Parker:
He takes the question seriously, thinking deeply. "To protect."
There is something in his eyes, the reminder of an old memory, the need to ask for something he felt he would never need again. "Armor?"
Search Posts
Parker: "Both." He answers. "Or better story."
He pats her shoulder, the gesture somehow protective but not condescending. "Road always good."
Parker: He looks at her, "Worth stories." Again the gruesome smile, "Deserve better story teller."
He thinks for a moment, "Bad storytelling is for driving." A pause, "Don't think on past, only pain." He looks at her, even height even when she sits on the wagon. "Will find one for you." He offers.
Parker: He qualifies, "Without flute, playing would be better."
He looks around at the carnivale, "Belonged here, just took me to find them first." The answer simple, true, straight to the point.
Trollblood: "Blame the artist not the instrument."
Parker: There is a tiniest sound of an 'oomph' when Parker slams into him. His big, heavy arms go around her, no pressure, just their presence dwarfing her. One hand almost pats a shoulder, treating her with the care of spun glass.
"You sing better than Sin's flute." His gruff voice, quiet, barely admitting that he can speak full sentences.
Parker: ... the owner is unreasonable, demanding, and spoiled rotten." Trollblood nods gravely, absolutely serious. "Luckily for her she's pretty, talented and disciplined in her art..." The exact same nod. She smiles at Trollblood then, a devistating charming smile of actual pleasure and happiness. He smiles back. It is pretty gruesome. There is a pause, a long quiet. Trollblood points at Dev, then Joe. "They hurt. I smoosh." Very serious.
Parker: There is no guile in his eyes, no hidden motives, which may be suspicious in and of itself for the merchant's daughter. "Parker carnivale. Sin no." As if that is reason in of itself.
He thinks for a moment, perhaps wondering if he needs to elaborate. He points to her, "Carnivale." To himself, "Carnivale." To the freaks, the geeks and the pinheads, all with the same words. Then to Sin, to Devraj, and Joe, "Not."
Joe just holds her, smiling into her hair.
Parker: His face moves, maybe that is a smile. It looks painful. "Place. No fleas during day."
He does share a wagon with the flea trainer.
Parker: He touches his own chest, "Driver?" Offer.
He is a remarkably ugly man, however now that Parker can see clearly into the face that is normally so far above her, his glacier blue eyes are kind.
Parker: He looks down at her for a moment, then slowly, cautiously, so that she can stop him at any moment, his hands reach forward to grab her waist.
If she allows him, his huge hands more than encircle her tiny waist, overlapping. Then he lifts her up and places her on the wagon bench, as if she weighs no more than Ash. He motions to wear the horse would be attached to the wagon, if the caravan were going somewhere, which it isn't at the moment. "You drive?" His deep tone curious.
Parker:
After closing your eyes, when next she opens them, she wakes safe, warm, protected between her two loves. Wrapped in a fluffy pillow and clean. The next morning, there is a quiet knock.
Parker: He shakes his head, "The disparity created by giving a gift is the foundation of commerce. To give, the ability to give, the quality of the gift creates worth."
His smiles is old for a moment, "It is only with family and those that you love that gifts are given without expectation, do not forget that." His eyebrow lifts, "And we don't know each other that well yet."
Parker: "If you were perfectly boring, you wouldn't be here. Boring people don't interest me." he says flatly, his voice having an edge to it. "I am not a contrivance of wood and steel, nor a construct." His eyes narrow slightly, a grin coming back to his lips, "However, if you want the story of how your wagon got my name, then you need to offer something of equal value. After all, gifts create obligation, and I doubt you want to be in my debt."
Parker: "Your speaking voice is quite lovely and I am certain that it is mesmerizing when you choose to sing." He turns to her slightly his grin wolfish, "But so far I like it best when I hear it in uncontrolled ecstasy." His eyes travel down her body, his gaze intense enough to almost be felt physically. "I have made it a personal goal to stir those sounds from you, someday, in the future."
He looks back at the bright clear sky, leaving almost loss when his gaze is removed. "But, for now, I'd rather hear about you, lovely lady."
Parker: Which a chuckle clear in the words, "Oh, I am most definitely not a man of honor, but I don't use food as bait."
He turns away, examining the far off sky, his shoulders squaring a bit, "Nor am I named for a simple contrivance of wood and steel. And you are here because you interest me and I wish it. Your bed warmers do not and were not invited." His tone warm for her and dismissive of the 'other men'. He looks over at her, "Mostly I just wanted to meet you, hear your voice for myself."
Parker: He looks up at the sky, leaning back onto forearms. "Not always. Sometimes she clouds with storm and lightning. The seas grow rough and threaten to drown the land." He looks over at her the lazy smile still on his lips, despite the dark tone with which he described the possible darkening of the world. "But today it is beautiful..." His eyes move over her curves, "As are you, but I suspect you are well aware of your own beauty." A pause, a beat, and then quiet, "The best ones always do." He looks away from her, back at the sky. Breathing for a while, letting her regain her sense of whelm. In a bit, "There is food, if you want it..." dark humor in his tone, "just remember what is said about food in strange worlds."
Parker:
"I" bending at his waist in a mockery of a formal bow, "Am Vitor." His voice has the same musical quality as her own, but in a deep tenor and is almost hypnotic to listen to. "And, Miss Katherine Andrea Parker," her name said with the absolutely proper inflections but with an accent very different from her own, "We are in the only place where I am."
Parker: The very first thing that Parker notices when she opens her eyes is color. Vibrant greens in grass and trees. In the distance, far in the distance, the bright blue of ocean water reflecting the brilliant blue of the sky above. The red of the checkered cloth she was sleeping on and, when she looks to her left, the sparking purple eyes of the white haired man on the far side of the blanket, a simple wicker picnic basket between them.
He smiles when she looks in his direction, pure rogeish charm in the crooked smile, dusky skin, and brilliant white smile. "mornin' beautiful."
Parker: You wake to the feel of bright sunshine on your face, a light breeze with the hint of ocean salt keeps it from getting unpleasantly warm.
"Vitor, times are very interesting, indeed. I hope you're ready. We might be leaving in a hurry. She says to the wagon. To the woman, "Thank you." And then, unless anyone interferes or has something to add, she pays the woman. As Parker pays the woman, she leans in, smelling of flowers and incense and whispers. Parker/DC 15 Perception:
"He can be a bit cranky and opinionated, but if he decides he likes ya you'll always have a safe harbor in a storm." Her hand tightening around Parker's for a moment as she gives the advice... warning? "Do you want me to arrange to have him taken over to the Kin? Or do you want to pick him up later?" Parker:
"What's his name?" She asks after a long moment of silence. The old woman does not say anything for a long moment until, her voice quieter than it was for the attempt at haggling, "Vitor."
"Pfaw." A decidedly coughing annoyed sound, "Atėmimo moteris mažai džiaugsmo.Liūdnas pasaulis nuėjome." The varisian comment directed to Devraj. In a tone that starts with a decided sulk but ends far more cheerful, to Parker she says, "If you decide that you want him, for you, 1500 gold." She straightens, as much as she can, "For anyone else who comes asking 2000 gp." Her old eyes serious, "But he deserves to be on the road again, to see the world with someone who will be living in interesting times."
Varisian: Depriving an old woman of a little joy. Sad world we have come to.
Parker:
The old woman stares back boldly, her old weather-lined face shrewd. Granted she probable learned the by-play of haggling at her mother's knee.
Parker:
Since I knew that one of your main goals in having the wagon was your dimensional closet, I was providing a higher-end than normal wagon, where the additional 1,000 gp was part of the material components needed for the enchantment.
If that isn't an expensive that you want to start paying for now, I understand. The white and green wagon would be 1,000 gp and the final red one would be 800. The old woman shrugs, "I'm not in any great rush to sell my memories. Might be a hard thing for someone who has their life in front of them to understand."
The old woman snorts, one eyebrow raising, truly offended by the low-ball price. "Do you think that you are buying some old goat herder's home or something?" She clucks her tongue, "Psh. I might be willing to go as low as 2700 gp for a woman who will be using my old home so vigorously." Looking suggestively at the two gentlemen escorting the singer. Sense Motive DC 0: Yeah, not offended. Highly amused by a ridiculously low price though.
Sense Motive Rolls: = successful
"Žinoma, kad buvo ne vakar. Mes pasistengsime išlaikyti jūsų kochanków laukti pernelyg ilgai." he smiles warmly at the woman. The old woman chuckles and when Devraj puts Parker down she reaches up to pat his cheek, obviously amused by his comment. "It is everything I envisioned." Parker says quite honestly after Dev has put her down. "I would certainly like to purchase it... him?... from you." She feels out the wagon. There's a personality here but she can't quite place it yet. It feels right. The old woman's look turns evaluating, "He is a good home." A pause, heavy, "Three thousand gold." Sense Motive DC 20: The old woman does not expect that much but with obviously wealthy customers, she needs to try. She will not be offended by haggling but will probably not go less than 2,000 gp.
The old woman who currently owns the caravan wagon watches Parker's enthusiasm and then demure excitement with a knowing eyebrow raised. She chuckles, speaking quietly to herself, "Būti jaunam." A pause, "Ir turi tokių dėmesingų mėgėjams. Beveik galiu prisiminti tokių dalykų mano gyvenime." When Parker is placed back on her feet, the old woman straightens as much as she can. Her heavily accented voice, worn like aged leather, "So my old home meets with your approval, lady?" Varisian: To be young.
And have such attentive lovers. I can almost remember such things in my life.
Mag shakes her head, "You can go directly. They are all close to each other, so it shouldn't take you long." And with that, Kaleb hands over the third calling card.
All three of the wagons are in immaculate condition and masterful made. The first one (the calling card with the red ink), is a classic reading design, the exterior painted in vibrant blues and golds. The second one is a ledge wagon which is white with green edging. And the final wagon you visit in the quick hour is a burton wagon with bright reds. The current owners seem, for the most part, to be varisians who have retired from the road. All of the wagons would seem to be significantly older than the current owners.
"Yes, that and let me know if you actually like it... since it will be our mobile home and I'd prefer it if you and Dotty were comfortable. Dev's raised eyebrow somehow manages to communicate the thought running through his mind, <Gentlemen? I don't see no stinkin' gentlemen!> He allows a quick glance and a nod at Joe before turning his attention to Mag (& Kendra & Parker) & the wagon conversation. Mag's smile grows toothy, amused, at Parker's impatience. With a low, throaty chuckle, she pulls out two calling cards and hold them out. "These are the two wagons that I thought might suit. I particularly thought this" Emphasizing the card with blood red lettering, "one would suit." She nods at Kaleb, "And Ringmaster Hesse has a third." Her shoulders move in a sinuous shrug, "If none of them suit, you'll have to hold out until we get to a larger city, like Caliphas."
Showing very little of his internal monologue on his staid face, Kaleb leads the group to the wagon with the picture of a band and shadowed singer painted on the side. A quick knock pulls the occupant to the door. As is normal for her so close to the city, Mag has a cowl pulled over her sightless eyes but her lips rise in a smile as she 'sees' the visitors. Her voice is a throaty alto, thickened with harmonies and smoky with an age that doesn't show on the part of her face that is visible. "I heard that you found two nasty men who like to play body games in the swamp."
As they walk through the brightly painted wagons just about ready for a flow of customers interested in the curiosities provided by the Kin. Already children, drawn half by interest and half by the teasing dares of their friends, try to to sneak into the camp hoping to catch sight of one of the 'freaks'. Something salacious that they can use to brag. The entire caravan seems to be playing at pulling off the right balance of tantalizing the youngsters and chasing them off with just the right tone to bring them back later... with their parent's coin. Kaleb chuckles at the wondering terror on the face a boy who drew to close to Trollblood and won a grimacing glare from the giant. His voice still amused, "I don't know about walking homes, sounds like the work of the winter witches. I think I prefer a wheeled conveyance pulled by a sturdy pony." A smile for one of the pinhead sisters, who smiles back at the adventurers, clearly happy to see them, despite her red-rimmed eyes. "Between Mag's contacts and my own, we've heard of three wagons that may fit what you requested, milady." He motions to the town, "I've heard that you've volunteered to help defend the Beast..." And his tone serious, voice a quiet whisper, "And I do hope you both take care with that. If you do find proof of his innocence, emotions are so riled up that the mob that wants his blood may well look for yours as well." The concerned warning shared, his voice returns to its normal carrying boom. "Which means, of course, that your time to go shopping is limited. But perhaps you will be able to spare an hour or two in order to see if any of the wagons will satisfy your exacting standards?"
The ringmaster raises one white eyebrow at the ashen archer, "They have a thing for albinos in Karcau and I needed to ensure that my people were not added to the opera of ghosts in that soggy city." His tone light clearly not at all worried about such trouble following his merry band of freaks. Sense Motive DC 26:
Kaleb is clearly not telling the whole story about the troupe's experiences in Karcau, but the subject seems to disturb him. However he does not seem to expect it to be an issue that follows the group. Kaleb's gaze passes on from Devraj easily, a happy glint in his red eyes at the presence of the blind woman. With a elaborate bow of courtesy to Parker, he extends a hand in greeting. Doing so clearly shows the second, slightly skeletal, hand growing from the palm. "Ms Parker," the tone warm, "I do hope that you aren't growing too placid and docile in the comforts of Ms. Lorrimor's townhouse." A grin that shows teeth the same shade as his albino skin, "I would hate for Mag's inquiries to be pointless."
Having arrived safely in Lepidstadt, the Crooked Kin set up their side show near the western gate. Rising on the hill behind them, the Spiral Cromlech looms over the small carnival. In response to something unheard by one of the kin Kaleb Hesse speaks his clear baritone carrying, "Sure we could have made more if we set up near the courthouse." A sardonic smile, well-versed in the cruelties of his homeland, "And we would have been right on hand when a townie decided that they should burn a few more freaks along with the Beast." Clearly speaking to one of the clowns, "This way Trollblood and Lidia," motioning in the direction of the enormous Ulfen, "Will be able to keep a better eye on custom. And hopeful we'll get out of here with our skin intact." He chuckles, "After all, we did promise Ms. Parker she could travel with us and Mag has her connections out for a wagon for the pretty miss so we can't exactly slip away in the night like we did in Karcau." |