(121-05-24) The Feats of Feisty Girls
The Feats of Feisty Girls
Summary: Emylie and Reeda meet; Emylie and Reeda meet trouble; trouble meets Emylie and Reeda.
Date: 24/04/2014
Related: None



An unseemly stench of unwashed bodies, sewage, litter, and other unpleasant things assails one's nose here. The cramped, twisted streets of the Undercity are almost reminiscent of the pens of an abbatoir, and, indeed, there are mysterious red marks not too different from that of blood here and there. The buildings here look as like to crumble any moment. Some are leaning precariously, propped up with blocks of stone and timbers. Others are so heavily built-over with crude timber, that they can barely be perceived under the wood. It is always wet in this low lying area, and the tops of the overcrowded buildings so close together that the sunlight barely reaches through.

Poxy whores, sellswords, thieves, footpads, cutpurses, hedge wizards, robber knights, pirates, and pickpockets roam the claustrophobic little streets, on the prowl for coin, an unsuspecting victim from the city proper, or merely the next big adventure. There is a throng of smallfolk all about the gateway to the Thieves' Market. There are very few City Watchmen here, and when there are, they travel in a tight, almost phalanx-like formation, shield to shield, spears out and at the ready.

It's a dangerous place for a noble, but Reeda Bracken doesn't look much like a noble, does she. It would take a particular eye to note that her dress is fine — or used to be, before its nicer trappings were torn off, making way for loose threads and an unlaced front. The worn-down leather apron strung about her waist and the scarf knotted about her head is the weirder note. Outside the Tooth and Nail, the tall, thin Riverlands woman leans ungracefully against the building, one foot jutted up against the wall, cocking her knee underneath her brown dress. People come and go around her; some pay her no mind, some try to get her attention, thinking her standabout means she's open for some kind of business. By and large, she avoids people's gazes; if they do gain hers, it's surly. She's occupied with pulling the fastenings of her overly full travel pack. It'd be better suited to be carried by a mount, but she's a rare Bracken without a horse.

A typical day in the Undercity of Oldtown, the usual dregs of the city mill about trying to make a quick coin or find some woman to warm their loins. A typical day indeed, and the oyung girl who has become some sort of a fixture in the city finds herself perched ontop of a wooden barrel, feet dangling as her heels lightly tap the barrel with each swing. She is munching on an apple, a bite taken as her eyes scan her surroundings with a certain awareness and alertness not usually seen in an elven year old child. Her eyes fall on the noble woman with the full pack and linger there a moment, a smile given if her glance is caught. Another bite of the apple and she chews, swallowing before calling out to the fallen noble, "I bet that's heavy…must be really hard to carry about and all that. Bet you could use a horse or something."

It takes a couple of seconds for Reeda to realize the voice she hears is directed at her. Her narrow gaze cuts in the child's direction, first landing on the barrel where her heels strike repetitively before jumping up to eye her proper. Suspicion is quick in those eyes; Reeda seems instantly taken aback by the fact that she's being spoken to at all. "Suppose I could," she replies rather curtly, a distinct what's it to you tone carrying it. Her voice is stripped of the politeness ingrained in many a noble lady. "Suppose then I'd need a stable, too."

"Or you could just carry less shit. Would solve all your problems." The young girl gives a casual and careless shrug before hoping down from the barrel and tossing her apple to the street below without a care, "Aint the best idea ot have that much on you round here anyhow. Most people would just soon slit your throat and take it from you. Guards aint going to do nuthin bout it either. They just look the other way and go about their business. Nobody cares who lives or dies in the Undercity anyhow." Her steps take her closer and she extends her hand to shake the woman's before her, "Emylie. You'll more than likely forget it by the end of the day. So what brings down here? You look like you have at least bathed before…even it was a few days ago.

Unoffended and unsurprised, the woman's intensely freckled face hardens. "Need my things. Matter of time 'fore someone tries," she answers, well-aware — and here she is. Attentive green eyes track the child, and she stiffens an increment when Emylie gets closer. "Have my reasons." A half-finished flick of her gaze indicates the winesink behind her without truly leaving the child. "So does everybody else." She might have noble blood, but is she really any different from anyone else stuck finding food and flea-ridden room and board in the Tooth and Nail? One arm tightens around her pack and the other lets go, considering shaking the girl's hand, but just rests stiff at her side.

Emylie eyes her carefully as well, eyes drifting to the hand that refuses to raise to shake her own. She lowers her own hand and shrugs, "So drinking put ya down here? You are not the first and you certainly will not be the last." A charming little smile is offered as she continues her words, "So what did you do? Wrong your family? Kill someone? Or are you the forgotten child that your parents wished they never had?"

Some combination of the girl's words causes a quick jut out of Reeda's chin, pursing her lips. "Never said anythin' about drinkin'." Her shoulder shifts and she leans her head back until it thumps the building behind her lightly. It stretches out previously poor posture, extending her height. Her eyes are just slits looking defensively down at the girl. "Nosy thing, aren't you," she accuses in her low, inelegant voice, flat, just like her query, "Are y'trying to hustle me?"

Emylie shakes her head with an exaspherated sigh, "No. Not at all actually. Very seldom that I will bother to strie up a conversation with someone if I intend on taking from them." SHe pauses a moment and then adds, "Okay, that is not always true. I have a lovely sweet girl routine that the nobles just feel sorry for and hand it over." Her eyes study a moment more and she takes a step closer, "Fuck me for having a conscience at times when it comes to those in my situation. When did you last eat?"

While the defenses and skepticism in Reeda's gaze don't exactly melt, something gives. A smile thins out the right corner of her normally full lips, some measure of amusement or respect for the child's ways. "Yesterday, breakfast," she answers tightly, like she has to scrape the response out of her throat.

There is a slight nod and the young girl exhales slowly, running a hand over the back of her neck. She looks about and without a word dashes away from the young woman to a small vendors cart just on the fringe of the thieves market tho slowing as she approaches it. The vendor is busy dealing with a few other patrons, making her target that much easier. As she continues to jog, she purposefully looks behind her as if she is trying to escape from someone, and bumps into one of the patrons, falling to the ground. The man looks down out of concern and offers to help her up, and she takes it willingly, "I…I am sorry sir. I was just…trying to get away…" She does not finish her words and turns to go, a smile on her face as her back is turned. SLowly she makes her way back to Reeda, a small silver ring in her palm, "Come with me..I know someone who will take this as payment for a hot meal." Her eyes look to the Tooth and Nail.
Emylie enters the disreputable winesink, the Tooth and Nail, through its broken front door.

Reeda watches the smallfolk girl intently, seeing the trick through from start to finish, her brows pushing together; by the time Emylie's returned, ring in hand, she's squinting all the more. Conflicted, it seems as though she might have something to say about the manner in which the payment was obtained, but after a moment, she's practical. She slides her heel down off the wall, turning toward the door of the winesink.

Tooth and Nail

This squalid winesink never closes — somebody broke the front door, probably with an ax, years ago. It doesn't latch, and it'd not even a complete door. Bad weather can leak in through its broken edges. There are a few battered tables, and stools and benches or just empty barrels to sit on. The furniture, such as it is, doesn't match and is probably mostly stolen. It doesn't last long in here. The place has a dirt floor strewn with straw and rushes. They don't appear to have been changed for decades and they emit a dank smell.

The drink is cheap, the food cheaper, and the whores may be cheapest of all.

For a penny one can sleep, or do any other thing, on the second floor. It's drier up there. However, it is all one room and there are neither beds nor a limit to how many 'guests' are sold lodging there each night.

The Tooth and Nail, there is no place finer to eat or reside. Well, if compared to a festring pit of feces. As the enter, a few of the usavory patrons look up, tossing the young girl a glance, some out of friendly acquaintanc,e but a few out of predatory nature. Emylie makes her way to one of the "tables" and sits down upon one of the low barrels, motioning for Reeda to join her, "It aint great, but it will fill your belly. Won't stay in there long, but it will curb your hunger.

"Well looky here will ya William? Looks like we got ourselves a fresh little lass." One of the patrons to the Nail has since stood up and is beginning to make his wat towards the two newly arriving women, his words directed at Reeda, "Pay him no mind…he's all talk." A hand is raised to signal one of the cheap whores who act as servers when not hired out for other things, "Keep your bag close.."

Reeda's gaze is attentive but not far-sweeping as she picks her way through the Tooth and Nail to the spot Emylie chooses, keeping her head slightly down. "I've come to be familiar," she says of the oh-so-lovely establishment as she sinks down onto the half-a-barrel. She views the approaching patron under a glower of her forehead; even that, a wash of freckles. She swings her bag onto her lap, mostly under the table, a protective motion that's now become practiced through her short stay in these parts. "Don't care for his talk, either."

Them two men cotinue their appraoch to the two women, pausing beside there table. The smaller one gives a toothless grin and reaches out to place his hand on Emy's shoulder, "Whose your friend kid? Aint seen her around here. Puts these whores to shame. Bet this one aint been spread in a long time." Emylie's eyes look across the make-shift table to Reeda and she then quickly raises a hand to brush the one from her shoulder, "Get your damn hand off me Marko. I don't remember asking you to join us?" She looks to Reeda and inquires, "Do you remember asking them over here?" The question is more out of sarcasm and does not require a reply.

"I don't give a fuck what ya did or did not ask ya parentless bitch. William and I are gunna get to know your new friend here…ain't that right William?" The larger man just simply laughs, the sort of laugh expected from a large simpleton. Marko then moves to place his hands on the young girl once more, barking, "You're in my seat gutter rat…you gunna move or am I gunna move you myself?"

Reeda's shoulders curl in, her posture tending to hunch over. Defensive, protective, certainly— but rather than the withering pose of a frightened lady, it adapts into her palms pressing into what passes for a tabletop and aiding her push up, leaned over toward the men. Her pack knocks against the edge. "Get your hands off 'er," the woman all but growls. The green forests and hills of the Riverlands are more present in her voice than nobility. A narrow hand dives into the pocket of her odd apron and in a flash there's a small, thin knife pointed at the patrons. It looks more like a tool than a weapon, but at least it's sharp. When the violent little gesture at least surprises the men, she leans harder. "Don't see your name scratched on the table. Go away."

The pulling of the knife does cause both men to pause and take notice, but Marko makes no effort to remove his hands from the young girl's shoulders, "Oooh a fiesty little thing. I like that. " HIs hads grip down on Emy's shoulders a bit harder, "Where the fuck did ya find this fine piece of ass kid?" The look on Emy's face is not one of fear but of pure disgust, "Go away Marko…and take your sack of flesh friend with you." Her eyes look across to Reeda, trying to give her a message with her glance; her eyes rolling to the door.

It is then that William moves closer to Reeda, his brow raised and a shaking of his head, "Put the knife down pretty lady…" He starts to extend his hand towards her own, the one that holds the blade, "Give the blade to good Ol' William and let Marko have his way with you. That way nobody gets hurt…"

Eyeing between the two men and Emylie, glowering a bit more for every threat that's sent each of their ways, Reeda starts to haul her pack aside with her other hand so that, when she stands abruptly from the barrel, it's held at her side. With her hunched-over pose, standing's barely made a difference; she's situated like a wild animal, ready to strike out and withdraw.

William's meaty hand encroaches, sinking onto Reeda's ready to pry the little blade from her bony fingers. Already, he's prepared for gloating.

Nobody gets hurt? "Fuck you," the 'pretty lady' retorts low and rough, yanking her hand back swiftly the second she feels the man's disgustingly moist skin on hers and stabs the sharp end down toward that very hand's palm.

The large man's other hand shoots out as he sees the blade coming for his other hand and grabs the woman by the wrist; a bit of pressure applied to try and make her drop the blade, "Now now you stupid whore…why would w ewant to be going ahead and doing something so…stupid?" His face moves closer to Reeda's the smell of alcohol on hhis breath as he lickes her cheek once.

Marko simple shakes his head and smiles his retort, "Oooh fiesty as all hell. Do me a favor William, drag that fine piece of ass upstairs for me…maybe we can screw the fiestyness right out of her no?" Other people in the Nail have topped what they are doing and have begun watching the altercation, but nobody makes an effort to stop it, to content and happy to see it occuring. A shout of, "Yeah..fuck her good Marko," is heard from the other side of the room. Marko then leans in closer to Emy and whispers, "I am going to make you watch you stupid little guttersnipe. Make you watch your friend suffer…"

Emylie closes her eyes a moment and with a soft exhale delivers her words, "She askd you to go away…now…go…away." It is then that the young girl grabs her own dagger from where she is seated from her rope belt, thrusting her hand back blindly behind her at the man;s crotch that happens to be at the perfect level at the height she is sitting.

Cringing, crinkling and darkening whatever prettiness was espied in that freckled face of hers, Reeda's like to bite the man's ear off — might try, were it not for her focus on the struggle to keep her knife tool. She might be feisty, but she's no keen wielder of blades — not against targets that move and fight back. She pulls her hand back against William's force, her fingers jumping open despite her fierce will to keep them closed around her scant weapon. It clatters to the table about the same time as Marko's gutteral, then strikingly high, shout and cry when Emylie's knife burrows into flesh.

Reeda uses the loud and hopefully soon to be bloody distraction to shove her sharp elbow toward her own bothersome aggressor and step back, reaching immediately for Emylie. "We're goin'."

The loud cry from the blade finding his loins is met as well with a group uttered "oooooh" from the crowd in the Nail. They were not pickinf sides, and this type of entertainment is just what they were hoping foron a typical night. Blade did find flesh and from the reaction from Marko it found the right spot, sending him to the floor and grabbing his crotch as his hands start to slowly take on a crimson hue.

Reeda's elbow finds the stomach of the larger man, and hard enough to cause him as well to lose what air he had in his lungs, immediatly letting go of her and reaching for his stomach with both hands. The large man staggers back and over a low wooden bench, sending him onto his back as it shatters beneath him in splinters of wood.

Emy quickly stands up on the barrel and nods with wide eyes at Reeda, "Agreed." She then proceeds to jump across a few of the tables, tap dancing like a nimble little acrobat to the doorway.

Reeda takes off, a bolt of ungainly limbs that come together to function rather swiftly when it comes down to it. Her long legs strike her purposefully across the Tooth and Nail, swerving around the tables the young Emylie hops from until they can both burst out the door which, already broken, flings viciously open, threatening its questionable hinges. She doesn't stop until she's outside and swerved into a dank alley.

The ruckus will die down and turnover pretty fast to make for a new one in a place like the Tooth and Nail, but the threat of vengenace from those particular men may or may not follow on their heels. She whips around, a sharp flick of lank hair, looking both for Emylie and any sign of approach.

And run they did, the young girl running as fast as he rlegs could carry her, and years in the streets have proven to make her quite fast indeed. When they feel they are in a safe place, an alleyway that Emy apparently knows quite well, the young girl pulls a board back on a dilapitated building and slips inside it, breathing heavily with a soft giggle escaping her lips, "Now that was fun." Her eyes find Reeda and she offers a smile, "You should have seen William's face when you elbowed him in the stomach, and then when he fell back onto the bench." Another giggle can be heard in the large vacant room as she moves to sit upon the floor, "I managed to grab these on the way out." It is then that Emy produces some bread what looks to be some cooked whole potatoes, "Here..I am not really hungry."

As she ducks in to follow Emylie, a smirk, half smug, can be glimpsed on Reeda's face before it's eaten up by the shadows inside the old building. "Assholes," she summarizes the men. "Reeda Bracken." Breath harder from running making her fairly deep voice more gritty than it already is, she takes this moment of all moments to introduce herself. The child's earned it. She sets her pack down at her feet and takes the food, but tears only a small piece of the bread off for herself and hands the baked good back to Emylie. "Keep it. Lasts longer." After a fleeting moment of perplexion over the potatoes in her hands, she bites into one like an apple.

Emylie takes a bite of the bread, tearing it off with her teeth like a dog might due to meat on a bone. She lays back upon the floor as she chews, staring up through a hole in the ceiling at a few stars in the sky. Her bare toes wiggle absent-mindedly and her ill-fitted shirt allows for her well-toned stomach to be shown, "Emylie. I don't have a surname…you know being smallfolk and all." She takes another bite of the bread and then rolls onto one arm, propping herself as she focuss her gaze upon the woman, "That kinda shit happens from time to time. Not always, and honestly not that often. Everyday is an adventure in the Undercity Miss Bracken. You never know who you may run into, or where your next meal is going to come from. The trick to surviving is…" Another little laugh can be heard before she finishes her statement, "Luck I guess…well that and stealing."

"It's Lady Reeda, but I'd have you call me Reeda. None of this Miss or Lady Bracken," she clarifies dismissively. She leans herself against the sturdiest part of the wall behind her as she devours the potatoes. She's unbothered by the mess, which helps her to enjoy the simple meal. "Travelled all the way here from east of Riverrun. Met men like them on the way, slipped them all but for the loss of a few coins." Her chewing of the soft cooked tuber slows with distant, annoyed thought.

"Then Reeda it is Lady Reeda." The young girl pushes herself up to a seated position once more and finishes off the bread in her hand, "It aint so bad…the streets I mean. You tend to get to know them quite well. The best places to find a meal, the best places to sleep on certain nights. I know this one place, a perfect view of the moon from its rooftop on warm nights." A hand goes to tuck a strand of hair away from her face and beind her ear, "If ya do'nt mind me askin…this aint no place for a Lady. Undercity I mean. It's more for people like me…those that aint ever going to make anything out of themselves…those who are destined to never leave it."

"No place is a place for me." There's no melancholy in it; just a fact as Reeda sees it and stated as such in her curt manner, though her dark eyes lower. For now, right here's a fine enough temporary spot, however, and she sits herself down on the floor. She uses an elbow to nudge her pack closer to her, wanting it near. Her eyes stay down, on the potato she every so often bites hungrily. "I was sent here by no plans o'mine. Somewhere else I'm meant to show up. Don't much want to. So," a shrug; there you have it; so be it. "I'll be here 'til I find another way."

The young girl is not a fool, and she knows that pressing the woman for details would more than likely be met with resistance. Nevertheless she slowly rises and moves to sit herself beside the woman, pressing her own back against the wall, "Hmmm…somewhere else you are supposed to show up. Running away; sounds like you are being forced into some marriage ya dont want." There is not matter-of factness to her words, just casual observation, "Hopefully it will rain soon…I could use the washing." More words idly stated, but a glimpse into the world of the young girl, "So where do you go from here?"

On 'marriage', Reeda gives huff just short of a full snort (horse-like, but who's counting). It's difficult to ascertain how closely the errant Bracken is paying attention, or what she's thinking; her expression's a blank plain, unlike her skin, except for the glower that's set in. She shrugs again, hardly a twitch. "Need money."

Emylie shrugs casually and her words seem quite certain and without and sense of posible failure, " I can get you money…I mean it might take a bit. Really depends on how many wealthy targets I can find." She leans her head back against the wall and closes her eyes a moment, still talking, tho this time softer, "Someday I am going to make something of myself. You'll see.

"Naw, girl; you keep it for yourself," Reeda is quick to dissuade, but the words, though flat and rough around the edges as ever, have a kinder bent than all previous. If you listen hard. "I'll find my own way. You'll need what ye get." She hefts her pack onto her lap and, wrapping an arm about it, closes her own eyes. "To make somethin' of yourself."

"I'll make my name known one way or another. May not be something positive, but one way or another." She stifles a small yawn with her dirtied hand and lets out another soft sigh, "Don't worry, I am a light sleeper. I don't think those two will come looking for us; hell one of them is prolly still looking for his balls." She then pulls her knees up to her, wrapping her arms about them and lowering her face, "Sleep well Reeda, tomorrow is another adventure…"

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