Admiring the scenery

Caprica D'Angelo · 02-22-2012, 10:25 PM

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It's chemical the way we love. The way we hate it's quite inhuman

Word Count :: 1300+ So much ramble o____o Feel free to skip to last paragraph?!

The day was drawing on, and Caprica could feel tiredness leeching into her muscles. The dark Anatheman had really gone to town with the festivities, bestowing and extorting booze and whatever else she could find with determination to simply lose herself and find a wilder, far more engaging creature within. She'd succeeded in losing herself, at least... not to mention losing several mornings into the bargain. She'd drunk her stores dry, and thus found a new determination for her original mission: to trade. She was on the prowl for only specific things. Firstly, anything that would benefit Anathema: secondly, presents for her brothers, and thirdly, alcohol, pure and simple. However, although several passing traders were intrigued by her offerings of herbs and spices, and many wished to try on her handmade jewellery, business was slow: she'd only acquired a small bottle of gin, which tasted rough but she was sipping at it regularly anyway. Possibly she'd failed to make much progress because all day she'd kept drifting off for minutes at a time, leaning against a tent pole which she'd tied her thoroughbred mare to, wary of further stampedes. She felt much more awake since her naps, but now there were less traders wandering past. A little bored, Caprica leant back against her horse's side and spoke nonsense to her under her breath, grateful for the animal's presence. Not only was she useful transportation, she also doubled as a moving market stall, as all Caprica's wares fitted into the saddlebags since the bulky bottled goods were gone for good.

Her roving green eyes found plenty of interest to focus upon, but at one point they found a gaze looking back at her: a lightly hued male, whose face was familiar: was he an Anatheman? But somebody passed in front of him, before she could catch the tell-tale scent that led always to the Rakeeb's den at home. Two figures, in fact, had obscured her vision: one burly and chestnut-brown furred, the other a smaller grey wolf with a rough and straggling coat. They both were festooned with swords and knives: at least five strapped to each of them, and bundles on their backs. Caprica thought they were probably just passing through, not here for the duration of the festival: they looked unfamiliar and were glancing around with attentive and hungry expressions. She saw one nudge the other as they looked her way, and then they were coming over.

"Well hello there, what can I do ya for?" she greeted the pair of traders with a smile. "What'll you take for the horse?" the grey male asked, without so much as a hello. Caprica laughed, but her smile had become cold. "You're kidding? She's not for sale. Especially not for cutlery." She eyed up his multiple blades with disdain. His eyes narrowed, and he stood in silence for a moment, the larger male at his shoulder equally wordless. Then the grey wolf shrugged, "okay, whatever." He turned, striking a flint to light a cigarette and muttering something to his companion. They weren't five paces away when Caprica rushed forwards, her hands in the air. "Wait!" The wolves stopped, and turned. Caprica gulped, smoothing her hair. "Uh, is that... is that a katana? On your back?" She'd seen it as he turned to go: the long, curving scabbard, with the two-handed hilt protruding, red symbols painted on black.

"...Sure," the grey man admitted, eyeing her thoughtfully. "Changing our mind are we?"

"Not exactly." She remembered so well hefting the blade belonging to the Rakeeb and slicing it into the bear's massive flank. The damage had been impressive. She imagined herself standing by Alaki, both Anathemans wielding matching blades, threatening some idiotic trespasser to its knees. "I am kinda interested, though," she admitted. The grey wolf took a drag on his cigarette, eyes focused on her. "It's a good blade. Easily worth the horseflesh." "She's got sentimental value," snapped Caprica and he raised his hands in a mockery of apology. "Show us what else you got, then, sweetheart."

A puff of lascivious smoke followed this drawling challenge and suddenly she wanted to hit him, but thankfully, she wanted the weapon more. "I have tasty, tasty spices and herbs," she tempted, but received only a blank stare. "For cooking?" she clarified hopelessly. The wolves frowned, exchanged a puzzled look. "Cooking?" the tall brown male grunted.

Caprica quickly shifted tack, unhooking her chains and pendants from her neck and holding them up, dangling and glinting in the low winter sunlight. "How about these. Hand made, unique. You could trade 'em on, branch out from the weapons business, you know? Attract a new clientele... a more attractive, stylish, feminine clientele..." But Caprica already knew her wheedling was falling on deaf ears. Without another word, the wolves turned to leave once more.

"Wait!" she cried, and this time as they looked back at her there was more irritation than impatience in their eyes. But she had an ace up her sleeve: she drew a carved wooden box from one of Rohan's saddlebags. "I brought these to work on. But I guess I can let one or two go..." She lifted the lid slowly and a myriad of colours reflected in her eyes, glinting from the shining precious stones. There were about a dozen in the box. Black obsidian, gleaming amethysts and quartz, tigers eye, hematite. Caprica's eyes roved desperately over them, she could hardly bear to think about choosing which to trade. The collection had taken a long time to build. She'd intended to keep them for incorporating into jewellery to give to her loved ones. "That's a rare hoard," the grey wolf commented unemotionally and she nodded. He studied them for a second, then looked up at her. "I'll take the lot. And the box. And I'm doing you a favour."

Her heart sank. Was the sword really worth so much? She supposed it must be: she didn't know a lot about such things. Still, it was a heavy price - all of her hard-earned gems, some found herself in the deepest realms of the caverns, some lifted from human remains. The black obsidian was said to be magical. Caprica was caught in indecision. "Let me handle the sword first," she demanded, buying time. Reluctantly, as if she was wasting his time, the grey man nodded. As she closed the lid of the box and set it down on the stool, he unbuckled the sword-belt and offered her the hilt to draw from the sheath. It was a beautiful long hilt, although the red markings upon it were crudely done: she would have to paint over those. She pulled it half-way out, and tilted it, examining the single edge, circular guard. It looked beautiful, although the hilt seemed almost too large for the blade and a dark substance surrounded the place where the two joined: still, perhaps that would come off with some cleaning. Caprica had no way to know that it was a form of glue holding the blade in place in a handle not meant for its size, which would soften and weaken before long, making the katana dangerous to the wielder. She only saw the beauty of it: and she didn't think to test the edge or the weight. A blade was a blade, and it looked wonderful, to her eyes. Her heart pounded: her eyes shone. She would have to take the trade. She curled her fingers around the hilt, and then in one swift movement pulled it free, letting the sword hover in front of her face, before swinging it to descend in a beautiful arc, and then another to the other side: she spun on the spot, before lunging forward, slicing from side to side, spinning round again - and coming to a breathless halt, the edge of the katana pointed right towards an approaching figure, a storm-cloud coloured wolf, with a face wound with ribbons of scars. Alaki.

Caprica quickly lowered the katana. "Hey," she said, trying to cover her embarrassment at almost stabbing him. "Look what I found. Those traders are selling it to me." Having explained herself, she turned her attention more fully upon her pack-mate. "How're you, anyhow?" So the leader's meeting must be over. Perhaps she would get to see her mother later on: perhaps she would be impressed by this new purchase. But she would probably be in a hurry to get home to her duties, knowing Naniko.

Image courtesy of fabiogis50

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