2017-03-28: Dreamers and Schemers
- Log: Dreamers and Schemers
- Cast:Leon Albus, Cassidy Cain
- Where: Adlehyde
- Date: March 28, 2017
- Summary: An encounter with a pair of urchins leads Leon Albus right into the path of one Cassidy Cain in what could later promise to be a bizarre bit of coincidence. Or is it?
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
There is a reason why the late afternoon hours are some of the busiest in the Adlehyde marketplace - with stalls on the verge of closing, most people tend to converge in an effort to take advantage of last-minute bargains for various goods...for food and all manner of perishable items, especially. The crush of bodies present is just another added color in the overall idyllic tableau the town center makes against a backdrop of a horizon splashed with the scarlets and golds cast by the setting sun, dust rising with the accompanying din, the cries of hawkers and negotiations exclaimed over people's heads mingling in a relentless cacophony. In this rapidly beating heart of the town, people from all walks of life rush through its veins and fill the rest of its battered, but thriving body with life.
Children, too. Urchins begging for spare coin, others attempting to entice tourists and travelers with side-stall games of chance. A boy in a cap stands right at the very intersection of two converging thoroughfares, his voice carrying over while he clutches a stack of newsprint.
"GUILD GAZETTE! GET YOUR GUILD GAZETTE HERE!"
Wherever Leon is amidst the organized chaos of the day's business, a little girl moves from underneath the awning of a cart selling dried fruits and roasted nuts. Moving over to the intimidating-looking drifter, and without fear, she holds out an object to him. Dust smudges over a button nose covered in freckles, large, guileless blue eyes staring up at him from underneath a bonnet.
The object is a little white flower, slightly wilted from the humid air, but one all the same. A small petal detaches at the gesture, floating haplessly to the ground.
"Lisette!!"
A boy, slightly older than the little girl, moves over from the side of Leon and reaches out to snatch up the little girl's hand.
"Sorry, mister," he says. "She tends to do that sometimes, I hope she didn't cause any trouble."
<Pose Tracker> Leon Albus has posed.
Leon isn't really /used/ to the crush of bodies in a market. In Nortune, he lived among the upper class. Not the true nobility, but the rarefied gentry of career military officers who thought of a market as the thing their subordinates' families shopped at when times were good. In a way, it is nice -- he likes the challenge of weaving through a crowd, using his height and size for him and letting it work against him.
Wearing a grey coat, clad in a black vest, and with a pressed white shirt and black pants, he cuts a figure a little finer than the Drifters infesting the city before the Ancient Culture Exhibit. It draws the eye, and it makes it harder to move past. He was, of course, moving towards where he heard the crying of a newsprint for sale. Maybe he would pick up a dreadful, too, just to laugh at it.
But then he spots those blue eyes under a bonnet, and his expression softens. Despite being a soldier, with a face more prone to a serious but small frown than a smile, there is a bit of something sincere in the way his silver eyes look down at the girl -- and the flower, and then the petal drifting down.
"Ah--" He looks up, and then at the boy who quickly snatches the girl's hand away. Leon shakes his head, once, and his gloves slide into the pockets of his grey duster. "No, lad. No trouble whatsoever. Is the flower for sale?"
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
There are, indeed, several stalls carrying periodicals, journals and dreadfuls of all kinds - even the infamously ridiculous and scandalously risque Rough Riders Series. Its most current novella depicts what one would say is a /very/ idealized version of Vin Barrett, to those who know him, ripped tanktop and carrying a slender brunette entangled up on his side with one arm. There are quite a few parked in front of these peddlers of entertainment, mostly young and middle-aged women. Through the quietly giggling throng, a lithe blonde woman in leathers and a wide-brimmed hat reaches through the gap between bodies, plucking up one of the novellas and takes a gander at its cover, and the copious amounts of creative license splashed across it.
Underneath the shadows cast by her hat, her lips quirk up faintly in a wry smile.
Somewhere over her shoulder, the blue-eyed girl watches Leon quietly from where she stands; the offer, because it is undoubtedly very much one, has her looking momentarily befuddled. It is suggestive, perhaps, of the intent to give the flower to the well-dressed drifter free of charge but the offer to purchase it instead gives her quiet, contemplative pause...and it is apparent as to why.
Her dress is dirty and her shoes are worn; who is presumably her older brother sports a similar state of dress - a torn jacket and a pair of trousers just a few inches /too/ short for him, his ankles clearly showing his socks and the wear and tear of his shoes. A similar look of confusion creases over the boy's youthful face, glancing over at his sister. He gives her a quiet nudge with his elbow.
"Don't be rude, Lisette. Answer the man, will you?" he chides.
Lisette slowly looks back up at Leon and slowly, quietly, nods. She keeps holding the flower up insistently.
<Pose Tracker> Leon Albus has posed.
It isn't hard to spot poverty for Leon, even if he never knew it. After all, a lot of the men in Kislev's army made their bones on the sands -- or in the sweaty, smoke-stinking cockpits of the Battler Arena. The soldiers he commanded came from places like this, wore clothes like this, and lived like this. It tickles some sentimental part of him. Leon nods, then reaches to his pocket. He pulls out a large, silver coin; one side has the Bank of Guild Galad emblazoned on it, the other has the number 20.
He tucks it into the girl's hand, before he takes the flower away from her. It's a careful motion, nonetheless. "Thank you," he says. "I'll be sure that I look after it."
And never, ever mention it to Lily. She might be unfailingly professional, but she would have to tease him if she saw this.
He stands back up from having crouched enough to hand her the coin -- and he takes in the sight of the dreadfuls, the newsprint, and the rest. The woman in the hat is noticed, but it stops there for the moment. His smile is for the kids. "There should be a cart, back that way," he says. He motions with his head. "The apples were fresh when I stopped by earlier."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
The girl lets go of the flower slowly, carefully, but her silence does not mean shyness. She has not taken a step away from the bigger, well-dressed man and she looks at him directly in the eye despite her diminutive stature.
Both children are staring at Leon, in fact; the little girl especially, who cups the coin with both of her hands and stares at the large 20 embossed in it with quiet wonder. While she remains silent, gratitude and some degree of amazement passes over those big blue eyes peeking at him from underneath her bonnet. Her older brother wears his surprise openly, scrubbing the back of his neck with his dirty fingernails, for a moment at a loss to say. It doesn't take much to observe that whatever Leon has done has absolutely derailed the both of them; this kind, heartfelt gesture is the last thing they expected.
But the older boy finds his voice. "Th-thank you, mister! Come on, Lise...we get to eat today!" He takes his sister's wrist enthusiastically, steering her away from Leon. He gives a wave over his shoulder, before taking quick trotting steps towards the direction the drifter had pointed them in. The little girl turns her head, looking over her shoulder at him while her brother tugs, though she keeps pace with him easily enough. She eventually looks forward, enthusiasm returning to her shuffling steps.
As both young ones make tracks across the dust, a voice speaks somewhere over his shoulder.
"Never thought I'd find a hybrid in these parts."
Whenever he looks, he'd find the blonde in the wide-brimmed hat, somewhere behind and to the side of him; right on his blind spot, but that could be a coincidence - there are plenty of bodies around, and so crowded that it was probably the first spot available to her that is close enough to him to strike up a conversation. Suprisingly elegant fingers tilt her hat up, glade-green eyes and their gold motes catching the light of the dying sun. She has a smile to match, one that cuts like a knife, and a face wreathed with wind-tousled gold, almost too delicate for such an expression. Her eyes move after the children, though it isn't long before they vanish in the crowd.
"Your soft heart makes you an easy mark," she tells Leon. "But it makes you a con killer, too. Those two were going tae try and rob you, and were it not for their change of heart at the demonstration of yours, I might've had tae step in. Not that I usually care...pickpockets come in all ages and sizes, and it's generally nae a problem for a well-dressed lad such as yourself tae lose a gella or two. But it was obvious that they were new tae the game and they nae have learned how tae stay away from the truly dangerous ones, yet."
<Pose Tracker> Leon Albus has posed.
Leon turns, to look down at the two of them, while they start off. He waves at them, with a smile straight at their backs. His hands stay in the pockets of his coat, and he keeps watching after the girl ceases looking back in his direction. He pauses, a moment, though -- with that vague, trained sense of someone being close by. Those instincts aren't quick enough to stop him from looking surprised when he hears the woman speak.
His eyes widen, then narrow and thought, before he turns. The question is on his lips, but he finds it answered quickly -- even if his mind races with the fact that she snuck up on him. Usually, people don't manage that. The smile gives him more pause. He hasn't seen many smiles like that.
His brow furrows, and his silver eyes meet her green ones with that calm look that always accompanies someone so light-eyed. "Soft heart...?" he asks, instead of a hybrid. "Hn-- they... ah. Damn."
It makes sense, he realizes. "The flower was the distraction," he ventures. "Something notable to distract the target. Then the boy flanks me, and--" The boy doesn't do the first thought to come to the ex-commando's thought. He settles for the second. "Snatches my wallet."
He tilts his head, once, and then looks over his shoulder, before his eyes are back on the woman and her hat. "I suppose they don't. Thank you, then, for the lesson. All the better that I've got my wallet. Shame about those kids, though."
He extends a hand. "Leon," he says. "Leon Albus."
There is a slight narrowing of his eyes, then, as there always is when he gives his name. It tends to get him in trouble.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
As realization falls on the young man's comely features, the blonde's smile turns into a full-blown grin, showing a hint of teeth; stars over a rosy horizon, flaring brightly underneath her hat. There's a open laugh and an incline of her head, a hand planting on the curve of one hip as she regards him with uplifted brows that hide themselves into her hat line. She has a face that lends quickly to expression; her pleasure, and the fact that she is impressed, lie open over her pallor and easily glimpsed by the man she is presently accosting.
"Verra good," she allows, syllables punctuated by that lilting brogue. "Not many catch on that as quickly as you, you must've gotten around yourself, ay? It's called the Focus, in the business, and any thief worth his salt knows that if you manage tae snatch it up." Her eyes glitter at that. "You can snatch up anything."
Taking a few steps forward, her own hand extends to shake his and in her grip, he would find that she defies the typical human instinct of deploying a firm shake to tell the other that this is a meeting of equals. Instead, her fingers are relaxed and even gentle, the briefest clasp of long, delicate bones and hardly any pressure, a gesture so airy he could elect to pull her in and break her wrist if he chose. Hopefully not, that would hardly be a proper greeting.
His name, Leon Albus, does not seem to register anything but a laxing of that brilliant smile, tempering at the corners and eyes lidding partially. "Cassidy Cain," she murmurs. A point of commonality, already, when both of them expect their names to get them in plenty of trouble, but thankfully that does not happen today....for now. "Lady Luck must be with you today, lad. I'm not usually so verra helpful, I must be in a tremendously giving mood today."
She lets go of his hand, and angles a look at him, a touch of something wry underscoring that ever-present smile; it might as well be a permanent fixture on her face. "Ach, well. People do what they will tae survive, especially when you're that young and clearly lacking any bankable prospects. A pity that, honestly...if they're nae lucky, they'll be in trouble verra soon."
As if anticipating the question, she slides her hand in her pocket, stare gravitating into the crowd. "Cutpurses in towns as large as this often run in packs," she tells him. "The youngest ones, especially. It's for survival as much as anything else, but generally they answer tae scum, who almost always demand first cut of the day's take in exchange for paltry protection and guidance. The boy's only eager tae feed his sister...or whatever she is tae him. He'll probably get his fingers broken for it."
<Pose Tracker> Leon Albus has posed.
The accent gives Leon pause. It isn't like his -- different from the local one, but subtle. He doesn't have the rougher accent of a working class Kislev citizen. It slips into his voice in little ways. The laugh prompts a smile, though, and he nods once to her. "It's a similar enough principle to other things that I've done," he explains. "A different ends... but the means -- at least, speaking broadly -- are the same. Distract someone, then do what you need to."
In his case, it tended to involve more ARMs and more fighting.
Leon's handshake is firm, by contrast -- and the gentleness surprises him, and makes him loosen his grip. He grew up too used to short, firm handshakes. It's what he does, now. He pulls his hand back, resting it on the pocket of his coat -- thumb looped through, so his hand can hang there.
His smile fades, though, as she explains. He can guess what their lives might be like, but it is not pleasant to hear it for himself. Leon's eyes start to turn down, before he sighs. "Mm," he murmurs, before his tone becomes more committal. "Truly unfortunate, that. I don't know that I could do more for them, though."
He resists the urge to look over his shoulder again. "Or that they would want it. I don't know about growing up poor, but I know about pride." He looks back at Cassidy, then, and nods his head. "You had a mind to look out for them, Miss Cain?"
He caught, after all, what she said: they didn't know how to spot someone dangerous. And despite the smile and the calm, professional demeanour, there is a hint of an outline under his coat. The curve of a shotgun's handle, just slightly visible in the long holster that he wears on his hip.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
"Cassidy. Or Cass." There's another laugh, and a quirk of a brow. "Dinnae think I'm of the diposition tae warrant such a genteel address, and methinks you're too much of a gentleman tae deny a woman such a simple request."
She is attentive enough to everything he says, from the part where he confesses to using similar principles and different ends to the implication that he had no want of anything growing up. His manner of dress and the way he carries himself yield a variety of different backgrounds, nothing is too far fetched in Cassidy's very long, very creative imagination, but like experiences are what they are and it is due to those that she is able to guess more accurately than most. They speak of money and discipline and with them come the perilous consequences of those who dream outside of them.
Gold-green eyes sweep over every tic and nuance of his expressions; the way his eyes turn to his boots, the quiet sigh and the will to resist /something/, though she is not a mindreader, hence she can't quite discern just what it is. But it's hinted enough by the question and for a moment, she answers him with a pensive look of her own. Her fingers slip into her pocket, to produce a pack of smokes as well as a lighter. She tugs one out from the pack, and offers it to him.
Whether he takes one or not, she is already lighting her cigarette, smoke curling up the glowing red end; a thin, white-gray serpent reaching for the heavens. "Nae," she tells him. "If they're gonna insist on getting in that business, experience is the best teacher." After a pause, she adds, carefully: "Though they dinnae seem tae be doing this by choice, by the look of that little girl. So I s'pose I could."
Cassidy flashes him a wink. "Wouldnae profess myself as dangerous an operator as you, luv." There is no glance at the outline peeking from underneath his coat; either she had seen it earlier, or she can taste the air around him. "But I can be verra effective if I put my wee mind tae it....and if I've a good impetus tae. I can do this two ways: as a favor tae you, for you tae return upon your honor. Or for a price...nae anything monetary. Gella is easy."
A hand lifts, spreading out five fingers. "The price is a drink. And five truthful things about yourself. It can be anything of your choosing." Mirth simmers within the depths of her eyes. "I'm nae here tae pry you of your secrets...and dinnae worry." That sense of mischief grows. "I'm nae here to charm you intae doing anything regrettable, either. A handsome lad like you's already probably got an equally fetching bird waiting for him."
<Pose Tracker> Leon Albus has posed.
"I don't know about that," Leon says, but it's the sort of plain-spoken defensiveness that only comes from a person politely refusing something they know to be true. "Cassidy it is, then."
And then he quiets. Leon is a good study, too. Some people have called him quiet -- and while they're not wrong, it misses something about him. He is quiet, but not shy; he is awkward, but he isn't unobservant. Someone in his line of work cannot afford much in the way of social anxiety. He needed to win loyalty quickly, and winning loyalty meant paying attention and responding. So he studies her expression, carefully, even as he waves his hands 'no' at the offer to smoke.
Even that is polite -- it is simply choosing to not interrupt as he listens. The picture she painted for the two isn't a good one. The offer, though...
He knows he should pass it up. He has gotten himself into trouble before. His hand comes to his collar, adjusting and tugging it upward, almost like it could be a suit of armor. His head tilts -- and then his eyebrows lift, before he nods once. "A drink, then, but only one. I'll only buy Lily more than one drink. I accept," he says. "And as for what I'll tell you, I have a proposal. I'll tell you two things. You can ask two. The fifth..."
He pulls out a fifty gella coin. This one has the Armory of Guild Galad on the back. "Tails, and I tell you one of my choosing." He flips it around, and the profile of a dead Iverstead-Rey patriarch looks on with empty eyes. "Heads, and you ask the last question. Seem fair?"
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
He protests, but relents, giving if nothing else a confirmation to those earlier observations. As Cassidy lifts her head from the act of lighting her cigarette, the flare of red-gold light illuminating her features from under her hat, he'd practically find those eyes dancing with implied laughter.
There is hesitation there; the way he pulls at his collar and the distinct lack of a tie - that was surprising itself, for a man who seems to have a proclivity for dressing somewhat formally no matter where he is. It falls away in short order, however and his proposal earns him another one of those flashfire grins. And why not? She was notorious for being unable to resist long shots and impossible odds; the lure of a gamble is one she takes immediately and without a second thought. "Ach," she says, brogue shaping around a genuine lament. "I was wondering if I was getting too predictable. You're a sharp one, luv. And sweet. Your Lily's a verra lucky bird."
Cassidy curls her fingers, beckoning him to follow. A pivot of her boot has her facing towards the direction of the nearest watering hole, the tinny ring of her spurs at every step drowned out by the surrounding hubbub. Crowds are something that she follows easily, readily, like a fish swimming in populated waters. She hardly ever pauses and nor does she look around, navigating perilous terrain with that subtle, feminine, confident swagger. For someone so familiar with how local criminal elements work, she is utterly devoid of the paranoia that kind of familiarity brings.
The doors swing open into the populated saloon, already catering to the after-work crowd. A harried-looking pianist plunks away at the yellowed ivory keys of the instrument within the main room as bartenders pour drinks, put away glasses and yell epithets at the feathered, seductive women scattered on the steps leading up to the higher floors of the building. One such woman leans against the piano, warbling along with the tune amidst cries by a racuous group by the east window to take her clothes off. The singer pauses just long enough to hurl something derogatory about the size of the man's...confidence. A small scuffle ensues in short order.
Through the hazy film of smoke expelled by countless cigars and their slimmer, more practical cousins, Cassidy moves to the corner of the bar, leaning against the edge of it.
"What's your poison, luv?" she wonders, lifting a finger to signal the bartender. "And what are your first two things?"
<Pose Tracker> Leon Albus has posed.
"Hm," Leon murmurs, in that ever-pleasant, pleased sort of way, even when he doesn't want to say too much. It wouldn't do to agree with her, but the smile that stays on his face says a lot.
He follows after her, too. Leon is quick to do so -- he may not know Adlehyde that well, yet, but he can follow her through a crowd easily enough now. He walks quickly, without swagger, but there is definite purpose in his movements. His eyes drift, though, occasionally glancing at a Drifter as one approaches -- and then moving on just as fast.
He looks around the saloon with the same discerning eyes, and then approaches the corner of the bar. He leans down on it, too, and glances sideways. He only has to consider his order for a moment. "Lager if they have it, and a whiskey otherwise."
You could take him out of Kislev, but you couldn't put a halt to his love for a good beer.
And then, his nose wrinkles. He has the thought to not honor the terms -- but it would be gauche, to say the least, and he meant what he said. "I'm former military," he says. "Since, I am sure you noticed. Ah, and--" Because really, that isn't telling a truth as much as confirming one. "Formerly of Kislev's armies, back to the northwest."
Then, he pauses, and considers the second one. He should give something more. "I was adopted," he says. "When I was four. Yet another war orphan."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
The bartender moves to place a stein of lager in front of Leon as well as his glass of whiskey, though before he can remark upon not having ordered both, the woman with him reaches out to pluck the tumbler off the counter and situate it to her side of the bar. Cassidy takes a small, savoring pull from it, a hand reaching up to doff her hat off and toss it on the barstool next to her. The rest of her hair comes free, unfurling in a tangled drape down her back, uncaring, really, of the wild mess it's in.
"I noticed the ARM, wasnae sure about the military background," she tells him, casting a look at him along a slender shoulder, her lips tugging upwards in a faint smile. "Your adoptive parents must've been philanthropists." Wealthy ones - even if he was somehow displaced, considering he's rubbing elbows with the salt of the earth instead of having tea with the mayor, the upbringing stays and so do the tastes that come with it. "Or unable to have children of their own and desperately wanting one."
Her expression is unguardedly fascinated; not just by her companion but by what else is going on around her - the brawl going on in the corner, the scattered fragments of simultaneous conversations. Her hand props up her chin and she watches the goings on in the common room with a smile that would be wistful save for the keen glint in those virid irises. Those in her unique brand of living would look at human interaction as a series of social transactions, precious kernels here and there exchanged without a thought. But there is pure pleasure there on her face, sunk wholly in the experience of /this/...whatever this is.
But it's clear that she hasn't forgotten about Leon. Her thumb and fingers play deftly on the silver lighter in her hand, lips parted around her cigarette just enough to let smoke caress the dewy seam on the way outward.
The mention of Kislev would be of interest to anyone, given its current situation with Aveh, but Cassidy simply smiles at the revelation. "Lovely country," she tells him. "And your accent barely shows. Still, you've come a verra long way, luv. What's here in Adlehyde that you decided tae take the trip?"
The first of her two questions.
<Pose Tracker> Leon Albus has posed.
"Just my father," Leon says. If he was a more calculating person, he might consider that a piece of information. But, it is something of a point of pride for him. "He was a soldier, too." Having been at war for the better part of three centuries, Kislev's officers had risen to a sort of gentry -- with no small amount of money to their names and their needs taken care of. "He never married."
Which may be its own story.
To say Leon is fascinated might be a stretch -- but he is interested, and he keeps his eye out on Cassidy and the bar at once. The brawl actually draws a longer look when he starts, before he judges it to not be a threat. He looks back at her, then, and his eyebrow raises at the question.
"Lily and I left Kislev's service," he says, plainly. It may be an understatement, but it isn't a lie. "We're seeking information on an... automaton, called Gryndille. We intend to destroy it. So, we thought... why not come to the city holding an Ancient Culture Exhibit, preparing to show off relics of the past?"
Leon shrugs, once. He tries to manage humor -- but for the first time in this conversation, the old anger surfaces. It doesn't radiate at anything, but there is something hard behind his silver eyes and his voice, and he can never quite mask it. "Most people are here to find one. We're here to find out how to blow one up."
He meant it to sound irreverent, but his voice sounds sincere.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
That is, indeed, its own story. Cassidy folds her other arm on the counter and takes on a lean, an indolent drape on the wooden surface and certainly not the way a proper lady would arrange herself against a piece of furniture. Half her face finds her limb, hidden from Leon until her visage is nothing but all eyes and hair, and the hint of a smile that is more implied around her stare. To her credit, it is nothing mocking - it even looks genuinely sympathetic.
"I know a few of those," she tells him. "Rare ones. Good ones. The ones who love or become devoted so completely that they cannae fathom being with anyone or anything else, even after they've gone, even after everything's gone to fookin shite." Jinty's face briefly floats in the back of her head, gruff, cantankerous, but honest and loyal to the very marrow of his bones, for all of his bellyaching of the drunks than make the Last Resort their home. "...and of course..." Something sharpens in her stare, dark but faintly humored. "The ones that do but act as if they nae married at all."
When he reveals that he's after an automaton, he is rewarded with a furrowing of her brows. It is /exceedingly difficult/ to surprise the likes of her, but Leon manages to do it with this very frank summary of his present circumstances. "Ay, that dusty ol' party, then? Verra many things have brought me tae Aldehyde, luv, but certainly nae that." In fact she can't think of anything more boring.
...until he tells her that he is looking to /blow one up/.
The prospect of explosions is never something she dismisses lightly. "So another...ach, the thing it always is, I s'pose. Weapon of mass destruction that people would love tae use for war and profit." She straightens up slightly from her lean, only to tilt her head back in an exasperated fashion, a smoke ring blown out through her sigh. "Dinnae know why people cannae just keep the past stay buried when the present is so much more interesting."
She gives him a sidelong look, and the way anger roils just underneath the surface. She doesn't poke that bear...at least, not yet.
Instead: "Do you love your Lily?"
The silver-eyed young man appears to be, at least to her, on a quick and sure train into dangerous territory, and while mercurial at best, that quip about being in a giving mood today might hold more veracity than even /she/ expected as she asks a question meant to derail it.
<Pose Tracker> Leon Albus has posed.
Leon nods, once. There is much to say on his father -- much to say on the lengths he went to for him. He could expound on that, but in a way, that lessens it. He doesn't have to say a thousand words. One will do. None, however, is enough -- a nod, like Cass said that the sky was blue, that the sun would rise. It was a simple fact for Leon Albus, and he wasn't prone to cheapen everything his father did for him with more words than were needed.
"I don't know why they dug it up." He hesitates. "Or who dug it up. The thing has a mind of its own, though, and it does what it sees fit. I won't pretend to understand how that mind works." He scowls. "Or particularly care."
The anger stays there, for a moment, and it could take over the conversation -- if Cassidy let it. It isn't the sort of thing that Leon can let go of, easily. But, she asks the question that does the best at derailing it. He blinks, surprised, and then looks back at her with an expression that is plainly confused.
"Of course I do," he says, and he sounds dumbfounded -- but under that, far more pleasant, as the anger slips away from him. "How could I not?"
Maybe it really is that simple to him.
[FLIP] Leon Albus flipped a coin: Heads!
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
That dumbfounded look, at the sudden change of the conversation's trajectory, at the casual way the question is delivered, earns Leon another light laugh, merriment dancing in those eyes as the blonde regards him, her head canted so inquisitively that she makes a convincing show of having not anticipated that response. And perhaps she hadn't, but the fact that his answer is so earnest that she can't quite help the silvery peal of mirth that manages to escape her. "Ay," she acknowledges with a dip of her head. "Good answer, luv."
Two facts of his choosing, two of her questions. It only leaves the most interesting aspect of their arrangement, as usual, when it comes to putting herself in the mercy of chance. There's a flash of a grin, reckless and unfettered, at the silver-eyed young man before she flags for the bartender's attention again. He moseys over after a few moments of conferring with other customers, but instead of another drink order, he gets an unusual request.
"Do us a favor, luv," she says, draining half her glass of whiskey. "And toss a coin for us."
The man furrows his brow. "What?"
"Flip a coin. My friend and I have an ongoing wager, you see, but we need a third party tae make sure the terms are square."
"Uh...alright."
Digging out a single gella from the register, the man still looks confused, but does what is asked. He tosses the coin in the air, and captures it in a waiting palm, upending it over the back of his knuckles to reveal what is on the surface. Tails, Leon had said, and he tells her something of his choosing, but with Heads, she gets to ask the last question.
Lo and behold, the dead eyes of a once-monarch stare up at them from under the warm, golden glow of the bar room's lamps. Cassidy smiles faintly, and lifts her glass to Leon in a toast; Fortune, it seems, has deemed it fit to favor the lady today. Then again, she was rumored as it was to be notoriously lucky, though the other half of the curse is hardly cited.
"My question then, luv." Her eyes lift to stare directly into Leon's before she leans in close, her cheek parallel to his - but true to her word, she doesn't touch him, her eyes falling on the tableau over his shoulder. When her lips part, her voice is soft and quiet, meant to carry only to her companion's ears.
"What's the story behind the bounty on your head?"
A reckless question, in many ways. Because there is absolutely no guarantee that, for all of his gentility, Leon Albus would not pull back, gun in hand. There is no guarantee that he won't pull the trigger and cleave hot lead right between her bones. There is absolutely no guarantee that he won't just reach for her head, hanging so close to him to deliver that confidential inquiry, to jerk brutally on one side to snap her spine. None, whatsoever, that he won't slip a blade between her ribs for a quieter kill, and leave her lying on the counter sideways while crimson life gushed out of her and splattered to the floor.
But she does this without hesitation, her hands free and devoid of any weapons, and she asks in such a private manner that there is no risk of others overhearing. She has absolutely no reason to be confident that Leon will not harm her, having just met him a few moments ago; all signs that the woman, whoever she is, is distressingly comfortable with high stakes and deadly possible outcomes. Either that, or she has a death wish. Equal odds, really.
<Pose Tracker> Leon Albus has posed.
It doesn't occur to Leon, at first, that it is a good answer... which makes it even more of an honest one. He nods to her, when she compliments him on that, and then he smiles. It is the same small smile, slightly reserved, and nonetheless sincere. His hand clutches the stein of beer -- and he has a sip -- as Cass summons over the bartender.
"My thanks," he says, after he agrees. He watches the coin flip up -- and then land with a clink. He looks down at the man's face printed on the coin, and then he lifts his stein up, too. A toast, even if it's a silent one. He doesn't feel much in the way of trepidation -- he trusts the question to be, while perhaps thorough, not too dangerous.
But, he finds, Cassidy Cain is a woman full of surprises.
The slight narrowing of his eyes say as much as anything as she leans close. He stands still, looking at her out of the corner of his eyes; if he is uncomfortable with how close she is, it doesn't show immediately. But, as soon as he hears the question, the armor he wears around himself goes up. The armor that he developed as a soldier of Kislev, then refined as a Drifter: keeping his emotions guarded when faced with such surprise.
Then, he speaks quietly.
"We were framed," he says. "I don't ask you to believe it. Most wouldn't. Our squadron was wiped out to the last man... except for the two of us. A damned convenient thing, isn't it? Everyone dead but us. They said we did it. The squad that was supposed to be our back up."
There is, of course, more to it -- but he said he would tell his truths. He will not tell Lily's.
"But I told you part of it," he says. "We /will/ destroy the automaton that did this to us."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
Minutes tick away, measured by quiet heartbeats as tension strings between them; as thick as the smoke lacing the air, as tangible as the wood underneath their fingertips. Cassidy keeps her eyes on the rest of the room well after the last word leaves Leon's lips, his version of the truth as succinctly delivered as anyone would expect from a man raised to always keep efficiency in the forefront of everything he does. In a way, she can't help but expect it - a bullet through her organs, or a blade scraping over her bones. Neither come, and she wonders whether she ought to be disappointed that her luck holds out so well in the deadly situations in which she places herself.
She does not believe in curses; she is living proof that anything is possible when experience and patience are at play. But there may be some semblance of truth to that, this mysterious thing hanging over her head that ensures that she keeps on living, no matter how many times she wishes otherwise during the dark, dreary days in which malaise grips her - the leavings of her past that can't seem to let go of her no matter how hard she tries to move on and free herself from it. It is the most bittersweet irony, with what she had just said to him about people's inability to keep the past buried in the sands of Filgaia.
But she has never claimed to be perfect; Cassidy Cain has long since learned to celebrate her flaws. It was simply part of the way she tries to live her life as free and unfettered as she can.
Easing back, she finishes the rest of her glass, setting it down with a quiet clack on the counter.
"You'll be surprised as tae what I can believe, luv," she tells him, her voice light but contemplatively absent, as if he had managed to catch her mind leaving her body, to drift through the hourglass of her life and recall the images archived in the most shadowed parts of her heart, through the calcified layers that crust over it. "Damned souls know verra well the lengths kingdoms would go tae achieve what they think is the greater good. Funny, ay, how that always seems tae align with what their best interests are at the time. The world has plenty of room for schemers, at the expense of the blood and suffering of its dreamers. May be hard tae believe, but I was one of those, once."
She tilts her head over at him, a small smile curling on her lips. "I'd like tae think I still am, otherwise I wouldnae be living the life I live now."
The blonde reaches up, tucking a tress behind her ear, twisting the end of it with her finger. "Have you ever wondered as tae why, then? You dinnae strike me as /too/ much of an easy mark. Trouble senses its own, luv, and I smell it on you just as surely as I can all the cigarettes in this room."
<Pose Tracker> Leon Albus has posed.
Some of the reason, of course, is that Leon is the same man who bought a flower from a girl who looked to be poor. That isn't the only reason, though. There isn't room in Kislev's elite for people who are too soft. He would be a fool to say he didn't register her as a potential threat. But, if he wants to prove his innocence, there is a way to do it.
It's another good reason to not strike out, even if the anger is back -- but a quiet hum in the background of his demeanour, instead of a threat to consume the entire conversation. When she steps back, he takes his stein -- and a long pull leaves it drained, as he watches her while she talks. He tilts his head to the side, listening to her words. They ring familiar, even if he doesn't know the schemers that caused him and Lily no end of grief. Then, he nods, once.
"I won't argue that," he says. "It's the world we live in. But..."
He frowns. He has guesses, but none of them are good guesses -- and the ones that veer anywhere close touch on Lily's secrets. He knows better than to share them. "I don't," he says. "I don't, exactly, have anyone to ask. It wasn't expected in the slightest -- and I don't know that anyone could think to expect Gryndille. I intend to find out, some day."
He frowns, then. "For the others who died, if nothing else. They were dreamers, too. They wanted a chance at a life that was more than they had. I owe it to them, at least, to put an end to the thing that killed them. And the ones who used their deaths."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
That is familiar, too.
The similar taste of it has that smile coming back, brilliant and sharp; the softer layers presented to him before in that rare moment of absent memory vanish underneath the glittering, cutting veneer, drawn out by what he says about having nobody to ask. "I highly doubt that, luv," Cassidy tells him, her contralto confident in its certainty. "Circumstances like that, there is /always/ someone you can ask. You've just not found them yet. And I have a feeling that while you embark upon this quest tae try and blow this Grynnimajig tae kingdom come, you'll come across some of them."
She pushes her glass forward, for the bartender to refill it whenever he has the chance. "I think that's interesting, also," she tells him. "How justice and righteous vengeance can be so inextricably linked that they verra well could be one and the same. I hope that doesnae tread on your honorable sensibilities too egregiously, because sometimes, there are some people in this world who need killing, and you shouldnae be ashamed of feeling that way. But I s'pose you should take that with a grain of salt, ay?" Good humor returns on the line of her mouth. "I'm as far from virtuous as they come."
There is a shift, a leg bending at the knee, the curve of her hip using the edge of the counter as a brace when she finally straightens, hooking a thumb on one of her beltloops. "I know a little sommat about that, too. And while some would say I make a bloody career out of talking out of my arse, in this instance, I am verra well speaking from experience. Either way, I wish you luck, lad. Sommat tells me you're going tae need all that you can get."
Her smile takes on a wicked cast, a brow edging upwards. "I'd oblige you, but I think I managed tae transfer everything I can spare tae my partner, and I doubt that you /and/ your bird would appreciate the method I choose tae deliver that wee bit of superstition. But as I'm fond of reminding everyone, Luck has always been a lady...and you should ask your Lily tae give you a token." She taps her own collar with a finger. "Right here."
The universal symbol of clandestine interludes with a woman.
<Pose Tracker> Leon Albus has posed.
"Mm." It isn't a disagreement -- or even uncertainty. The idea that he hasn't found the right person to ask is an appealing one. It means he could find answers. It sets his mind to think. His fingers come to his chin, and then he nods, before he looks back at her.
And then, he cracks a smile -- however briefly -- at the comment about virtuousness. "I've killed before," he says. "I don't take pleasure in it. But I won't hesitate, if I have to. There wasn't room for sentiments about saving everyone in the Wolves." One of Kislev's finest special operations unit -- and one of the squads he commanded, until they were wiped out.
He quiets, though. Luck...
He hasn't had much of that. Leon raises an eyebrow, though, as she makes her suggestion -- and he sees where her finger taps. It doesn't take him more than a blink to understand, and then he coughs into his hand. "Ah," he says. "Well-- that... I will keep that in mind."
He coughs again. Leon Albus is many things -- and one of those is easily flustered. It takes him a moment, before he speaks more levelly. "Thanks, then, for the advice. And for looking after those two kids."
He puts the coin he showed off earlier on the counter. True to his word, the drink -- and the tip -- is on him.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
He promises to keep it in mind and that devil's grin tugs higher up her lips. "You do that, luv," she says, plucking her hat off her chair to push it back onto her head. "You do that."
The bartender refills her glass tumbler, and true to her word, she pays for that - it must be true love, she decides, when the man won't splurge for more drinks outside of the one, for anyone other than his bird. It was romantic, in its own way, and it can't help but tickle the parts of her that still manages to find wonder in intimate social interactions. Plucking the glass away from the counter, she turns to take several steps sideways.
"Much obliged for the conversation, luv. And for what it's worth, I do mean it - that you find the ones who did you and your bird wrong." She gives him another wink. "You have a good evening, now."
With that, she moves further into the room, drink in hand, though God only knows where she's headed, especially with the saloon's glass in tow. Maybe she'll remember herself, and return it when she should.
Maybe.
LATER...
They were waiting for her in the designated spot, and as shadows part to half-illuminate her form underneath the silver smile of the moon above, she finds them easily.
The boy hops off the crate, giving Lisette a glance before approaching the blonde woman.
"About time you showed up," he grumbles. "Lise and I were waiting here for /hours/."
Cassidy lifts her brows, a blithe little smile tugging on her lips. "Hours, you say," she says, with all the grace she can muster. Plucking a few coins from her pocket, she offers it to the boy.
"You and your cousin did well today, Tim. Both a pair of naturals, you are....wouldnae say that about your potential as cutpurses, but as /actors/, ay."
The boy counts the coins carefully on his open palm, before he wrinkles her nose. "This won't even feed us for a week," he grumbles, though he pockets the money anyway. "Besides, I coulda taken him if I wanted."
Cassidy rolls her eyes skyward. "I dinnae think so, lad. You /folded/ the moment the mark played nice. Nae a professional I know does that. Stick tae pretend, lad. It's a safer business, and you have your cousin tae think about."
Tim glances down towards the ground, scuffing his shoe against it. "Easy for you to say," he mutters glumly. "Like I'll get there without gella."
Lisette says nothing, quietly bouncing a ball against the wall.
The woman sighs, rolling her head back. A hand reaches up to ruffle the boy's hair.
"You can get there if you want it bad enough," she tells him. "But that life's nae for you. Just trust me on that, ay?" There's a slight nod to the end of the street. "That storefront peddles the Guild Gazette, you must've seen the others going around calling for people tae read it. You can do the same, for now, at least enough tae keep you and Lise clothed and fed. Tell them..." Mischief glitters in her eyes. "Jude Moshe sent you."