Date: Afternoon, 26 of Nimrus ------- Location: The St Loomis Constabulary
Yasin was imprisoned a few days ago. He languishes in the cell as his allies try to appeal to higher powers. Meanwhile...
(Larth): For a very obvious reason, the Guard-Captain of the St Loomis town watch is in an absolutely horrid mood.
And that very obvious reason is the faint pink tinge of his uniform and the way he keeps constantly shifting and scratching himself.
Currently he stands at the desk, attempting to loosen his tunic around the neck, roundly muttering curses in Ilexi towards his laundry maid.
(Rhada): A somewhat lanky woman with a clearly Rhodish look to her strides into the constabulary, her long ash blond braid swishing as she goes. Dressed quite practically in a crisp homespun tunic and neat wool skirt, she keeps one hand on a discreet leather satchel slung over the shoulder as she peers about with bright baby-blue eyes.
"Well, Captain," she remarks, as she stops to look him over too, "I hear you've been having quite a time of it over here. Did you need some notes written up for the town record or the ledger?" The unusual tinge of Larth's uniform, his fidgetiness and curses, and the general all-around horridness of mood certainly do not escape the town clerk's ever-keen notice, but she seems to consider them either too impolite or too trivial to comment on.
(Yasin): Yasin is lying down on the hard-packed earth in his little spot next to the iron-barred gate. There's a sunken cast to his eyes, a weariness that seems at odds with the fact that (aside from some occasional time spent in varying forms of exercise of his arms and legs), he's mostly been... sleeping, or attempting to. That is, when his various foreigner friends aren't showing up at all hours of the day and night, speaking to him.
His head is tilted slightly, and he's staring at Larth with apparent bemusement in his expression.
The young man appears to have developed a lingering cough. Who knows when it started or the cause, but as he lays there now, entertaining himself with the simple act of watching Larth and Rhada, a dry hacking sound emerges from his lips.
(Otty): Although Otty Smythe is typically the stoic sort, and difficult to read, it's still no less obvious that he's unhappy, too, as he enters the constabulary with heavy steps. He's in his usual work clothes, as always, leather apron well-worn and bearing hoof nippers and rasps and a hammer and nails. His bushy eyebrows are drawn down, brow knit as he looks first toward Yasin at the cell's gate, then to the woman, and then to Larth. He's perhaps caught the very tail end of her words, or at least seems aware of the fact that they're in conversation - and doesn't seem to care.
"Come for my apprentice," he rumbles gruffly, immediately, in Ilexi.
(Larth): The Guard-Captain attempts to direct a stern look at Otty, as if Yasin's behavior reflects badly on the fellow. But the effect is somewhat lost given the aura of respectability that Otty owns in town: evident even in the constabulary, as the guard outside the cell door glances over admiringly at the gruff and imposing farrier.
If that aura caused something of a loss to Larth's stern affect, then what causes its entire loss is how he fidgets in a rough scratching that digs his fingers down under his own collar.
"...you've heard what the lad did?" This seems pointed at both Otty and Rhada, and Larth goes on to list grievances as if they were abjectly personal. "Drew some Alisayde steel, threatened he'd cut an arm off one of Keely's men, and then he and his folks wouldn't stop screaming in the cell --"
More hectic itching, and then Larth glares towards the cell door, at the forlorn figure lying past it. "At least now the scum's quieted down, but I'd recommend a good whupping, Otty. Next time I won't let him out on your account."
(Otty): "I heard. I'll decide how I deal with my own apprentice," Otty replies, terse and seemingly unimpressed by the look or the offered list. He folds his arms, meeting Larth's gaze steadily, and although it's certain he can see that itching and fidgeting the man's doing - how could anyone miss it? - there's nothing in his countenance to indicate that he's taking any particular notice of it, nor any reaction to it. His sky-blue eyes are steely, features set in a heavy frown.
(GM): OOC: Otty just rolled luck and dissembling, coming up with 48.
(Larth): Without wasting any more time -- likely wanting to return to the ever-looming business of itching himself, possibly in a more private place where he can do so more frantically -- Larth stalks over to the cell door. He pulls a key off his belt, slams it around impatiently in the lock, and then yanks the door open. If Yasin is still on the ground, he lands a kick -- the sort of rough and callous casual shove of a steel-toed boot that might bruise and cause pain, but do little lasting harm.
"Out!" he demands, glancing past at the hoodlum of Keely's with a forbidding glare.
(Yasin): Yasin has, by this point, risen to a seated position. He would have started to lift himself up the moment Otty walked in, though there seems to be an effort involved, a little groan accompanying the movement.
He gives a cold-eyed stare to Larth from the cell gate, but he says nothing in his own defense. Oh, his lips move as though in protest, but whatever complaint he might have isn't voiced. Perhaps he has nothing of value to add, or perhaps he considers the effort futile. Or, maybe he knows that holding his tongue is the best course of action now, as he watches the exchange between Larth and Otty.
In spite of his cold stare, there is an obvious dampening effect to even the young smith's frustration, as his eyes keep following the incredible itching of the Guard Captain of Saint Loomis. There is a wrinkle to his brow, as though he's wondering just what the hell is going on with that man.
(Yasin): Yasin does nothing to block the kick, taking it right in his stomach. He growls in pain and is pushed slightly backwards, but... only slightly. He stares up at Larth with a renewed flare of anger in his eyes, however, no longer at all dampened by his itching status.
Nevertheless, and even if the shout wasn't addressed to him, he slowly begins to rise to his feet, hand grabbing onto his things -- a backpack, a cloak -- as he does so.
(Rhada): "Mmh, I heard," Rhada the clerk agrees, nodding along with Larth's recitation of offenses. "Real shame, for him to be so hot-headed when he's done such good work around town. Not very sensible at all," she adds in mutter, as she digs around in her satchel to pull out a small chubby book. She sighs and shakes her head as she produces quill and inkwell in turn, seeming to feel the lack of sense and logic far more acutely than any actual criminality involved.
A bit belatedly she gives a nod to Otty, matter-of-fact but tinged with the same respect everyone else clearly feels for the man, then dips her quill in the inkwell, flips her book open with a practiced flick of the wrist, and proceeds making a series of careful notations on the page. She doesn't even pause in writing when her eyes rise briefly to peer through the now-open cell door at Yasin.
(Otty): Otty gives a low, displeased grunt as Larth delivers that kick. There's a moment in which his expression turns dark, and he glances toward Rhada, as though to check that she saw it too.
"Already lost me five days of work," he rumbles to Larth with a scowl. "If he can't work, I'll have you to the shed and do what he's meant to. Far enough behind already."
It's somewhat unusually verbose for the towering blacksmith, who more typically communicates as though he's paying by the word to speak - maybe a sign of his irritation showing through. Though it's close quarters, he bends to try and offer a hand to Yasin through whatever gap might exist between Larth and the frame of the cell door.
(Yasin): Yasin reaches out to take that offered hand from Otty, clasping it like a lifeline of a man overboard. With that support, he straightens up more fully, pausing a moment to roll his shoulders and adjust his posture. His head is level, still with visible anger in his gaze as he looks to Larth. That anger cools noticeably as he looks to Otty, giving a little head nod.
With his meager possessions in hand, he attempts to make his way past Larth and into the constabulary proper beyond the confines of the cell.
He clears his throat, either from disuse or that cough he seems to have -- maybe both, and opens his mouth to speak to Rhada once he is within comfortable earshot. There's a mild frustration laced within his voice, coming out only in extra emphasis on his Ilexi articulation, as though he is taking special care for each word to be heard in full. "Just so you have the facts, the two men, Thodden and Niloly, had beaten the other, Alun, unconscious. Beyond two on one, they are both experienced fighters, as I understand it. Alun is not. They refused to leave him be and Niloly made to grab me. Once I drew the steel, they stopped acting violent. Those are the details." He pauses here, and perhaps noticeably directs this to Rhada, not Larth. "I do not know why Niloly was let free."
He hesitates here, and then looks towards the secure chamber to the north. "May I have my things? I've my apron, a scribing case, and a satchel."
(Larth): "Right," says Larth, half a grunt, as he scratches fiercely at one thigh while waiting for Yasin to extricate himself from the cell. Then he slams the door shut on the thug still inside and locks up with the same sharp, cruel motions. He gives Rhada a roll of his eyes and mutters in Ilexi, "Of course he'd try to act like some sort of hero. Take the account of Lorten over his."
There's a gesture to the guard who's still gazing at Otty, and then the captain scuffs off angrily into the back of the guardhouse. Shortly he returns with Yasin's belongings, or some approximation of them, and tosses them over crudely.
(Rhada): Rhada does in fact observe the kick with which Larth announces Yasin's freedom, regarding it with a squint that seems to disapprove such once-again-senseless force. But she only shakes her head disparagingly and keeps writing, evidently accustomed to the arbitrary ways of the lawkeepers. A much more disapproving frown crosses her face when the guard captain tells her what to write, however, and she simply gives him a cool look down her long nose, makes a very decisive additional annotation in her book, and then looks over to Yasin.
Favoring the lately-imprisoned apprentice with another headshake, she tells him, "The town record includes the accounts of all sides." The pointed tone is perhaps meant as much for Larth as Yasin. Then she adds, "If you'd not drawn a sword on a fist-beating, you'd be well enough, lad." She tsks lightly. "But you've done your few days, which is more generous than you'd see many places." Maybe this doesn't sound very kindly, but she gives Yasin a smile which, if perfunctory, is not cold. "Young lads just need to learn to think things through," she mutters, as much to herself as anyone else, and proceeds on with the quick precise flow of her goose-quill pen.
(Otty): Once it seems Yasin's body is safe from having further violence enacted upon it, Otty's tension visibly eases, though his expression remains pretty dark. He glances aside toward the guard, then to Rhada again. There's a moment or two, maybe awkward, where he seems to be on the verge of speaking but without actually doing so yet, before he actually manages it.
"Five days for trying to stop a man getting killed, and none for the other man trying to kill one," he half-growls in his smoky bass, directed mostly at Rhada, low-toned so that his voice won't carry further than the immediate vicinity, but audible enough to the guard nearby and Yasin as well. He doesn't offer any further elaboration, just setting a hand to Yasin's shoulder to start steering the young man toward the door and outside.
"We'll talk later," he tells the young man, in that same low voice as they start away, that hand on his shoulder firmly directing, but with no seeming upset or malice to it.
(Rhada): Rhada first just gives a muted 'hmmm' to Otty's words to her, then remarks while scrutinizing her page, "Keely's men have never killed any folk yet. Not even those two lunkheads. Wouldn't still be employed by him if they did." She taps her quill briefly against her chin, adds and circles a small note in the margin of the book. "Expect they know that too."
(Yasin): Much as Yasin is attempting to maintain his poise, he has to turn his head away from Rhada and hack a few unpleasantly wet sounding coughs from his lungs. The direction he chooses to turn his head is casually aimed at Larth -- maybe intentionally, or maybe because he's being tossed his belongings. After taking up the heap of items and quickly slinging his scribing case and satchel over his shoulder (his apron he opts to leave in a rumpled heap within his arms, perhaps not wishing to bother with tying it now), he looks back towards Rhada.
If he had any objection or clarification or argument to offer Rhada, it stays within his head as Otty speaks. He looks up and holds his eyes on Otty for a length of time, even after that half-growl of his master's has completed. And for once, it is difficult to tell what emotion the young man is wearing in his expression -- strangely stoic.
He maintains that expression as he allows himself to be steered by Otty, giving a small nod of his head at the mention of speaking later. With only the briefest glance back towards Rhada and Larth, his heavy footfalls carry him out of the constabulary of Saint Loomis.
To open air, once more.
(GM): OOC: The scene fades to black.