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Post by Tabula Rasa on Jul 3, 2011 15:20:45 GMT -5
’Twas a busy day in the Castle Town Market. People buzzed about, going about their business. Conversations were had, product was sold, deals were made and pockets were picked. Shouts and cries echoed off the taller buildings that surrounded the marketplace. A sale on this, half price on that. All the way from Ordon comes something else. Consumerism at its finest as people tripped over each other, tramped each other just to save a few rupees. And in between all these people were the little folk. Sure, some of them were Minish, or at least as close to Minish as a hybrid could get. But they would never be accepted as such, not around here.
Castle Town was the center of the plague called racism. With such a large, diverse population, hybrids were born every day. Some of them would have decent homes, sure, but others . . . others were cast into the streets. Those lucky enough to survive infancy turned into Hyrule’s Most Wanted simply because they were caught picking pockets and were unfortunate enough to be in between races. A human boy could steal a horse and get a slap on the wrist, but should a hungry little hybrid think to swipe a pear they’d be dragged away in shackles.
It was a cruel world.
Above it all sat one individual. She sat on the edge of a rooftop, her feet dangling over as they crossed over each other. No one bothered to look up when the deals were on ground level, so T.R. found herself such a quaint observation post where she would go unnoticed. And she watched the swirling tides of the people below, puppets dancing on the strings of the merchants, and hummed to herself all the while. There was a rhythm to the crowd, see, as they moved about. Like one large, synchronized dance. Few people could see it, but to T.R. it was plain as day.
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Post by Rwaht on Jul 5, 2011 0:42:21 GMT -5
Rwaht was on patrol. He was, of course, nearly always on patrol. The difference was, Rwaht looked up. It was a natural habit of being someone with wings, and furthermore being someone who often had to deal with people with wings, be they Minish or Oocca, or both. He thought briefly of Vriska, and smiled. She was enough of a handful that he needed to keep looking up even if she couldn't fly. Meanwhile, today had been relatively peaceful, at least that insofar he hadn't needed to pull his sword on someone. There was always enough out there to give him something to do, though, but by now his reputation ensured that a few death stares would stop most disagreements. Not many people were stupid enough to fight him.
However, glancing up once or twice eventually revealed that someone was standing on the roof. He raised an eyebrow and wondered who it was. He took a good look at her and realized she was wearing reasonably nice clothes, and had some sort of bizarre make-up on. That meant she was at least wealthy enough to really have no reason to be on rooftops. Sometimes streetchildren used them as makeshift homes and alleyways, to escape the watchful eyes of the guards. This, however, was definitely not one such child. Nor was she even that young, he realized. He frowned and called out to her,
"Hey. You. On the roof. What are you doing?" Rwaht asked, resisting the urge to sprout big damn wings of fire and fly up there himself. He didn't really think that would be a good idea, given that the whole marketplace was crowded with people, and at least half of them were liable to panic. |
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Post by Tabula Rasa on Jul 5, 2011 0:55:26 GMT -5
Someone was calling up, shattering the reverie T.R. had found herself locked in. She blinked and looked around, then down to where the source of the call had come from. One of the knights, one of the guards. She didn’t know which ones. Hylian Knights probably. They were annoying enough. Or one of the Sentinels, that group of hybrids working under the Hylian’s thumbs. Waste of talent, really, but still, worth noting that at least some of them were finding their way up there in society. How many of them saw their parents burn?
But fire giveth what it taketh away.
Or something like that.
There was fire coming to purge the world, and that’s what mattered. T.R. glanced down and decided to respond to the call. ”Sitting!” she called back down in response to his question, then kicked a foot out playfully to tease the guard. Before realizing it wasn’t any normal guard, but one guard in particular. One very special guard, that brought a wide grin to T.R.’s face before she even realized it was there. She managed to control it after a moment, but then a giggle escaped her lips.
At least she’d been playful; the one known as Rwaht would merely assume she was giggling playfully. But there he was. ”Come on up! It’s comfortable, Rwaht Orin! We have much to talk about!” she called down, adding a touch of seriousness to the jovial tone she decided. With the invitation out there, she rolled back and disappeared from the street view. Just a few feet back along the roof, sitting with her back to a chimney, and waited; few people could resist strangers who knew their name, even if they were figureheads like this one.
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Post by Rwaht on Jul 9, 2011 19:47:19 GMT -5
"Yes, using my deft investigative talents I have already deduced that myself, thanks," Rwaht replied dryly, though he was still frowning. He didn't trust anyone who was sitting on topping of a building with their legs swinging about, given that anyone who was was probably a little crazy. And crazy people usually wound up hurting themselves, or someone else, and often both. She then started laughing, and he had to resist the urge to slap his forehead with his palm. Definitely crazy.
Today just got more ... interesting, Rwaht thought, with some degree of amusement. Figuring that it would still be a bad idea to sprout big wings of goddamn fire, he walked down an alley, found a few windows that looked like good footholds, and climbed quickly up to the top of the roof. When that was one's least conspicuous route, said individual was probably in trouble, Rwaht thought to himself. That she knew his name didn't bother him. A fair few people knew the name of Rwaht Orin, and he supposed he didn't make himself hard to find. He tracked her down on the roof and went down on one knee, examining the curious girl.
"You say we have much to talk about, hm? So what would that be?" Rwaht asked, his voice the cautious one of the Hybrid Praetor. |
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Post by Tabula Rasa on Jul 18, 2011 10:53:33 GMT -5
Under her boots T.R. began to wiggle her toes. Why is this important? Because that’s how she amused herself while she waited for Rwaht to take the slow and cumbersome route up to the roof. She wanted to see those great wings of fire and all that they represented. But that didn’t disappoint her. Somewhere in that strange mind of hers she understood his reasoning, though it was probably the wrong kind of understanding. Or the wrong kind of reasoning. It was often hard to tell with T.R.
When he finally joined her on top of the roof, after what seemed like ages, T.R. quickly jumped to her feet and examined him closely, carefully. He approached with caution, but T.R. had very little caring for personal space. She examined him and, after a moment, nodded as if with approval. ”Very nice. You have taken care of yourself, as should be expected,” she mused, almost to herself. A clawed gauntlet reached out and scratched as his armour curiously.
”You are definitely the one,” she said with affirmation, then her mood pulled a complete turn around and she danced back a few steps. ”I wouldn’t expect anything less from our great Praetor,” she said and dipped into a low, theatrical bow before giggling. ”But what is the magnificent Hybrid Praetor doing patrolling the streets? Surely you have better business than that. Or perhaps your title is purely for show, as you prance about for the great Hylian Royal Family.” She shook her head. ”How do you expect to make progress by playing the policeman?”
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Post by Rwaht on Jul 20, 2011 17:10:46 GMT -5
When Rwaht did get up to meet this strange girl, he found himself under the impression that he was being placed under a microscope. A microscope that was twitching left and right, kicking its feet, and suffering severe mental imbalances. A microscope that was also getting uncomfortably close.
Okay, nothing like a microscope, Rwaht conceded.
"Taken care of myself ... I suppose so--hey, what are you doing?" Rwaht asked sharply, when she scratched at his armour. He frowned, but he didn't think her intent was malicious. Just crazy as Vriska on a bad day.
"The one? What one?" Rwaht asked, darkly. He didn't trust anyone who spoke in circles. Of course, he also didn't trust people who invited strangers to the rooftops for a casual inspection, so that was just making things worse. He couldn't help but feel curious, though ... just the faintest tug pulled at the back of his mind, encouraging him not to dismiss the girl as just another madwoman.
He grimaced.
"My title is just that. A title. My job is to protect Hybrids, and the best way to do that is to actually protect them. I don't care about the royal family, or politics. I just care about them. And every moment I waste is one they can't." |
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’Twas a busy day in the Castle Town Market. People buzzed about, going about their business. Conversations were had, product was sold, deals were made and pockets were picked. Shouts and cries echoed off the taller buildings that surrounded the marketplace. A sale on this, half price on that. All the way from Ordon comes something else. Consumerism at its finest as people tripped over each other, tramped each other just to save a few rupees. And in between all these people were the little folk. Sure, some of them were Minish, or at least as close to Minish as a hybrid could get. But they would never be accepted as such, not around here.
