2017-03-23: Stupid Useless Compassion!

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  • Log: Stupid Useless Compassion!
  • Cast: Cassidy Cain, Vin Barrett
  • Where: The Shady Backstreets of Port Timney
  • Date: March 23, 2017
  • Summary: Vin Barrett is off minding his family's business when Trouble comes running by, and against his better judgement, he tries to help. That poor doomed fool.

========================<* Port Timney *>=========================

Port Timney is the Kingdom of Adlehyde's premier port town. The city hugs the southern coast of the ranchlands and several trains terminate in Ardyne Grand Station at the northern part of the town. Cattle brought from the ranchlands tend to end up in the northern part of town, before their meat and hides are shipped as far as Krosse and Nortune. Timney has the look of an industrial city, without much of the simple style that Adlehyde's other cities are popular for. While it has few factories, it has many workshops and tanneries in the northern parts of town.

Most of the people live in between the northern factories and southern docks, in apartment homes of varying quality. The markets are functional, meant to serve locals rather than sell the imports and exports making their way through the port. The docks, however, are something to behold: numerous large piers, fit for both wooden sailing ships and the newer ironclads, extend out onto the blue waters of the South Ignas Sea.

BGM: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k9KZlk_t4Ww



<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.

The low hubbub that fills the nightlife of Port Timney is suddenly marred by the explosive sound of shattering glass. From the second floor of the local house of ill repute, the sight of tousled blonde hair can be glimpsed, the rest of her tangled in a bedsheet and obscuring most of her body and features. She drops in a free-fall, Gravity as usual merciless in its whims, to land unceremoniously on a bale of hay, stray puffs of dried grass floating upwards in the air on impact. The landing, by all rights, appears to be downright fortuitous - whoever this unfortunate soul was, she was fortunate that she landed on something soft instead of the hard, dusty ground. She could have broken a few bones if she hadn't.

Or worse.

The latter is not out of the cards yet when a disgruntled man holding a towel low on his hips emerges from the window, suntanned face twisted in a rage, his hair a mess and hearts drawn in lipstick around his nipples. He has a gun in his hand, pointed below, and somewhere in his room is another woman, screaming nonsensical epithets.

"YOU BITCH!!!" he roars, bullets firing in an erratic pattern from his elevated position. "I'M GONNA HAVE-- " The other woman shrieks something else, and proceeds to latch onto his back like a feral housecat, cutting him off from his rant when her teeth sink on his shoulder. His shots go wide, cracking into wooden posts.

The woman ducks herself deep into the hay bale to prevent herself from getting shot among other things, before poking her head out to flash a smile that cuts like a knife, directed above her while the enraged man flails at the burden on his back. "Dinnae blame me for this, 'Mitchell'," she says, a bare leg stepping off the hay and pulling the bedsheet around her insistently to keep her modest. "Dinnae your da ever teach you to check credentials first?" She waves an envelope in her hand. "Regardless, thanks for this. Wasnae all bad, was it? I know I had a wee bit of-- "

She dives to the side to avoid another shot, forcing the roll so she could rest upright on one knee. Laughter fills her gold-green eyes.

Two more men burst out of the front doors of the establishment, looking up at the window. "Boss!" one of them cries. "What are we-- "

There's a pause. Both of them stare at the dusty woman in a bedsheet. Quizzical glances are once more cast at Mitchell and the catfight he's embroiled in. "...er...do you need...help up there...?"

"NO YOU MORONS!!!" Mitchell yells, getting redder in the face and pointing his gun towards the blonde. "GET HER AND THAT ENVELOPE."

Mitchell's lackeys turn, but the bedsheeted woman is already making tracks; she had already been running away while the exchange was going on.

With a curse, they give chase, guns drawn.

"HALT!" cries one.

"GET BACK HERE!!" says the other.

"Hardly compelling arguments, lads!" their quarry shouts over her shoulder with a laugh. "Does anyone ever really stop?!"

<Pose Tracker> Vin Barrett has posed.


Port Timney. Full of everything from nice places with fine housing to, well...houses of Ill Repute and bars with such -classy- name as 'The Drippin' Oyster'. Honestly, it's kinda a mess.

Equally naturally, that means there's a bit of an opportunity for making some Gella, both Legit and Non-Legit.

The current antics of the tall, sharp-nosed Baskar are kinda in a grey area. Namely, he's at the -back- of a House of Ill-Repute, a couple of crates by the back door, as well as a crude leather sack. In front of him is the local Madame. "Look, I'm glad we reached an agreement for the drinks, lady, but I'm sorry. I don't know what you've heard, but even Baskar Medicine has limits. I don't care how nice a girl she is, I CAN'T fix that. It's not a matter of 'wont', or a matter of needing 'convincing', it's a problem I literally cannot fix."

Snorting, the Madame glares. "Seriously? That's not what your cousin said."

Sighing, the Baskar scratches his hair, looking a bit sheepish. "Yeah, yeah...But you got to understand...Your employee needs an optometrist, not a pharmacist. I don't have any cures for near-sightedness."

The Madame hmmfs. "Fine, fine. What about the other medicine? For-?"

The Baskar holds up the leather sack. "Order's already done and in here."

The madame inspects the contents of the sack, then smiles. "Excellent. Pleasure doing business with you, Baskar."

The pair exchange sacks, largeish sack of medicinal herbs for gella, and the Baskar tucks it away under his cloak, walking out of the alleyway humming contentedly. He's set, that's cash for a good -week- of decent upkeep-

KA-CRAK "SONUVABITCH!"

Vin ducks, hair swishing behind him as a wildly fired bullet cracks past his ear, leaving the Baskar swearing, about to pull his own weapon to return fire when he frowns at the situation he's seeing. Sheet-clad, albeit laughing, woman sprinting from armed men?

Vin has a moment to sigh. "...Stupid useless compassion. It's going to get me killed some day."

Despite his misgivings, Vin calmly counts seconds, and as the blonde sprints by, Vin Barrett, Baskar Guide, spins out, arm cocked back as he barks at the blonde. "Duck!"

And then, he hurls a small bag full of Weird Harvested Substances that form a nice little patch of tar over the fleeing blonde's shoulder, catching PUrsuer 1 in the face, blinding him, setting off a chain reaction.

Already turning to run, long legs pounding, he sprints after the blonde, pointing down a side alley. "That-away!"

<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.

Clearly with all of the wisdom of the ages passed down to him by his noble ancestors, Vin Barrett mutters to himself that his stupid useless compassion is going to get him killed one day.

And he's probably right.

Though Fate's decision on that is up in the air at the moment when the woman blows past him in a whirlwind of dusty bedclothes and pale-gold tresses, glade-green eyes slipping sideways at the sudden shadow overtaking her periphery. Her blood is already up, the volatile dump of biochemicals called up by her triggered flight-or-fight responses screaming through her veins...but this new unknown element elevates the wild beating of her heart even further. She doesn't know whether Vin is assistance or threat, but she supposes she'll find out in the next few momen--

'Duck!'

Well, that answers that question. What else is a damsel in distress to do?

Cassidy Cain manages to tip him a cheeky salute before she drops, her booted feet sliding across dirt and debris, kicking up dust as she spins that quick, sharp angle towards the alley that the shaman points towards. The sheet nearly tugs off her otherwise-bare body, but her fingers are quick and she manages to snatch the ends to keep it from falling off her entirely, using one hand to vault herself upwards in a proper running position again.

The pouch of Questionable But Helpful Substances sails in a graceful arc, the flat of it slamming into one of the gunmen's faces. Black tar explodes from the top, frothing over his hair and face. There's a yelp of surprise, followed by the sound of a choking gurgle when some of it floods his mouth. He chokes, he spins, he trips and nearly takes out his partner in crime with the wild flailing of his shotgun to the side, which the other deftly avoids. And as Vin spins around to follow her...

He'd be able to see the remaining gunman get on his knee, aiming the long barrel of the shotgun to his fleeing form, right between his shoulderblades.

CRACK

The sound of the shot rips through the night, but he does this quick and he does not have the time to line his shot up properly. Whether he hits or miss, however, he's already sprinting after them, spinning the butt of his rifle. Runes flare in garish, crimson light, banishing the darkness away from his features and illuminating them sharply against the shadows. For a moment, he actually looks downright homicidal; the look of a man who is distressingly accustomed to hunting down people.

And you know what they say: There is no hunting like the hunting of Man.

Or woman, in this case.

By the time Vin reaches the end of the alley, the blonde is already picking up speed, nimbling vaulting over a pile of barrels. In a graceful, almost surprising show of deft acrobatics, by the time she reaches the top, her body flips over the dead end, streamers of shredded cloth fluttering behind her...

...and landing unceremoniously on her ass on the other side.

"OW! FOOK that hurts...!"

Right, Cassidy Cain. You're twenty-bloody-seven now.

<Pose Tracker> Vin Barrett has posed.

Vin's on the blonde's heels as his home-made Tangler Bag sends the initial gunman down, buying him time to sprint after the Ill-Clad Lady he's made the (possibly a Huge Mistake but whatever!) choice of rescuing. The Baskar jinks, trying to dodge the shotgunner when he hears the crack of a gunsmoke weapon, reflexes honed in the Badlands of Aveh letting him avoid taking the round between the shoulders!

Instead, it creases his arm, making the Baskar swear up a storm as he turns, ducking behind the barrels that the Mysterious Blonde just vaulted.

Then, MAGIC RHOONES! Red Ones! "Aw hell...Friggin' symbology!"

Vin Barrett, Baskar Guide, reaches under his cloak, his own ARM coming up. He pumps the choke on it, spraying buckshot at the other gunman, the sharp bark of his Fennec R66 a nice counterpoint to the higher noise of 'standard' gunpowder weapons. He one-hands his own ARM, long practice letting him work the shotgun's pump, shells popping downrange as he reaches down, grabbing the blonde by the shoulder and yanking her up. "C'mon, keep going, Lady!"

Magic's great, but buckshot's quicker, in his opinion! And, well, Fire isn't the greatest response to use when there's a lot of wooden buildings around...

Regardless, he turns and keeps running, hopefully breaking line of sight in one of the back alleys, counting doorways- "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, where is it dammit Lenny-" -before grinning, teeth white in the dark. "There it is!"

Kicking open the back door of a run down shack, he shoves the blonde in, slamming the door behind him and shoving an old broken bookcase down, blocking the doorway for a moment. Grabbing her arm with his injured one, he moves, pulling her out the missing front door of the old abandoned shack, pointing at an alleyway across the street. "Leg it, Lady! That won't hold 'em for long!"

Suiting action to words, he hurries out of the abandoned house, shouts of alarm coming from the other side of the busted building, the Baskar moving for fresh cover, shoving the pain down for the moment.

<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.

She's already attempting to get up on her own two feet when Vin is suddenly there, doing most of the work for her. Amidst a tangle of bedsheet which traps the length of her legs, the rarest thing in the world happens; Cassidy Cain's eyes go wide as she's hauled off the ground, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck even as the much bigger man pulls back and withdraws his own ARM. Her legs bend at the knee, and what ends up happening is that she is effectively koala'd against his side, her lower limbs bound by the tattered remains of the bedsheet.

And this is what happens with the Baskar Guide; he is forced to haul his ARM on one hand and the damsel on the other, making a mad dash away from the shotgun toting gunman-hunter hot on their heels. The blonde can't help but look over one of his shoulders as a few more holes blow out of the rotting wood of the dead end partition they just scaled. "Between you and me, I think he's trying tae kill us!" she observes oh-so-helpfully, the words punctuated by another shot, the sound of splintered wood shattering the evening stillness behind them. Each round burns more and more of the beleaguered timber away...

The gunman just throws himself through it, the rest of it coming down in pieces at his feet. He stumbles; Symbology or not, there's only so much he can do to defy the laws of Physics. But they are still moving, keeping a respectable distance from him.

She hears her errant rescuer curse, a brow perked over at him curiously. Head trained forward, she peers curiously at what 'there it is!' is. And while this is happening...

MEANWHILE IN ONE OF THE OPEN WINDOWS OF NEARBY BUILDINGS

It's hard out there for an artist.

Atticus Teller has spent most of his evening hours lying face-first on his desk, drawing implement in hand, gripped with the intolerable malaise of attempting to maneuver around a particularly stubborn block of creativity. He had just been commissioned to handle the cover of the latest novel of a popular author whose inclinations lend towards very risque romances. And while he is familiar with the summary of the book, he is at a loss to translate it into a picture wrought from his hands.

This is useless, he thinks. Oh, if only he had some inspiration-- !

And then gunshots fill the air. He jerks his face off his desk, suddenly roused from his tormented stupor. He stares at his open window as a man dashes past, holding onto an attractive blonde woman clad in nothing but a tattered bedsheet, his ARM wielded in his other, blood-soaked limb.

His expression lights up. He turns his face towards the ceiling, lips parted to deliver a silent prayer towards the one God, who gives when one asks. Yanking a pad of paper and a pencil out of his pile of so-far unused supplies, he sticks his head out the window and starts sketching furiously.

BACK TO THESE POOR BASTARDS

This will probably not come back to haunt Vin Barrett later.

Probably.

Another door is kicked open, and Cassidy finds herself staggering on her feet at last, whipped around much like a puppet with its strings cut. For all of the seriousness of her predicament, the amusement he'd find in her eyes is overt, though she isn't a monster; she assists him in impeding the gunman attempting to kill them as much as she can, adding to the pile of discarded furniture before the door. And before she can say anything more, she's spun around again, to be directed out of the other side of the abandoned house and she does, indeed, leg it.

She's out in the alley in a flash, making a quick decision as she darts left and carefully keeping a bead on yet another man who has blatantly interjected himself in her affairs. Not that she isn't grateful, but with a chase happening, there isn't much room for small talk.

She ducks into another alley, and weaves into another, and another, until what happens is a dizzying loop of nooks and crannies that start to look similar the more this happens. Until finally, lungs heave in labored breaths, finding an out-of-the-way alcove deep within the maze that makes up the heart of Port Timney. She presses her back against the wall, and listens.

To Vin, she winks, and places a finger to her lips.

Now, they wait.

<Pose Tracker> Vin Barrett has posed.

WELP IT IS SURE A GOOD THING THAT VIN HELPING OUT SOMEONE IN NEED WILL NEVER CAUSE HIM TO REGRET BEING A MAN OF SOME MORALS DESPITE THE BADLANDS! NOPE! NEVER GOING TO CAUSE HIM REGRET! AT ALL! EVER!

MEANWHILE, AT BASKAR COLONY.

Cirsi Barrett frowns as she is awoken from her meditations by a Feeling. A Feeling that she has felt MANY TIMES Since her beloved, but misguided, Nephew left after learning the basics of the family business as spiritual leaders of the Baskar. She frowns, looking carefully at the main altar of the Guardian Shrine she was meditating in, concentrating, reaching out to touch the Guardians' themselves.

She hears the quiet giggling of spirits.

Her frown deepens. Standing, dusting her buckskin skirt off from where she was kneeling, she strides out of the Shrine, a thunderous look on her face, sending the other Baskar awake at this time of night carefully scattering from her path. Reaching her home, she carefully lights several lamps with a whispered invocation to the spirits, pulling some fine writing paper out of her desk. Sitting down, she carefully sharpens her quill pen, and begins to write.

MEANWHILE, AT THE LOCATION OF A DOOMED BASKAR!

Yep. Never going to cause him any trouble. EVER.

Ignorant of the impending doom, Vin instead concetrates on avoiding -current- doom, sprinting after the blonde lass. When she finally finds an alcove he pushes himself into it as well, going utterly silent and still except for his heaving chest, face slightly flushed from the exertion of carrying the blonde while sprinting and dealing with the pain in his injured arm as well.

He listens, senses honed by the Badlands straining, eyes fixed on the most likely entrance to the alcove alleyway.

...Did they lose him?...

<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.

Perhaps to Cassidy Cain's not-so-infinite credit, there is no way she could know that all of this would dovetail into a certain degree of infamy on Vin Barrett's part in the immediate future. As far as she knows, he just happens to be a Good Samaritan who has decided to interject himself in her affairs, and literally carry her off to safety in the wake of rune-augmented shotgun fire. For a moment, nothing cuts the silence but their respective breaths, ragged from their exertions and offered to the humid desert air.

The minutes tick by - long ones, drumming against the blood-rush pounding in her ears and the taxed engine within the cage of her ribs. And when it becomes long enough to confirm that their pursuer has managed to lose them, whatever tension is in her body winds away, like a serpent sloughing off her skin, her body slumping heavily against the wall behind her. Half-illuminated by the face of the sliver of moonlight falling upon them in an angle, her mouth adopts a smile that cuts like a knife, pearl-white slashing the darkness. Holding the tattered bedsheet around her body in this careless token attempt at propriety, if a felony could be blonde and female, this is precisely the picture she makes.

There's a tilt of her head to angle around the corner. Espying no one, she lets out a small laugh.

"Well, that was a little more exciting than even I intended," she says, her tone light and mirth filling her gold-green eyes, as if she hadn't just spent the last few moments running for her life, with a man she doesn't know. "Come on, luv, let's take a look at that flesh wound in friendlier quarters, shall we?" Surprisingly elegant fingers beckon him to follow, pivoting on her heel and moving further into the narrow streets of Port Timney.

And of course the first thing she does once she gets out of trouble is to avail herself with what is the most convenient. This happens to be a small convenience store, shut down for the night. Fingers make a quick traverse through the pale-gold falls of her hair, pulling out a hairpin and turning to the task of breaking into someone else's business, quite literally. With a flick of her wrist, the door opens; too practiced, really, to be a novice in such endeavors.

She moves in, and if Vin is in any way uneasy at this small bit of breaking and entering, she either doesn't notice or she ignores it. She finds what she's looking for - a bottle of whiskey, which she uncorks with her teeth and takes a swallow. She also manages to find a bolt of clean cloth.

"You're injured, luv. It's the least I can do, ay?" She looks over a bare shoulder at him. "Is this something you do verra often? Helping hapless lasses escape houses of ill-repute? What were you doing at the back of it?" Her smile takes on a more teasing bent. "No shame in indulging in the pleasures of the flesh now and then, lad. You were nae peeking through the windows, were you?"

<Pose Tracker> Vin Barrett has posed.

Stupid Useless Compassion, why must you get Vin into trouble tonight? Siiiiigh.

The Baskar nods slightly at the suggestion. I mean, street surgery is all well and good, but somewhere a little less...exposed...would be nice! He does frown just a smidge when she cheerily picks that door lock and waltzes into the local general store like she owns the place, but Vin supposes needs must as the devil drives and all that. He follows the blonde Trouble in, nudging the door mostly shut (just in case Mister Shotgun shows up again. Alawys expect the worse, Uncle Algie says...) and calmly eyes the wound on his shoulder. Tsking slightly, he shrugs off his cloak while Blonde and Troublesome does her rummaging. The Baskar has a surprising amount of pouches and at least two satchels, oddly. Course, by the time she's returned with the fruits of her ILLICIT ENDEAVOURS, Vin's already pulled a bottle of something -pungent- and probably hilariously alcoholic from the satchel at his side, a length of slightly ragged but clean cloth in his other hand. "Hmmm?"

He soaks the rag with Baskar Cactus Moonshine, hissing as he pours some of the 'shine over the light wound on his shoulder, then swabbing it up with the alcohol soaked rag, cursing a bit under his breath. "Tch. That always stings like hell. Oh? Huh, yeah, appreciate the offer, but this isn't the first time I've gotten creased by some gunsmoke rounds. As for your question...Ehhhh. First...no, wait, there was that time back in November, yeah. Alright, yeah, second time for anything. And it's a bit of a reflex. Young lady sprinting away in a bedsheet with armed men chasing just never looks good, you know?"

He calmly swabs his arm off again, eyeing his shirt critically and clicking his tongue in annoyance. "I liked this shirt. Damn. Also, oddly enough, I was there on business that -didn't- require your current garment. Cousin of mine sells vittles to the Madame there, and she was willing to pay pretty well for a bit of the old Baskar specialties. Cactus Juice, a few herbal treatments for ailments of a delicate persuasion, and apparently one of her ladies needs glasses. Can't help her with the last one, but, well, I travel a lot, so Uncle Algie just asked me to escort the delivery to her and in return he'd tell my Aunt Cirsi that I was in a different part of the world for a bit."

<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.

There's another laugh, a wry look cast on the taller man as he douses his wound with cactus juice. "I dinnae figure that, luv," she replies, her inflection as dry as the surrounding desert. "What with your delicate hands and effeminate appearance." An easy riposte to what he says about having been shot before, because Vin Barrett looks as far from a wilting violet as they come. A veteran in journeying through the dangerous pathways of Filgaia, she is certain there are others who do the same. His manner and appearance are just as distinct as his clothing.

She uses a pilfered knife to cut a strip of the cloth that she has brought, moving so she could peer at the bleeding wound. She doesn't touch it, but it is apparent enough that the woman is accustomed to being around injuries; nothing unusual in such rough terrain. "At the verra least you've nothing tae dig out," she tells him. "But unfortunately for you, that's gonna need stitches. You certainly are fast for someone so big, ay? Then again..." She inclines her head, brows lifting upwards in inquiry. "((We will be known forever by the tracks we leave)). So I s'pose you had tae learn how to make them while you were a wee thunderfoot."

She quotes a Baskar proverb in the old tongue, and for someone with an unusual accent, it hardly registers in her switch to another tongue; her diction is impeccable.

His remarks on the bedsheet has her grinning broadly. "That's what happens in a house of ill-repute, luv," she tells him. "More often than not, the really young lasses tend tae flee once the job is done, though perhaps nae so quickly as I did. Certainly dinnae have the time to retrieve anything but my boots." She lifts a leg in emphasis, wiggling her foot. "And I doubt any of them would elect tae go out the window."

Once he is done disinfecting his wound, she finds a sewing kit underneath the counter, threading a needle and burning the point of it with a lighter to sterilize it. It's a mystery as to where she keeps it on her person, but considering she is undoubtedly naked underneath all of the strips of cloth the sheet has been reduced to, it's probably safer for one's sanity not to inquire. For all of her ruined appearance, she wears the thing as if it was nothing less than a fine dress, what with that confident feminine strut, sweeping around the stolen space as if she owned it - the queen of pilfered goods.

"I hope you saved some for yourself while I do this," she tells him, nodding to his cactus juice, before spearing the point of the needle into his skin, and starts stitching him up.

"So a rancher's life isnae for you, then," she wonders, indicative that she's familiar enough with the Baskar culture to make such assertions. "You're clearly from the later generations, then. What are you doing in this part of the world then, luv? Unless it's just tae get away from your aunt?"

<Pose Tracker> Vin Barrett has posed.

The Baskar sighs, eyeing the wound and favoring it with a dirty look. "Grand. Well, at least it probably won't scar too badly." His eyebrows both shoot up in bemusment at hearing someone speak...well...Baskar. Huh.

"((Didn't expect you to speak a civilized tongue!))" He snorts, shifting, holding his arm out as he notes her pulling the needle and thread out and sanitizing the tip. Ugh. He hates this part. Studiosly looking away, he takes a swig of the delicious moonshine. "Eh...Could be worse. Least I didn't have someone land on me in such a state of dress this time. That was awkward."

Not elucidating further, he takes a swig of Cactus Juice, studiously Not Noticing the Mystery of the Mysterious Lighter. "Eh...I'm a Drifter. Folks were Drifters as well. Originally, just followed a job down here. Convoy from November City needed a guide through the rougher parts of the Badlands. As for sticking around...well...A hearthed fire never grows beyond its limits, you know?" Oooooh, more Baskar Proverbs! Yaaaaay.

He then pauses. "...Alright, and getting away from my aunt ofr a bit is part of it. Lovely woman, great skill at her job, took me on when I showed some talent for it since my folks didn't have the same skillset, but she also thinks it's quite past time for me to settle down, start a family, and devote myself to the Baskar." He shrugs with his non-injured shoulder. "Love her to death, but, ah...the distance is nice. Despite her letters still tracking me down."

He pauses to mumble about 'damned couriers', grumbling, concentrating on -that- to ignore the needle stitching up flesh, but then pauses in his grumping as he realizes something. "Ah. My mistake. Vin Barrett, late of November City. A pleasure despite everything, miss." He was raised polite, donchaknow!

<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.

"Ay? Well, considering my constant disreputable state, I thought perhaps some civilization might be good for me. How's my accent, luv? I s'pose since you've not burned me for it that it's excellent."

She says the words with her typical, languid good humor, brows lifting upwards as she regards him sidelong, embroiled in the very serious business of stitching him up together. Weaving the thread between her fingers, she carefully, deftly pulls torn flesh back shut and quickly. Whoever she is, her digits are quick, but considering the way she managed to get a locked door open in seconds, she is probably accustomed to difficult, but delicate work.

"A man of experience you are," Cassidy says, her tone laced with enough overt exaggeration that the remark is clearly facetious. "Was she pretty, at least?" Said with all of the casual air of one who has absolutely no qualms ribbing a man she just met. "If you're gonna be inconvenienced that way, hopefully you got some fun out of it. A man cannae live on good deeds alone, luv. Otherwise the sands'll only suck you dry." Mischief returns its full measure, the devil's own grin curling on her lips. "Might as well have sommat more pleasant doing the su-- "

A rooster crows somewhere outside the nearest window, drowning out the rest of the comment.

"Mmm." The sound is non-committal, eyes on her work when he speaks of family pressure. "I s'pose anyone with a family who gives a shite cannae help but meddle. Well, how old are you then, lad? You cannae be more than your mid-twenties. The world's vast, y'ken. Plenty of life experiences around if you have the balls tae look for them. T'would be a pity, tae plant your roots in a place you cannae leave so easily. Youth is the time tae make sure you've no regrets later."

She lifts her bare shoulders in a shrug. "But I'm definitely the last person qualified tae give that sort of advice, but good on you, lad, for spreading your wings. It's more fun that way, ay?"

The blonde turns to pack away the sewing kit; the work is done so quickly that he'd have a hard time discerning just when she stopped sewing him up. Whenever he glances down at the wound though, he'd find that the stitches take on a shape on his skin. Amidst drying blood swabbed away by alcohol, he would find it staring up at him, complete with a crooked, shit-eating grin.

It's a cat.

She just stitched a cat-face on him.

"The name's Cassidy Cain," the woman tells him, shooting him a look and another smile. "Save for pulling lasses in bedsheets out of the fire, what do you specialize in while you drift? An apothecarist, then?"

<Pose Tracker> Vin Barrett has posed.

He's got an excellent deadpan. "We don't burn outsiders for their accents, but their vocabulary choice. Takes them by surprise, that way."

He glances down at her work in progress, the cactus juice being applied both internally and topically neatly deadening the majority of the pain, the remnant nudged back and hidden under Good Ol' Baskar Stoicism. He does smirk slightly, revealing white teeth at her teasing probes into the -last- time he got into trouble like this. "A gentleman never tells, Miss."

He ponders giving away details to Miss Troublesome, then shrugs slightly. Ehhhh, with the way his luck runs, she'd find out eventually on her own. A few harmless details never hurt anyone. "Five and twenty summers, such as the seasons are up in the Badlands." He snorts slightly at her summing up his reason for Driftering oh-so-elegantly, though! "Heh. That's the less proverb-laden way to put it. Never had a chance, really. Grew up hearing all the really fun stories from cousins and folks, so the idea of staying at the Baskar Colony all my life was a bit...stifling."

He glances down as she starts packing up the (filched) medical supplies, then blinks at the stitch-up job. "..." He eyes the Cactus Juice, sniffing it. Nope. No, the Smug Kitty Face is still there.

He lets out a long suffering sigh. "Well, when I'm not doing that or getting used as an art project, I tend to make my living as a guide." He neatly jabs a thumb at the ARM sheathed on his back. "Badlands are pretty comfortable wilderness for me, and after -that- most parts of Filgaia seem right hospitable. Some exceptions for the locals, o' course." Hey, it's the truth about what he does, that it is!

"You have somewhere with, y'know, clothes stashed? Boots and a sheet might be formal dress in certain parts of the world, but I figure less attention is better. I figure you've already had one barely-clad chase so far, and with an exchange rate like that, the second would probably cost you your boots."

<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.

"Ay?" Laughter more implied in her tone than heard, this time, glade-green eyes glittering in the dark. "Let it not be said I'm nae interested in learning the nuances of another culture."

Vin claims himself to be a gentleman after that, and that's enough to let spill the argent peals of that ever-present mirth. "That you are," Cassidy acknowledges easily, because it's true. He'd even turned away when she fished out her lighter. "It's appreciated, that. Dinnae worry, I will nae hold that against you. Besides, while I'm nae in the habit of consorting with gentlemen, these days has seen it fit to throw me in the company of a few. I'm nae sure what the universe is trying tae tell me, but I was never one tae fight its will all too ferociously. I'm a verra go with the flow type of lass."

He seems to be the same. Crossing her arms over her chest, a cocked hip leans against the nearest table and letting it take the brunt of her not-significant weight. "I think you lose a little bit of sommat if you stay in just one place," she tells him. "Especially when you've nae even reached half your bloody lifespan. No reason tae limit yourself that way, ay? The golden years are for settling, but while you're able tae walk on your two legs and use your arms and fingers tae wield your ARMs, no sense not tae use them tae live a more interesting life. You've only got one, after all."

His status as a guide does earn him an angled look from where she stands; interest flares a second or two in those gold-spangled irises. "Rough terrain, the Badlands," she says casually. "Rife with marauding brigands and ne'erdowells. For a gentleman, that's not exactly easy living, is it, luv? But I'm sure you hold your own just fine." Her stare wanders over to the ARM to which he gestures.

Glancing down at her bedsheet, she smirks, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. "I'll figure something out," she tells him, nonplussed and not all too unconcerned about her state of undress. "I once hitchiked from one town tae another in less without incident." Sort of. "Threads are nae a problem, I assure you."

Easing from the table and picking up her stolen bottle of whiskey, she wedges it in the safety and security of the space between her breasts, kept fast by the way the sheet bands tightly around her chest and waist. "But you're right, we shouldnae be lingering in the scene of the crime, so I s'pose for your safety and mine, we oughtae part ways before anything else happens." Opening the door, she winks at him over her shoulder. "Maybe I'll see you around again, luv. Who knows what kind of tracks you're destined tae leave behind?"

And just as sudden as she appeared in his orbit, she's gone, sweeping out into the evening in a swirl of golden tresses and tattered sheets, and vanishing around the corner.

<Pose Tracker> Vin Barrett has posed.

The Baskar just smiles slightly at the rough summation of the Badlands. "Something like that. And I never said it was -easy-. The best things in life rarely are." He politely glances away when she starts to 'stow' the bottle of whiskey, sighing slightly. Well, whatever, she seems to know what she's doing, and far be it from Vin to tell someone else how to get out of trouble they've gotten into.

As it is, well, Vin barely has time for a polite farewell, about to step out in the street and take off on his own, blinking as the whirlwind of blonde tresses and Trouble-With-A-Capital-T vanishes as suddenly as she appeared, zipping away into the slowly growing light of dawn.

...With the Whiskey. Damn.

Sighing, Vin glances at the store behind him, then up at the sky, then sighs, rummaging in his pockets. Stepping back into the store for a moment, he pulls a bit of paper over and scribbles a quick note on it, leaving a small pile of Gella on it afore he steps out, closing the door behind him. Whirling his cloak back on, his wounds stitched up in a most smugly feline way, the Baskar strides off, head shaking slightly. "Man, Pa told me I'd have days like this. Ah well. Least the Black Ties paid for the Whiskey!"

And, on that uplifting note, Vin decides it's high past time he go and take advantage of another troublesome female acquaintance's generosity and find a spot of floor to take a bit of a nap in.

...And then, he feels a sense of foreboding at the idea of the cheerful gambler (and obvious trouble) he'd met on a dig and Cassidy 'Trouble' Cass meeting, a chill running down his spine. The horror!

Of course, Vin -also- has no idea that his soon-to-be-hated-Nemesis has been hard at work to meet his deadlines.

Poor doomed Baskar.


==============<* Dream Chasers BBS - (IC) Rumors *>===============

Message: 8/10 (11w 5d) Posted Author New 1 Gella Novella Mar 27 2017 Cassidy Cain


Markets all over Filgaia certainly have no shortage of goods and entertainment, no matter where someone looks, and while 1 gella novellas often tend to be passed over by the more learned crowd, there are occasions where cheap thrills are just what the day needs - a brief escape from the mind-numbing mundanity of small desert towns and long, lonely stretches of road from one destination to another.

So it's probably not surprising that there are some that have gained some loyal readership. The Rough Riders series, as afficionados would attest, is one of these; risque romances about Drifters and all that entails.

The latest novella of the series, by some twist of fate or more likely /a ridiculous set of circumstances involving troublesome elements/ comes with it a face that would be familiar to some, depicted in loving detail and greased up by copious amounts of creative license, bare chested and toting a woman with one hand and a ridiculously large ARM in another, amidst the backdrop of a burning town.

The protagonist looks like Vin Barrett.

...no, it's definitely Vin Barrett. If Vin Barrett didn't have a neck and had a glaring preference for ripped tanktops.
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