeps up with them, happily sticking to Jasper's heel and sniffing as many things as he can, revelling in the few pats he gets from passerby's. The bright look on Jasper's dad's face is almost comical, a ravenous desire in his rapidly scanning eyes that flit over the table of treats. They're all hungry, having spent all night and most of the morning driving, none of them have had anything to eat since their early breakfast.
As if sensing the three hungry Arker's, the woman looks up at them and brightens, watching them beeline for her table.
"Hei!" The cheery elderly woman calls when they get up to the table, her voice wobbling with her hands. "Chit na ai hon yu goufa in?" [AN: "Hello! What can I get you kids?"]
Ray's persistent steps falter slightly when she speaks, and it lets Myles know that he's switched back on from his momentary lapse in resolve. His near ecstatic expression never once wavers, though, and the redhead expects to see both him and his son start drooling any second now.
"Chit yu don hon in disha ku sonop?" Myles answers, a kind smile on her face as she lifts her sunglasses to rest on top of her head. [AN: "What have you got this fine morning?"]
"Ou, osir don hon flufi tous in – " as she speaks, the kind woman gestures to the wooden plates with small portions of food spread out on the table. "Osir jos odon bida meizen shoga. Bomas switous, trigiva en steiks krusa, mel biki op." [AN: "Oh, we've got soft bread – we just finished some beautiful sweet foods. Fancy cakes, fruit and meat pies, melting biscuits."]
"Chit na osir tran kom disha op?" Jasper asks, his face alight with happiness as he watches his father. [AN: "What of this can we try?"]
"Em nowe don tran disha op kaina dina," the red-haired teen explains, gesturing to Ray, and the woman's face blanches. "Chit na bilaik won os stoda?" [AN: "He's never tried this kind of food. What would be a good start?"]
"Ai gada in jos diyo-de," the elderly woman eagerly insists, bending down to pick up another tray from the crate by her feet behind the table. [AN: "I have just the thing."]
The wooden tray she sets on the table has a couple different small, unevenly shaped scones, and her shaky hands grab one of the clean knives that are nestled between the scones. She cuts two up in skinny slivers, revealing one to have the deep blue, almost purple, streaks of blueberries in it, and rich, dark pink in the other from raspberries. Her knife only touches the blueberry scone, until she has the slivers she wants, before switching to the other knife to use on the raspberry one, never once using a knife that had touched something different.
"Tran disha op," the kind lady offers Ray in a wobbly voice, placing one slice of each small scone on a plate and handing it to the man. "Dison laik fustous." [AN: "Try this. These are scones."]
Ray immediately accepts the plate with a wide smile, and his greedy hand picks up the slice with blueberries. Myles, Jasper, and the woman's eyes watch as the man lifts the piece to his hungry mouth with bated breaths. His expression falls with pure bliss, a hearty moan escaping his lips at the taste, earning a shocked laugh from the teens.
"Meizen?" Jasper enquires jokingly when his father turns to him with wonder-struck eyes. [AN: "Beautiful?"]
"Meizen," Ray confirms wholeheartedly, taking another bite and letting out a noise of pleasure. "Oh, meizen." [AN: "beautiful. Oh, beautiful."]
"Na osir hon in won kom daunde ogeda, en…" the brown-haired teen drawls out the last word as he thinks. "Won strik trigiva krusa?" [AN: "Can we get one of each of those, and… A small fruit pie?"]
"En won strik steiks krusa, beja," Myles adds, pulling out a small bag made of thin fabric from the bag slung over her shoulder. [AN: "and a small meat pie, please."]
Shaking out the crumpled fabric bag to straighten it, the redhead hands it to the woman. In the corner of her eyes, two men decked out in armour and weapons walk into view, and Myles instinctively ducks her head so they can only see her hood. They only look like warriors, but it's impossible to tell from her quick glimpse at them if they carry sketches of people with bounties. Jasper's eyes catch her subtle movement, and his eyes flick to her right to watch the men walk past. When the coast is clear, her best friends brown eyes find hers again.
"Ha yo na kof op?" The woman enquires politely, and Myles pulls her shoulder bag to her abdomen to rifle through it. [AN: "How are you going to pay?"]
"Ai gada in bida ayon," the redhead answers, pulling out a handful of small, cleaned gears and round washers from the inside of a car's engine, roughly an inch in diameter each. "Disha pleni?" [AN: "I have some metal. This enough?"]
"Sha," the kind woman smiles brightly, holding out her hand for the metal and passing the bag of food to the red-haired teen. "Chof, goufa. Gada in won os sintaim." [AN: "Yes. Thanks, kids. Have a good day."]
"Yu, seintaim," Myles replies, smiling and beginning to turn away. "Mochof." [AN: "you, too. Thank you."]
Jasper echoes her gratitude and Ray follows suit when he realises it's what he's supposed to be saying. The busy Capitol keeps moving around them, busy chatter of sellers and buyers alike, trying to get what they need. Hazel eyes sweep around for a spot they can sit and eat as her distracted feet keep her shuffling forward, before Jasper steers her and Ray toward some trees by the tree line.
"We'll eat here," Jasper informs them in a low tone once they pass behind the markets, sitting down on the grass under the shade of a tree. "Then go to the capitol building."
"This place is amazing," Ray breathes out in fascination, his wide eyes continuously scanning their surroundings as he lowers himself to the ground.
Myles plops down heavily beside her best friend, crossing her skinny legs on the way down and lifting her shoulder bag and the bag with the food so they don't hit the dirt. It's quieter over here, but the buzz of the capitol can still be heard and seen from their spot, giving them some privacy from the busy life of the citizens.
Everything here is the vague shadows of what the world was like 200 years ago, before the bombs. Pictures in books show a clean and crisp society with everything refined from hundreds of thousands of years worth of experience and knowledge. Here, however, is a cheap emulation of what it once was. They've taken several hundred steps back, and they've lost the way to society's peak performance. Earth doesn't look like it was before the war in the pictures or books they had on the Ark, but a twisted blend of the illustrations of what life was like from the medieval period to the 16th century.
Pulling out the food, the red-haired teen hands the scones to Ray before passing Jasper his small fruit pie and clutching her own. Pulling a knife from her waistband, Myles peels the breadcrumb crust off of the top of her pie. Her hazel eyes jump to Max, his wide eyes watching the three eat with a droopy and sad face. Pursing her lips, the redhead makes a short kissing sound to get the small calico dog to come to her. Resting the meat pie on the ground, Max immediately starts devouring it.
"Mm," Ray grunts in satisfaction, and Myles chuckles, flicking her hazel eyes to lock on Jasper's equally amused brown. Lifting the breadcrumb crust and taking a bite, the redhead shakes her head with a smile while the man continues. "This is the most amazing thing I've ever tasted."
"It's a scone, Dad," Jasper tells him around a mouthful of his pie, "not a rainbow."
"A scone, huh?" Ray repeats, looking at the baked good between bites and turning them over in his hands in appreciation. "Sure beats ration packs and charred meat."
"It's probably denser than they would've been," Myles amends after a moment, tearing off a piece of the breadcrumb crust in her hand and eating it. "Without the technology they used to have, it's the closest you'll get to it."
"How come they haven't been able to rebuild it?" Ray asks, his admiring gaze taking on a more curious, scrutinising look as they pass over the surrounding structures. "They built on top of the ruins of a city, using old materials and putting them together, why couldn't they remake bakeries? Or cars?"
"They forgot it," the redhead supplies while her best friend continues eating, "after the bombs, the few that were able to survive in bunkers probably couldn't use much of whatever was left, anyway. They lived in a world where everything was machine and technology centred – how they got their food, how they cooked their food, how they got their water, how they communicated, traveled."
"Then it was all gone," Jasper finishes with food in his mouth, snapping his fingers and getting Max's attention. Max quickly walks over to him and Jasper scratches at his head. "Just like that, in the blink of an eye."
"Farmers had machines to do most of their work," Myles elaborates when Ray merely looks off in thought. "The everyday person just went to a place like this to get what they needed for food, or clothes – some even had it delivered straight to their doorstep without ever having to lift a finger or talk to anyone. Back then, most people didn't have to do anything, they just had everything handed to them. Water was cleaned by a machine and plumbed straight to their houses, so hardly anyone ever had to go and get it."
"They had time to teach kids math," the red-haired teen continues, "and science and everything else we learnt in school. But after the war, there were no machines anymore to do the work. No technology. Teaching their kids math and science was a waste of time, they couldn't do anything with that, what they needed to survive right then were hunters and gatherers. All of a sudden, a couple generations go past, and no one knows what a car even looks like anymore, let alone how they run. They don't remember recipes, or how to get to the finished products, just vague, handed-down memories of pictures."
"Some fall from grace, huh?" Jasper murmurs, looking at the markets and the people buzzing around them with a distant expression.
"I don't know," Ray counters, brushing his hands together. "This seems pretty graceful to me."
"Yeah, well," the brown-haired teen huffs lightheartedly, wiping his hands on his pants and standing up. "We told you the grounders aren't a problem. They're more scared of us than we should be of them."
"Let's get to work," Myles announces, standing up beside Jasper and brushing herself off. Placing her knife back into its clip on her belt and pulling down her sunglasses. "Kranat's capitol building is just over there."
Max's fluffy fur rubs against Myles' left pant-leg when the group sticks close together as they enter the town centre again. Ray lags a second behind the two teens, trying to follow their lead without winding himself up into a situation where he needs their help. They don't need to travel far down the rocky and mismatched brick path to reach their destination.
The building is within sight now, and it's the stark opposite of Polis. Unlike the commanders tower that has easily 40 different floors, this capitol building is reserved and modest, only being one storey tall. Some of the building is in ruins, the rubble of it collapsed on the far side stretches for a hundred metres with crudely constructed walls made of jagged stone and concrete rubble.
What the building lost in the bombs is only a quarter of the size of the underground bunker that survived underneath of it. Rumours circulated years ago that the cement ceiling had splintered and started to cave in, which is why three sections are completely blocked off and guarded. It's never been confirmed, and shortly after they had started spreading, new speculations about what the ambassadors have hidden in there sprouted out. The inside of those rooms varies depending on who you talk to, but Myles is pretty sure it's simply the most expensive things that they own.
Faded blue strips stutter along the rusted yellow bars that appear in chunks on the old, chipped white walls of the building. Most of the white block letters in the blue vertical stripes are completely gone, leaving only the letters that the capitols name derives from readable, 'KRA N A T.' A large gap follows the last letter, implying that there was once more to the name, but it's been lost with age and damage from the bombs.
As they near the front of the wide and long building, the entrances tall, crumbly, dirty white columns come into view. It's almost twice as high as the rest of the building, standing tall in all its glory. White bars line around the rickety old door that isn't even on its hinges anymore, the empty frames making up the walls. The room juts out of the building, giving the illusion that it's some grandiose gesture just to enter the structure.
When they walk through the open door, the two warriors blocking the entrance to continue into the building straighten and turn to them. Myles pulls down her hood and lifts her sunglasses off of her face to rest on her head again, and the group slows to a stop in front of the men. Much like everyone else from Delphi they've seen, these men wear delicately crafted armour and clothes that they clearly take pride in wearing, based on how well taken care of they appear to be. Their faces have almost identical face paint in the design of red and black arrows, both strictly on the left hand side of their face. Simple, brightly coloured woven fabrics and handmade metal charms from wires and other small scraps are braided into their long hair, attached to their clothes and line their weapons, making light clinking melodies when they shift.
"Hei," Myles greets respectfully, "osir na hon won telon op kom yo bandrona, beja." [AN: "Hello, we would like a word with your ambassadors, please."]
"Chon bilaik as op?" One of the men asks, their eyes scrutinising the three of them and Max. [AN: "Who is asking?"]
"Jaspa en Maiyls kom Trikru," Jasper answers honestly, and the men pointedly look at Ray, "and my dad." [AN: "Jasper and Myles of the Woods Clan."]
"Won tika," the other man replies after a moment, and the two best friends look to each other as he turns to go through the gap in the wall that he guards. [AN: "One moment."]
It's silent, and Myles' hazel eyes roam the room they're in. This isn't the first time she and Jasper have been here, but it's the first time they've come in to work, and not just out of respect. The floor they stand on is a step down from the ground outside and the floor in the next room, leaving them standing on only loose, rubbly concrete and gravel. Whatever was once over the coarse dirt they stand on has been ripped up, torn from the ground and the walls.
They aren't waiting more than a few awkward minutes before an old, worn door creaks in the distance and their heads turn to the disturbance. Blonde hair, slightly longer than Myles', is the first glimpse of the delegate that the redhead can see, and her posture instantly relaxes slightly. A familiar face is always welcome.
"Bandona Joli," Myles greets straight away, stepping forward slightly to offer the woman her hand to shake softly. Lowering her eyes respectfully, "mochof gon ste sis taim op gon chichplei kom osir." [AN: "Ambassador Joli. Thank you for taking the time to speak with us."]
"Otaim won komfi," the blonde-haired woman forces a smile, letting go of Myles' hand to shake Jasper's. [AN: "Always a pleasure."]
"Ambassador Joli," Jasper greets in English. "I would like you to meet my father, Ray, he's come a long way to help out."
Ray gently clasps the woman's hand that's stretched out to him, tipping his head and ducking down in a halfhearted bow of respect. A guarded smirk lifts the corner of Joli's mouth at the man, her expression seeming more genuine and relaxed for the first time since she walked through the door.
"Good to meet you, Ray of the Sky People," Joli announces, before letting go of his hand. Her tired blue eyes cast over the three Arker's, "but I fear you have travelled for no reason."
"Have we?" Myles counters politely, and the woman tilts her chin up in question. "We hear a thief has stolen from the Capitol."
"Your ears do not deceive you," the female ambassador confirms vaguely, her straight and stiff posture never once wavering. "We have already given our best and most loyal warriors the order to find the presh glass that was taken and it's thief." [AN: Presh = "Precious"/"Sacred"]
"We're here to offer the same thing," Jasper insists, gently reaching into his bag and pulling out the glass sculpture that Myles had made months ago when messing around with glassblowing.
It's a simple design; a clear glass block with a large sphere bubble in the centre, the slightly lopsided edges giving it the illusion of being a thick glass cup. Black and red, the colours of the Delfikru symbol, swirl around the bottom of the thin rectangular block. A happy accident that somehow gave the item a more free and happy feel. The colours had ran when Myles tried to figure out how to draw the Delphi symbol in the centre of the sphere without cracking the melted glass, but it's poetic and fits right into the beautiful culture of the clan perfectly. Rich black circles around the glass sphere, with the black ink dripping into straight vertical arrows that point to the centre of the bubble. Bright red arrows poke from the sides of the circle, pointing to the centre, but none of the arrows touch.
There are no little air bubbles or small cracks that the redhead had feared making, the handheld item is the first somewhat successful multicoloured glass sculpture Myles had been able to make. When the colour began to bleed and flow in streaks around the sphere, Myles had wanted to stop right there and throw it out. She didn't, though, instead she decided to use the already 'ruined' product and practice on it without the fear of fucking it up. It was a split-second decision, one that had to be made while the glass was still liquid, and she's still surprised that it had actually worked in her favour.
Joli and the two warriors behind her light up in awe at the sculpture that Jasper carefully lifts from its paper and cloth wrappings in his bag, his fingers trying desperately not to mark up anywhere but the sides of it. The ambassador reaches out her hands haltingly, seemingly mesmerised by the glass sculpture.
"And we hope that you will take this symbol of our loyalty," Jasper continues, nodding to Myles with his head, "that Myles has made for your clan."
"En's sou meizen," Joli praises breathily, holding it in her hands with great care. [AN: "It is beautiful."]
"If you think that's beautiful," Myles suggests kindly with a happy smile on her face, glad to see someone can see the beauty in her mistakes. "Hold it in the sunlight and look at its shadow."
Joli's wide blue eyes are ablaze with excitement when they fleetingly glance at Myles, before she ducks down slowly and gently to let the glass catch some of the sunlight that the midday sun belts down. The sunlight that shines through the empty frames that make up the walls hits their boots and the ground they stand on at an awkward angle, but it still works wonders. Under the bright winter sun's path, the coloured glass shines bright and strong colours onto the rubble that they stand on.
Delfikru's symbol gets projected from the glass, and as Joli stands slowly, she keeps the glass in the sunlight and the image gets bigger the further she holds the glass. The vibrant red and strong black gradually fading in intensity, but not by much, the colours still distinct and prominent. Her two warriors watch with amazed expressions, and Jasper and Myles share a look of victory.
"Kiran," Joli breathes out after a moment, "Kiran will organise a room for you and we will talk about the stolen gotstrecha glass. Come."
"… ai don sin em in gontaim," a man's voice states, and Myles presses the cool rectangular device the voice comes from to her face. [AN: "… I saw her later."]
"Okay," Ray concludes, leaning forward with his hands on the decoratively carved wooden table in front of them as Myles' voice echoes the Delfikru warriors statement. "Then they broke in at night."
"Sha," the warrior's voice from hours ago confirms, "em don bilaik em. Em don ste bants." [AN: "Yes, it was her. She was leaving."]
"No," Myles shakes her head distractedly, her hazel eyes scanning over the papers laying over the table, clicking one of the square buttons down the side of the voice recorder to stop it playing. Max is asleep under the table, huffing and twitching as he dreams. "They guard the doors at night."
"Let's go through the facts again," Jasper declares, glancing at his red-haired best friend across from him.
"Six days ago," the redhead huffs out, moving the hand pressing the recorder to her face away to gesture halfheartedly at the book on the table that has her sketch of the artefact, feeling her elbow twist in the palm of her other hand. "An old artefact from before the war was stolen from in front of the kitchen on the main floor across from the main entrance, just up and across from here. It's a sea-lion effigy, made of dark brown ceramics to hold water and with a circular spout on its back."
"They move it around," her best friend adds, "keeping it wherever important guests or the ambassadors are. Which is why it was in front of the kitchen, Falo was having an early dinner with jewel sellers from Blue Cliff."
"Two warriors guard the front and back doors at all times," Myles finishes, "one guard for the effigy when it's not locked away, two follow the ambassadors closely, and Blue Cliff had their own guards. New warriors rotating in every four hours."
"Then it happened during a rotation," Ray suggests, shrugging and looking at the two teens as if it were that simple.
"The guards stay at their posts until they're relieved," Jasper refutes, his brown eyebrows drawn together in thought. "It's designed so that there shouldn't be any reason anything is left unguarded."
"But the effigy was," his father counters. "If they're willing to slip on the sea-lion, why wouldn't they for the door?"
Myles clicks a different button on her recorder, holding it up for the other two to hear clearly.
"Chomouda yu don bants yun geda?" Myles had asked, and the redhead translates for Ray. "'Why did you leave your post?'"
"Ai don gaf kalik op," the warrior had answered simply, "ai nou don gon we gon mou kom bida tika. Non don kamp raun der, you."
"'I had to pee'," the redhead translates, her voice talking over the recorded words she knows are coming. "'I wasn't gone for more than a few moments. No one was even there'." Clicking the button again to stop it, her hazel eyes stay stuck on their hastily scribbled map of the building. "He left his post not long after the afternoon sun started to pass down the entryway walls. He was back before anyone else passed the front guards, and he didn't see anything coming back through the back door."
"Could it have been an inside job?" Jasper enquires, and red eyebrows twitch together in thought.
"If it were," Myles starts slowly, turning the idea around in her head. "It couldn't have been any of the Ouskejonkru, they never left the kitchen and banquet hall."
"So it was the guards," Ray decides, sitting down in a seat and running a hand over his face tiredly.
"Sure," the brown-haired teen hypothesises, leaning forward to rest one of his hips against the wooden table. "But who was their buyer?"
"Buyer?" Ray repeats. "What makes you think that?"
"It's the only logical reason why the guards would steal it," Myles explains, "or cover up for whoever did, and why they still haven't found it when the guards belongings were the first searched. Some fluke, though. None of these guards have ever worked in overlapping shifts before. It's a whole new crew."
"Could be a long con," Jasper tosses out, his brown eyebrows shifting up in thought. "The buyers could've approached them separately."
"And they all got a shift together by chance?" Myles questions, already ruling the option out.
"Maybe it was orchestrated by one of the Blue Cliff people," Ray adds, "get the guards in on it so they can have an alibi."
Red eyebrows remain stuck together as her mind whirs over the details and tries to fit them in with what she knows from her thieving days. Jasper replies to his dad with something about doors, but the red-haired teen is too distracted playing through scenarios in her head.
"Aggie," Jasper calls to her, earning him a distracted hum in response as hazel eyes dance up to him fleetingly. "If it was you, what door would you have gone through?"
"Both," Myles answers without hesitating, causing both father and son to guffaw in confusion.
"Everyone that went in," her best friend states slowly, "went out the same way they entered."
"I would go through both," the redhead repeats, elaborating more as she goes. "Long before the heist, I'd make plans far, far away to avoid suspicion and so I can have a reason to be long gone before they even notice it's missing. I'd time it for an important deal that has everyone distracted, go through the front door first to case out the inside and make sure I knew where the effigy was. Leave when the front is empty, then go through the back door straight away so the doormen aren't clued in. That way, if anyone recognises me on the inside, it'll look like I never left. From there it's simple slight of hand. Rig something to make a noise so it distracts the effigy's guard, and poof."
To make her point, the redhead lifts her hand but pauses blankly in her motion as her thoughts scream at her. Pressing the button on the device in her hand to play the tape of the effigy's guard the day it was stolen explaining where he went, she holds the button under it down to fast forward it a little. A quiet, high-pitched whirring sound comes from the box in her hand, before her finger lifts and the guard's voice fills the room.
"… sonau deimeika don nou step au," the man's recorded voice repeats, "fou ai don kom daun."
"The afternoon sun hadn't moved," Jasper translates when Myles hesitates, "before I returned."
Distractedly, the redhead presses the button to hold down the rewind button, letting go after a short second. The guard repeats his statement, and once his sentence finishes, the red-haired teen rewinds it again to keep the words playing on a loop.
"The afternoon sun hadn't moved," Myles reiterates, staring at Jasper with wide eyes. "He was guarding the effigy in front of the kitchen. The afternoon sun hadn't moved from the main entrance."
Jasper's face stays empty and confused for a beat more before realisation dawns on him, "the kitchen and main entrance face east."
"The sun sets in the west," Ray catches on, his face clouding over with barely contained victory. "Why is he seeing the sun set in the east?"
Myles is already darting for the guest room's door as the words flow from her best friends dad's mouth. Slipping out of the makeshift door and rounding a corner to reach the staircase quickly with her urgent pace. Jasper, Ray and a groggy Max are right behind her, following the red-haired teens determined stride that scales the old steps two at a time and weave around the three Capitol workers that they pass. It's not until their boots hit the old museums damaged, rotting wooden floor that they turn again.
Spinning to march down the wide and open hallways, the group dodges a handful of other people as they head towards the entrance. Instead of continuing forward to the empty glass framework, Myles walks along the wall opposite of it until she reaches the door to the kitchen and dining hall. Coming to a stop in front of the door, hazel eyes turn to the entranceway and scan the rusted bars. There's one lining the very bottom of the wall, and another one every metre above it.
Surely, if someone had planted something reflective, they would've done it on the second lowest row near the door to avoid any suspicion that might arise at the sight of someone ducking down to the floor or reaching up another metre. Hazel eyes flick to the east wall, but no reflecting light shines in the dull early evening sky. Sauntering between the two guards and through the open wall that leads to the entrance, Myles beelines for the right hand side, beside the front door.
"It'll be along this bar somewhere," Myles mutters to the father and son duo behind her, running her hand along the rusted white bar and leaning over to peer into the empty holder pane.
Glass once made up the entirety of the walls in the entryway, but after the bombs, whatever shattered glass remained became a household decoration and is nowhere in sight. Ray and Jasper mimic her actions, checking the framework for anything that could make the effigy's guard think that the sun was setting over there or that would cause a diversion.
"Myles," Falo greets from behind them, his voice tinged with inquisition, "Jasper, Ray. We have made our people aware that an attack against you is an attack against us, but we fear your bounty puts you at risk. You should stay inside."
"I appreciate your concern, ambassador," the redhead replies, not turning around to face the man. "We're just loo – "
"Aggie," Jasper calls, cutting her off and causing her hazel eyes to search out his brown, "found it."
Myles abandons her spot in favour of Jasper's mere inches from the front door. Her eyes don't see it until she's close to it, the narrow shard disappearing entirely into the pane holder. It's a thin metallic shard, lying flat on the bottom of the shallow holder.
"Found what?" Falo enquires, stepping forward curiously to peer over their shoulders.
The red-haired teens pale and slender fingers carefully prop it up to stand up straight along the frame, instead of lying flat and hidden inside of it.
"What distracted your warrior," Myles explains, pulling a small flashlight from her belt and lifting it up high to make the light reflect off of the shard. Sure enough, bright white light glares into their eyes from the shard, demonstrating her point. "This was put here by the thief, so the sun would shine in the eyes of the warrior to distract him while they took the gotstrecha, but they got lucky. All it did was give him an excuse to go for a bathroom break."
"How'd it fall?" Ray asks when Myles lowers her flashlight and tucks it away again. "It wasn't standing like that before."
Jasper grips the decaying main door that has no hinges and shifts it, the door letting out loud, deep shrieks as the bottom of the heavy wood scrapes across the floor. The hinges have fallen apart on the doorframe until there's nothing left to secure it to the door, meaning anyone who wanted to open or shut it would have to lift it or drag it across the ground. Shifting the door makes the frame shake ever so slightly, and the fragment of shiny metal falls flat.
"It fell," Myles announces to Jasper, who immediately opens the door again.
"It's been six days," her best friend declares, "even if it didn't fall from the door shutting and opening, that's a lot of people coming in and out. It wouldn't have taken much for it to fall."
"Are you saying," Falo questions slowly, his tan skin tightening as his brown eyebrows draw in thought, "there was only one thief?"
"One thief with a knack for oddly impeccable and totally unrealistic coincidences," Jasper confirms, and Myles' hazel eyes sweep up to look between him and his dad.
"Looks like we're going to Ouskejon," the redhead proclaims, slipping around the ambassador to walk between the guards and towards their room.
"Hod op," Falo orders as he stops her with a hand on her arm. "Everyone of the Ouskejonkru that came to us stayed with us. We were all in the dining hall, no one left." [AN: "Wait."]
"How often is it that everyone of importance," Myles starts, lifting a red eyebrow in question and tilting her head towards the kitchen door, "is in that room having a meal, with the gotstrecha by that door?"
Falo hesitates before answering, "very rarely."
"The thief was tipped off," Jasper realises, and his words make Falo drop his hold on Myles' arm.
Hazel eyes stare through her dark brown tinted sunglasses out of the rover's passenger window, watching the bright shades of green blur under the golden ray's of the morning sun. Slender glove-clad fingers shift distractedly over the cool metal of the rectangular voice recorder in her left hand, feeling the buttons that poke out of the small device. In Myles' lap is her and Jasper's main guide to everything Earth, opened to the map of Blue Cliff territory with the torn out piece of paper that has the sea-lion effigy sketched onto it lying over the top of it.
Ray sits on one of the backseats that runs along the rovers walls, his brown eyes greedily taking in the world around them. Max is lying on the floor in front of him, stretched out and twitching as a vibrant dream plays out. Out of the corner of her hazel eyes, Myles can see Jasper tap the steering wheel absentmindedly with his thumbs, matching the beat playing through the radio from Maya's iPod. It's a catchy tune, the same repetitive notes being played and overlapped with various different instruments and memorable lyrics.
The song is a calmer rendition of a rock song, giving it an easy and caring tone as the man sings about his heartbreak. They've heard the song from the dead girls device before, the familiar words and beat ricocheting around in the distracted redheads mind without permission. Joining the mass of green that's blurring in the distance is part of an old blue sign that's still standing; only the letters 'b' and two 'a's remain readable under a jagged outline of the bottom half of Rock Line's territory. At the same time as the clan's territory marker registers in Myles' brain, a lyric coming through the radio gets her attention.
"… and tonight I lay here losing my mind," the man sings hoarsely, "trying to take back all our wasted time, I can't help myself from askin', 'what more of me have you stolen?'"
It clicks together in her mind, connecting lines between the questions that they know the answers to and those that they don't.
"JJ, stop the rover," Myles calls out, reaching forward for the iPod to stop the music.
"What?" Jasper immediately questions, whipping his head to the side to look at her and hitting the brakes to slow them down to a stop. "What's wrong?"
"The effigy isn't in Blue Cliff," the red-haired teen states with conviction, her knowing gaze locked on her best friends concerned eyes.
"What?" Jasper repeats, his brown eyebrows furrowing further as the concerned expression starts to lift from his face.
"Why not?" Ray asks, leaning forward to bring his head between the two front seats.
"It was stolen six days ago," Myles deadpans, but neither of the other two catch on. "What else was stolen?"
"Nothing," the brown-haired teen answers, starting to shrug before dropping it halfway through and looking off to the side. Gears turn in his mind, trying to connect the same dots that his best friend did. A lightbulb flashes on in his mind and Jasper whips his head to look at Myles with wide brown eyes. "They didn't take anything else."
"Okay," Ray starts, "why wouldn't they take anything else?"
"Because it was a hit," Myles supplies, her voice overlapping with Jasper's as he says, 'it was a hit'.
"Why would anyone in Blue Cliff order a hit on the gotstrecha?" Jasper enquires, his voice rushed. "They're Delphi's biggest jewel suppliers, they don't need an effigy."
"No," the redhead agrees, "they don't need it, but they know who will buy it."
While Myles speaks, she lifts her hand to point at the territory marker sign. Jasper and Ray follow her gesture, and the former straightens, his whole body sagging.
"I don't get it," the brown-haired man interjects when his son puts the rover in gear and starts to move forward again, flicking the steering wheel to enter the clan's territory instead of going around it to get to Blue Cliff. "What's that mean?"
"That's the marker for Rock Line territory," Jasper explains, "Boudalankru land. One of the homes to Leygeda, the biggest festival of markets that we've ever seen."
"Conveniently," Myles adds sarcastically, rolling her head against the car seat to glance at Ray. "Leygeda is being held here in two days. I don't know about you, Uncle Ray, but that is a very tempting coincidence."
Even in the dry winter weather, the stunning and captivating wild, rocky mountains, and ridges can be seen through the leaf-less trees. Soft streaks of white appear scarcely over the land as the thin coat of snow that's sticking around for the last few weeks of winter starts to wear away completely. It's no wonder why the people here value stones, rocks and jewels as much as they do, the beautiful landscape that surrounds them deserves to be adored.
Loose rocks and pebbles crunch and shift under their boots, the sound bouncing back at them in the quiet meadow they walk through. Several vendors have already set up shop, organising the stalls that they've erected and conducting business with the few early birds that wander the area. Most of the movement and signs of life don't come from the scarcely and strategically positioned markets, but rather the large woven tent that's always sitting on the far end of the path where the markets will stretch out to.
In two days, this place will be packed and overflowing with noise and excitement. Today, however, people arrive to pick out the spots they want and start getting ready for the chaotic storm that will burst through them mercilessly. Max trots along at her heel, his wet nose desperately trying to sniff at everything they pass. Slowing her pace, Myles twists her head away from the near empty field in front of them to look at the father and son duo that walk beside her.
"Stick with Jasper and lay low," Myles advises, passing him her notebook. "Keep your eyes on the lookout for the sea-lion effigy."
"Okay," Ray agrees through a sigh, sounding anxious about the task at hand.
"You take the west end," her best friend suggests to her, meeting her eyes quickly. "We'll get the end with the brothel and meet up in the middle."
"Sounds like a plan," the redhead acknowledges, lifting her hand up for a high five. Jasper mirrors her, but instead of high fiving each other, they high five themselves. Turning away, Myles tosses over her shoulder, "keep your ears on." Looking down at the calico coloured dog following her closely and leaning down to pat him with a fond smile, "ready, boy? Good boy."
There's only four market stalls along the track on the west end, and a few more branching out from the main path around them. Pulling her brown tinted sunglasses up, the red-haired teens hazel eyes take in the first market stall. It's immediately clear they're all the way from the Desert clan in the Dead Zone, the clan symbol, made up of dark orange and red colours that twist and spiral to make a sun, is plastered all over the small hut.
Wooden branches act as a framework to hold up several blankets of woven weeds and twigs with frail patchwork blankets thrown over the top of it. Handmade tables of branches and chopped logs sit along the inside walls of the hut, with two sitting out front, near the path. Wooden buckets and tubs held together with woven vines and fabrics sit under the tables, every single one of the buckets on the ground overflowing with tan-coloured rocks and stones.
Blankets, sacks and light overgarments designed to protect you from sandstorms and the blazing hot sun are hung up on display on the stall's walls. One of the tables has a wooden tub of various metal scraps, each appearing very worn, melted or broken into parts. Small cactus' sit proudly on another table, cute hand-sculpted clay pots holding them with different clan symbols painted on them. Hot spice bites at Myles' nostrils from the array of spices set out on display on a tabletop, wooden or hand moulded and bashed metal spoons sitting in each bowl. Max sniffs at the table before sneezing and stepping back with a displeased whine.
The woman inside is in her late thirties and busying herself with preparing bags of something else that Myles can't see. Stepping closer to the woman, her head lifts and her tanned skin stretches over her soft features as she smiles happily at the redhead. Her kind and eager smile gives her a radiant glow that puts the gold wire sun necklace she wears over her forehead to shame. Tattoos tinged a dark green with age sit on the side of her neck and her right cheek, a sun and a simple triangle, respectively.
"Hei," Myles greets politely, smiling and glancing over her workshop as the woman replies in kind. "Ai don bida prom, taim dei ste ait?" [AN: "Hello. I have a few questions, if that's alright?"]
"Foshou!" The brown-haired woman gladly accepts, stopping what she's doing and resting her hands on the table between them, making the tan-coloured blanket with a hole for her head shift over her clothes. "Chit ai na sis kom au?" [AN: "Sure! What can I help with?"]
"Disha bam…" the redhead starts, gesturing to the spices, "ha smouken ste emo?" [AN: "These spices… how hot are they?"]
"Emo laik ona reinseden," the Sangedakru woman explains, hovering her hand above the bowls on the far left and sweeping it over the bowls. "Kom kwelen gon yuj. Ha fayafou dula yu op vout bam op?" [AN: "They are in order, from weak to strong. How hot do you like spices?"]
"Aaa… getemon ai," Myles settles on after a moment, "som kom os sting in gon em?" One of her hands grabs a small fabric bag as the other hovers over the spoon for a bowl with a dark orange, half ground powder in it. "Hofli ai as yu op noda prom?" Continuing when the woman's brown eyes flick up in acknowledgment, "ai ste lufa au meizen fleta hak op. Bilaik… som blaken en shannen gon shoun of gon ai bro." [AN: "uhh… surprise me. Something with a nice sting to it? May I ask you another question? I'm looking for beautiful mirror art. Like… something black and shiny for a present for my brother."]
"Ou, ai nou get em in…" the brunette answers, drawling out her words as she fills the small bag to the brim with the orange spice. Her brown eyes shift up from the redhead and move to the left in thought. "Ai get klin Louwoda Klironkru en Podakru gada in bida os diyo don bants odon kom Yujleda las biga Leygeda. Ba Delfikru en Yujledakru otaim gada in fodowin diyo, emo beda kamp raun hir dena. Daun na ge fou dona, beja." [AN: "Oh, I don't know… I know the Shadow Valley clan and the Lake clan have some nice things left over from Broadleaf's last big festival. But Delphi clan and Broadleaf clan always have fantastic things, they should be here soon. That will be four dollars, please."]
"Foshou," the red-haired teen agrees, sticking her hand in her shoulder bag and pulling out some metal scraps. Handing a handful over to the woman, she brightens and readily accepts the mishmash of junk as she hands over the spice bag. "Mochof." [AN: "Sure. Thank you."]
"Mochof," she echoes while Myles turns away, "gada in os sintaim." [AN: "Thank you, have a good day."]
It's been a little over two hours now, and Myles approaches her second last stall feeling run dry. No one else has been able to give the redhead any more information, all trying to point her in the direction of their own stalls and giving the same unsatisfactory answer of Delphi. The closest lead she's been able to get from the few markets that were already here, and the others that had started arriving and setting up while she was snooping around, were all contradictory rumours.
Whispers of Shadow Valley and the Lake clan butting heads and sabotaging each other's marketplaces two weeks ago at the Broadleaf Leygeda. Conspiracies of the Plain Riders clan and Blue Cliff having things that could only be found on another clan's territory. The Plain Riders clan, also known as the Ingranronakru in Trigedasleng, supposedly had things you can only get from Azgeda. Bottles of sweet syrup and moose skins, according to a kind old man from the Boudalan clan.
Myles had asked around some more about that information, almost everyone said that it wasn't true in the slightest and they had seen nothing of the like at the festival. An arriving Yujleda man disagreed, however, saying that those things were being sold there, but it was from Blue Cliff and not the Plain Riders.
Sighing deeply, Myles tries to will herself to finish the task at hand as her steps crunch over the pebbly path. Slowing to a stop, her hazel eyes scan the Blue Cliff symbols over the stall that is being erected by three people. One of the women notices the redhead and stops her task to walk around the half setup front of the stall.
"Heya," the blonde-haired woman greets enthusiastically, a bright smile across her face that tells the red-haired teen that she's desperate to sell something. "Ha na ai sis yu au?" [AN: "Hi, how can I help you?"]
"Hofli yu na," Myles smiles back, "ai na ai op yo gada in meizen sesori en ai ste fig raun taim yo hofli gada in bida biga skrap?" Lifting her hand to gesture at a gorgeous black gem hanging from a hand twisted wire stand. "Som bilaik dison?" [AN: "I hope you can, I can see you have beautiful jewellery and I was wondering if you may have some bigger pieces? Something like this?"]
"Bos blinka!" She exclaims with that large, saleswoman smile still firmly stuck in place. "Nou guthing, osir fodowin skrap st'ou kamp raun hir." [AN: "Great eye! Unfortunately, our best pieces aren't kept here."]
"Kei," the red-haired teen drawls out after a beat, getting the sense that she's about to be scammed. "Weron na ai hon emo op? Na emo ste hir, ona Leygeda?" [AN: "Well, where can I find them? Will they be here, in the festival?"]
"Emo ste odi," the blonde woman informs her, turning away from her dismissively to continue setting up the stall. "Ba en's jos gon osir kofona." [AN: They are already. But it's only for our customers."]
"Den ai na sis dison op," Myles calls to keep the woman from walking away, lifting up the black jewel on a handmade chain and levelling the woman with a look that tells her that she's over being toyed with. "'Bos blinka', ait?" [AN: "Then I'll take this. 'Great eye', right?"]
"Nou guthing…" she says slowly, that fucking smile never once leaving her face. Her hand reaches across to grab the necklace carefully from the redhead's hand and place it back onto the stand. "Em nou flou thru bilaik daun. Yu gaf gon gada in som na tel emo op dei osir don sen yu op." [AN: "unfortunately… it doesn't work like that. You need to have something that tells them we sent you."]
"Ai na pudon em op," the redhead states dully, lifting a delicate red eyebrow impatiently. "O na dei nou ge flou thru, ida?" [AN: "I can wear it, or would that not work, either?"]
"Kei…" she drawls out, leaning forward with her hands on the table condescendingly. "Mebi der won chants em na flou thru… ba en's strik. Yu'a gaf gon tich em op yu lukot kom osir kofa." [AN: "Well… maybe there's a chance it'll work… but it's small. You'd need to show them you're a friend of our traders."]
Scoffing, Myles keeps her red brow held up high and her face blank, "en gon dula daun op, ha yu fig raun?" [AN: "and how do you suppose I'd do that?"]
"Yu sou krei gaf'on get in?" The woman asks, and the tired redheads patience is beginning to wear thin. [AN: "you really wanna know?"]
"Taim em hon ai hou in," the red-haired teen shoots back, her red eyebrows dancing around her delicate features. "Sha." [AN: "If it gets me home, yes."]
Blue eyes squint at her for a moment, and a pleased smirk threatens to overtake her over exaggerated smile. Myles knows she's being scammed, knows whatever this woman is about to sell her will have its price bumped, and this supposed secret place where they guard all of their large jewel-art is more than likely entirely fictional. Still, she gives in, for the sake of that little inkling of doubt screaming 'rule number two' over and over again.
"Miya," the blonde-haired lady orders, turning and pulling back the woven blanket that hangs from the stall to block off the back of the small hut. "Mafta ai op." [AN: "come. Follow me."]
Hazel eyes look down at Max, "set raun." [AN: "Stay"]
Myles does as told, slipping past the two continuing to erect the front portion of the stall and ducking through the thick, handwoven blanket. A quick squeeze clamps around her heart and lungs at the sight of the lone chair with a small table made from bamboo and chopped wood beside it. On the table is a large needle with several bottles carved from logs beside it and a wide jar next to a short, but long, box. Piercings, of course.
The red-haired teen makes sure her steps don't falter when her heart does, instead slowing to look back at the blonde with a predatory slouch for further instructions. Her bright smile looks less forced now that she's got the redhead where she wants her, gesturing to the chair with her arm. Breathing in deeply, Myles sits down on the tall wooden chair, thankful that it has a thick fur blanket to give it some cushioning.
"Chit dula oso op gaf stok thru?" She asks sweetly, wiping down her long needle with liquid from one of the bottles and opening the box to look at the jewels in it. "Ai'a fig raun yu siva… o mebi yu snora?" [AN: "what do we want pierced? I'm thinking your ears… or maybe your nose?"]
"Siva, beja," Myles answers through a long breath, eyeing the woman wearily. There's no way this is sanitary, and that she will not get an infection. "Yu dula get klin chit yu's dula op?" [AN: "ears, please. You do know what you're doing?"]
"Ou, sha, sha," the blonde-haired woman waves off, pulling out some earrings. They're all similar, some incredibly long and dangly, and some so short they'd barely hang past the bottom of her lobe. "Ai'a fig raun tu, chit hashta yu?" [AN: "Oh, yes, yes. I'm thinking two, what about you?"]
Sighing heavily, the redhead rubs at her temple quickly as she responds, "Sha. Tu." [AN: "Yeah. Two."]
"Sad som op," she instructs, brushing some of Myles' shoulder length red hair back and wiping her left ear with a wet rag. [AN: "Pick something."]
Hazel eyes scan over the assortment of jewellery before deciding on one of the short ones. Reaching out, the redhead's slender fingers pull forward a pair of earrings. One black gem is wrapped around with a piece of wire that extends high up into a sharp bend that resembles a triangle. Directly under the gem, another small bit of wire that's painted blue is bent in the shape of an arrowhead, hanging off of the wire holding the gem in place. It's short and simple, only referencing Ouskejons clan symbol subtly.
"Os sad klin," she praises, pulling her large needle up. "Sis op won wedaun blou," Myles does as instructed, taking a deep breath in and holding it at the feel of both of the woman's hands framing her ear. "En klir em of." [AN: "Good choice. Take a deep breath. And let it out."]
Breathing out the breath slowly, the blonde woman presses the needle into Myles' ear. A sharp sting burns hotly through the new hole, and the redhead clenches her jaw tightly. The woman grabs an earring and quickly replaces the needle through her ear with the jewel. A heavy throbbing is still present in her ear and the sharp sting of the wire being poked through the new hole makes her shut her hazel eyes and bounce her leg impatiently.
"Yu don dula os op," she commends, "em don krei chil, sha?" [AN: "you did good. It was very easy, yeah?"]
She's still fiddling with her left ear, and Myles takes a deep breath in at the sweetness dripping from her words. Another blast of sharp pain burns through her left ear again, slightly up from where the first had been and Myles' eyes snap open.
"Chit yu dula bilaik?" Myles exclaims, trying to pull her head away from the woman's hands, but she knows it's already too late. [AN: "What are you doing?"]
"Ai don fig raun osir sad in?" The woman replies, her tone overly sweet and patronising. Realisation hits Myles, she's played right into it. "Tu," she repeats, a sly smirk on her face, "tu gon ogeda siva." [AN: "I thought we agreed? Two. Two in each ear."]
Myles' expression stays blank in shock, "yu ste sou sad disha op, you?" [AN: "you're enjoying this, aren't you?"]
Her aching ears only aid her urgent steps, keeping her boots marching through the steadily expanding amount of stalls preparing for the festival. Hazel eyes dance around the faces of the few early birds weaving around her, glancing down the paths that branch out. A short whistle to her right makes both her and Max spin, and the familiar short brown mop of her best friends hair comes into view. Ray's head bobs along beside him, looking around in awe at the growing number of markets.
Both Myles and Max jog up to them, and Jasper quickly greets Max with high-pitched coos and loving scratches on his head. Myles' steps don't slow, instead directing the two of them east.
"I might have a viable lead," the redhead informs them, "but she was a scam artist, so who the fuck knows?"
"I wonder how she really feels?" Jasper jokingly asks his dad, keeping up with his best friends pace. "What's this lead?"
"A Blue Cliff jeweller reckons they've got some fantastic art," Myles starts, flicking her eyes at Jasper fleetingly, "hidden away in the brothel."
"Woah," the brown-haired teen interjects, his arm shooting out to grab Myles' and tug her to a stop. His serious brown eyes are wide. "You're not going in there. Besides, we checked it out. They don't have anything in there."
"But," the redhead drawls out in a sing-song voice, quirking a red eyebrow, "you didn't have the key for them to let you in."
"Key?" Ray enquires, his brows furrowing in confusion. "What key?"
Myles lifts her hands to brush her short hair behind her throbbing ears and both of the Jordan's faces drop in shock. Amusement quickly glides across Jasper's face, his expression lightening massively as barely contained laughter starts to slip from his mouth.
"Oh," her best friend snickers in shock. "Oh, my god. Those are some nice jewels you got there."
"Are they red and swollen?" Myles deadpans, her face staying frozen with exasperation. "Because they feel red and swollen."
"No," Ray waves off kindly, a soft, non-judgemental smile lighting up his face. "They're beautiful, Aggie."
"They," Jasper barks out a loud laugh, unable to hold it in anymore, "are so red and swollen. Wh.. why?"
"I was scammed," the red-haired teen huffs out, starting to walk forward again. "I'm very sad, bordering on homicidal, about it. If this doesn't work, that border is going and I'm going to lose my mind." Jasper tries to hold back his chuckling, bringing his hand up to his face and walking behind Myles to try to avoid her death glare. Her best friends laughter cracks at her exasperated façade, and her delicate features brighten as a large smile covers her face, letting out a whiny giggle. "Stop laughing, I want to be angry."
"They are so gonna get infected," the brown-haired teen tells her, leaning forward to get another look at her ears.
"I know," Myles accepts, her tone much lighter than it had been a moment ago. "I'm gonna have to clean them out when we get back to the rover."
"Let's hope this is easy and simple, then," Ray adds, matching the two teens' brisk speed.
The brothel is rather intimidating, especially to any women who need to go through it. It resembles the commander's large tent, except it extends further and there're walls made of the same woven material to block off certain rooms inside of it for privacy. Walking in there as a girl who's not prepared to 'work' is daunting; the people who tend to go into a brothel are usually looking for something in particular. That, coupled with the copious amounts of alcohol that is always supplied to their… patrons, spells trouble for people who don't get their way.
It's not the first time Myles and Jasper have had to walk through one in the last three months, even still, the same trickling of dread plants itself firmly inside of them both. Some people get very handsy, especially if they've had quite a bit to drink, but it's never been too much of a problem, with both teens being experienced in how to handle themselves. The biggest and most dangerous problem a brothel offers them is easily the amount of bounty hunters that love to go in there with their latest payouts to boast about their jobs.
Itching at the back of her mind is the antagonising thought that this might be an elaborate setup, designed to make a fool out of Wanheda and collect the bounty on her head. It's an annoying notion that sends a wave of prickling heat through her veins, emphasised heavily by the ache in her ears.
"Sit," Jasper orders Max when the brothel entrance is only a few metres away. Max obediently sits down, "good boy! Stay."
No one stands by the brothels woven tent flap, leaving the braided hay and fabric material completely unguarded. When Myles reaches it, she slows her steps to let Jasper overtake her and enter first, keeping Ray behind her. It's noisy inside, slow chatter overlaps with sly giggles and low breaths, the atmosphere filled with lust. Lazy body positions of the people laying on long couches covered in thick and fluffy blankets purposefully have seductive undertones, designed entirely to accommodate to the wants and needs of people coming here for business.
Heads turn to them when they enter through the flap, and the slurred chatter of the groups of men being cared for by scantily clad women call out to announce their presence.
"Che'au chi' osi' gada'n hir," a man slurs out, standing up and wobbling on his feet. "Fur'di won!" [AN: "Look what we got here, a ripe one!"]
Jasper's arm snakes around his own back to grip Myles' hand and keep her pressed into his back. Their footsteps don't slow, not even as the rowdy group of men keep getting louder. Myles keeps her head down, and it's one of the first times in three months that she's actually missed her long hair.
"Nou gon yu, skat," Jasper calls out loudly, his tone gruff and firm. "Em's kom osir, kep yo meika in gon yowas." [AN: "Not for you, boys. She's with us, keep your hands to yourselves."]
Mocking calls of disapproval ring out, from the same group of men, but the three Arker's keep persisting through to the back of the room.
"Em's bilaik ona nowait geda, den," a man huffs out cockily, walking alongside of them. [AN: "She's in the wrong place, then."]
A man's hand comes into Myles' sight a split second before Jasper warns him, "yu nou gaf na dula daun." [AN: "You don't wanna do that."]
The man doesn't heed the teens warning, and the second his fingers graze Myles' abdomen, her body jumps into action. Flinging an arm up while the other let's go of Jasper's to grip the hand touching her, Myles slams his head down and yanks his arm in an awkward angle behind his back until a sickeningly loud crack sounds and he screams. Dropping her hold on him instantly, everyone else in the room falls silent, only the sounds of the man's pained groans and whines still echoing in the air. The Arker's march forward, not slowing their pace.
"Ai don lom yu op," her best friend chastises, reaching back to grip Myles hand again. "Nou dula toch em op." [AN: "I warned you. Don't touch her."]
One of the two warriors guarding the wall on the far end of the room shifts when they approach them, eyeing the group up.
"Yo, nodotaim," the warrior states gruffly, "der ste non kamp raun hir gon yo." [AN: "You, again. There's nothing here for you."]
"Nou's der?" Myles enquires, stepping up beside her best friend and locking her eyes on the guards. The other one of them straightens, a flash of recognition dancing across his face and the redhead subtly brushes her hair behind one of her ears to display the earrings. "Yu fousho hashta daun? Ai ste kamp raun gon meija diyo, o laik ai ona nowait geda?" [AN: "isn't there? You sure about that? I am here for business, or am I in the wrong place?"]
Their eyes both find her ears and they glance at each other. A red eyebrow quirks up quickly when they turn their attention back to them, and the man who recognised her squints his eyes at Myles before allowing them to pass.
"No," he informs them, stepping to the side and pulling the tent material up. "Yo laik ona ait geda." [AN: "No. You're in the right place."]
Past the two warriors is a hallway, extending almost the entire length of the large tent. What they can't see of the edges of the tent is marked by more flaps of woven material, and Myles would hazard a guess that those lead to some more private rooms for their top paying customers. Directly parallel to them, roughly three metres in front of them is a slight gap in the tent. It's just enough to let the redhead know that it's another doorway, and with no other warriors to let them in, she stalks forward to pull the fabric aside.
Inside, several warriors wearing heavy armour lounge around on sloped chairs with three strippers preening over them. Two warriors are standing in the room, and they're the first to notice the Arker's in the doorway. A man to her left clears his throat loudly, urging the others to turn and acknowledge them.
"Kei," a man she recognises as Blue Cliff Ambassador Wilko's aide announces, standing amongst the fray of warriors and strippers that sit up in displeasure at the distribution. "Kei, kei. Taim em ste'ou bilaik Os Wanheda-de. Em don ste fop gon yu kom hir op." [AN: "Well, well, well. If it isn't the Great Wanheda. It was a mistake for you to come here."]
"Em don ste?" Myles asks, fully stepping into the room. "Ai don ge tel op dei laik som gon ai hir." [AN: "was it? I was told that something's here for me."]
One of the warriors huffs a laugh, standing up with the rest of his comrades, "en chit don dei?" [AN: "and what was that?"]
"Gotstrecha-de," the red-haired teen answers immediately, her daring eyes not wavering in their challenging glances. "Kom Delfikru." [AN: "the sea-lion. From Delphi's clan."]
"Ai nou fig raun yu na hit ai kof op," Wilko's aide scoffs, as if he finds her hard and determined stance amusing. [AN: "I don't think you can meet my price."]
"Gaf'a fonat?" Jasper quizzes, surging forward and gripping Myles' arm to pull it behind her back while he kicks the back of her knee just enough to let her know to fall. [AN: "wanna bet?"]
The motion sets the room alight with movement, and the redhead can feel Jasper's blade against her throat. Her wince as she falls heavily to her knees is genuine, but not because of the fall to her knees. Her best friends hand, though gentle and kind, brushes against her swollen ear when he brings his blade to her throat. Ray jumps, stuttering in his motions to grip at his son, but the knowledge to trust that they know what they're doing stops him.
"Em melon," the brown-haired teen grunts out, his grip on the red-haired teen tightening slightly in his demonstrative shaking of Myles. "Gon gotstrecha-de." [AN: "her head, for the sea-lion."]
"Jaspa," Myles all but growls, flinging her body around lazily in his grip and wincing at the pain that shoots through her ears at the movement. "Chit jok yu ste dula?!" [AN: "Jasper, What the fuck are you doing?!"]
"Ai gada in moun kofa," Jasper informs her, and the animalistic grunts that pour from her lips feels almost real. "Dison bilaik yo sad in, em gon hak op, o ai na rip em klin en ai lan em op uf gon flosh yo klin. Sad klin." [AN: "I have other buyers. These are your choices, her for the art, or I will kill her and use her power to kill you all. Choose."]
Wilko's aide gulps, staring at Jasper as he holds a struggling and growling Myles close to keep her from getting away. The warriors have their hands on the handles of their machetes and swords, waiting patiently on the Ouskejon aide's command. In the corner of her frantically spinning hazel eyes, Ray shifts uncomfortably on his feet, waiting to be able to understand what's happening and for the horrific scene to come to an end.
"Kei," the man starts slowly, "der ste nou gaf gon yu gada ogeda in. Gotstrecha gon gada." [AN: "Okay, There's no need for you to have both. The sea-lion for the girl."]
At his words, the warriors start to enclose around the Arker's and Jasper's hold tightens, the blade in his hand presses harshly against her skin. Myles stills at the feel, her self-preservation kicking in, even though she knows this is all a big play. When Myles freezes at the blade's rough position, so do the warriors.
"No," Jasper orders, spitting the word out disdainfully. "Lid ai in gotstrecha, en ai na ron yu op Wanheda." [AN: "no. Show me the sea-lion, and I'll give you Wanheda."]
Clenching his jaw, Wilko's aide raises a hand to show he means no harm and slowly walks backwards to the far corner of the room. A large wooden chest lay tucked into the corner, and the man opens it, reaching in to pull the ceramic effigy out. He holds it carefully in his hands, displaying it for Jasper to see clearly.
"Drop em klin shuda," he instructs the Arker, and Jasper's knife holding hand reaches around her to pull her weapons from her belt. Once the blade leaves her throat, Myles knows she needs to struggle again, so she thrashes around, forcing her best friends grip to tighten. "Os. Nau, osir kofon." [AN: "Strip her weapons. Good. Now, we trade."]
Jasper yanks her to her feet, and Myles sees that she needs to turn the dial up to a hundred. Kicking her legs out randomly, she lets out a string of loud curses and bursting growls. Hand's grip at her legs, wrenching her from Jasper's hands, and now her struggling is real. Now, she's putting some oomph into her aimless flinging, buying time for the art piece to be safely in Jasper's hands. The harsh grip on her arms will bruise, especially with her hopeless thrashing in the merciless and brutal feel of a strangers rough callouses that have replaced her loving best friends kind touch.
Hazel eyes flick around the room, the genuine grimace and scowl on her face fleetingly scanning the different expressions around her to plan her next moves. Poor Uncle Ray looks pale and absolutely appalled, not knowing what's going on and too scared to put an end to it. The strippers look uncomfortable and out of place, huddled together at the end of one of the chairs and trying to disappear. Jasper, the warriors, and the Ouskejon's ambassador's aide have mirrored stoic and determined looks chiseled into their stoney faces.
Gently, the black ceramic statue that is tinged brown from age is placed into Jasper's ready hands. Myles doesn't stop or quieten her lazy struggling, patiently waiting for her best friend to give the cue. Jasper takes a slow step backwards, placing the gotstrecha into his shoulder bag and backing up subtly.
"Sou bos dula meija diyo op kom yo," Jasper states slyly, and the words make Myles spring into action. [AN: "pleasure doing business with you."]
Stomping her foot down on her captors forcefully, Myles flings her head back as hard as she can. The hold on her wrists slackens enough while he falls away that she can yank one arm free and hook it around the neck of the warrior standing beside them. Flinging his head down, the red-haired teen shoves her knee up to collide solidly with his face and flicks her elbow up on her other arm to stun the man still holding her wrist. Twisting into the stunned man, Myles pulls her gun up as Jasper fires his and he shoots the man barreling towards her once in the leg to stop his attack. Bashing the butt of her gun into the head of the warrior Myles has pressed herself into, he falls limply to the ground by her feet.
The shot man's pained wailing is the only noise in the room now, accompanying the sound of the strippers cowering in fear, the best friends' heavy breaths and Ray's shocked, stuttered gasps. Tucking her handgun away, Myles walks over to the other two Arker's, lifting her hand up.
"Nice job," Myles praises, and Jasper lifts his own hand up, before they both high five themselves. "I thought you might actually slit my throat for a moment there."
"Me?" Jasper scoffs with his gun trained on Ambassador Wilko's frozen and stunned-to-silence aide, waiting for Myles as she bends down to pick up her weapons and shoulder bag. "You kicked ass."
"You're both crazy," Ray deadpans, his tone quiet and shocked. "This is not what kids your age should be doing in their spare time."
Rule Number Two: Never believe what you're told, always double check.