Beyond the Pearly Temple

BEYOND THE PEARLY TEMPLE

Place: Memorial Gardens District

Synopsis: Oates learns more about Sandy from Svarshan, Myrana, and Quint.

Note: This scene immediately follows the events of Jinks' Pearly Temple.

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          Among the gardens, scents mingle: green, loam and subtle sweetness, wafting from the meticulously groomed grounds. The lawns are richly green, dense and close-cropped, bordered with polished pale marble stones the size of a human man's fist. The pathways are smoothly cobbled in muted tones that subtly echo and contrast with the surrounding greenery, shaded by the lush canopies of tall, straight trees whose branches arch over the walkways to form open, airy tunnels. Elegantly ornate, tall mana-lamps of wrought black iron keep the paths softly lit in the evenings; they are often situated near benches of matching material and style. It is peaceful, here. Somber. It is also curiously warm and green no matter the time of year; leaves do change color in fall but remain on the trees until spring comes again.

          At the heart of the park where the paths converge are large marble pedestals supporting bronze or marble statuary, chiseled letters upon the heavy bases naming the subject of each piece. The previous sculpture celebrating the union of Alexandros with Myrddion has been removed from the center of the garden and replaced with a gorgeous statue of the Crown Princess Lianna Rena and a marble walkway that leads to the Monument of Heroes - a newly-raised edifice celebrating those who fought and died on behalf of others. Tribute is still given to the friendship between Myrddion and Alexandros in the form of the paired standards mounted above the entrance to the Monument of Heroes: one from each nation. The flagstaffs are crossed and held by a Myrrish Knight and an Old-Alexandros Miner.

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"The first rule is knowing who to hide behind," says Sandy, "In this case, I am hiding behind you becasue Jinks is over there." She points a finger t Jinks, nodding solemnly. "The other first rule is that no job is just a job. Not when you never know what's going to be in the cards. Things always go the way you don't expect. NEver let yourself think of it as 'job's a job', you know? Or you'll get in trouble. Quicklike." She combs her fingers through her tangled hair.

"Makes sense," nods Oates. "Always stay alert, even if all that's going on is routine weapon repair in the guildhouse." Glancing over at Jinks, he adds "And from what I saw of him the other day, well... I honestly can't say that I blame you."

With a bit of a smirk, Jinks watches the children retreat down the path-- back to wherever it is children are when they're not claiming to be his bastard offspring. "You know, Lady Sandiel, I can hear you slandering me quite well from where I'm standing." He cocks his head, looking back and over his shoulder. "And at this rate I'll have mine own private army. I think it much better that we be friends, yes?" He smiles and offers a wink back at the elf.

"Your own private army of orphans? That'll have to go after my own private army of orphans. I am reputed to have one," adds Sandy. She then says, more loudly, "Not slander if it's true, anyways! And what's your name agian?" she asks Oates.

"...there you. Are." The slow voice comes with the slow, heavy footsteps from just up the path. Svarshan walks that way, and behind him, Srassha. The two wear the garb of Am'shere, though they look as though they'd just come from the parade grounds. The dragonblooded sith wears a set of heavy armor inscribed with the symbols of the Sun, and a near-permanent scowl. Behind him...

Behind him, Srassha prances. It's impossible to describe in words just how her steps bounce, how her tail slides from side to side, how she steps just so the remaining light catches the silver-mithral of her barding, how the shake of her head sends the click of her mecate shimmering in time with some unseen music.

"Jack Oates, but I mostly go by Oates," Oates relies, giving a slight bow. "And from what I hear, your name is Lady Sandiel, although I get the feeling that you have a different name you go by?" Glancing over at the newcomers, he gives a small wave. "Well met, Svarshan," the farmboy calls out.

When she hears Svarshan speak, Sandy startles a little and grabs onto the books even tighter. She turns towards him, suddenly, and shotos him a glare. A -glare-.

"Sandy." Jinks says before Sandy can reply, turning now to face the elf and her company properly. "And I can produce my medals and writs of service in the courts if we'd ever like to formally debate my positive contributions to the Alexandros region." He offers a little shrug, walking now. "... and before you go hiding behind the newest tallman fresh off the turnip cart, you might let him know who, precisely, has the reputation for assaulting individuals within the city walls." He starts to whistle, then, and makes his way towards the park exit.

"Under the Dragonsss. Wingss, Oates-of-the..." Here Svarshan pauses a while and falls into thought. After a while, he lifts his head again, says, "Sssa. I will think of...something. Sometimes it..." and that fails him, too. He looks frustrated for a moment, a while, but lifts his chin anyway, and sends Sandy a half-smile.

Beside him, Srassha lifts her own jaw, though it's only a prelude to her sidling up next to Sandy as though to say, 'Look! Look! I am wearing the most gorgeous, most pretty of things!' She even gives the barding a little shake and shimmy!

Voot-voo-voo-oot!

And along comes Myrana, sitting sideways on a broom as it floats lazily down the street, following a route with no apparrant direction from the sorceress atop it. She sits with one knee hooked over the other and a ledger in her hands, scribbling away at it in scrunched numbers while the broom-bristles fart out octarine sparks and her bustled skirts rustle in the cold breeze. She's certainly not looking where the broom is going, and as it is right now it's on a slow but steady course to poke someone in the ear.

"Sounds like there's a bit of backstory here, and not the sort that gets talked about in public except by gossips and the like," Oates observes, moving slightly so he's not in the direct line of frost between Sandy and Svarshan.

And then? Then there's *Myrana*. Sandy's expression begins to look like she's thinking it is going to be 'one of those days'. She eyes Jinks' departure with some relief, then says to Oates, "Maybe. Something like that, anyways. Svarshan. It's good to see you. And, oh look. HI, MYRANA. I see you have no strange dolls attached to you today."

Svarshan pauses a while, and then lets go a slow shrug, that's as slow and deliberate in movement as he is in speech. He stands near Oates and Sandy, the latter of whom has an armfull of books in her hands. Myrana's just arrived, working at ledgers as she floats along on her broom.

She doesn't appear to be looking where she's going.

Just beside Svarshan is a large raptor in silver barding, who looks to be trying to get people to notice her.

"Ssshe iss a demon. I hunt demons," Svarshan says, finding words at last. And he tilts his head, regarding Sandy with narrow-slit eyes.

"Hrm...?" Myrana looks up from the hateful ledger, the pointed little toe of her uppermost shoe tilting up in query.

And that's when the broomstick bonks quite solidly into the side of Svarshan's scaly noggin at about three miles an hour.

A slim-figured Llyranesi comes in from the bridge, his gait nonchalant, his eyes watchful as he takes in his surroundings and the denizens he passes. One hand hangs idly as he walks, and the other rests calmly on the pommel of an ornate rapier sheathed neatly at his side. His hand rests on it not like a man about to draw a weapon, but like one would grasp a walking stick. His stance is regal and might suggest a noble heritage, but not overconfidently so. His pace slows as he notices a woman on a broom colliding into a Sith'makar. He bites back a chuckle before also noticing a familiar face in Oates, and starts to head his way.

Thuk! Svarshan reels back as the end of the broom rams into him. He stumbles backwards, his hand going to the side of his face...

It's a moment before he can regain his senses, and he gives his head a quick shake when he sees who it is. "Sss..." he says, because words just fail him entirely when he's been hit in the head like that.

Srassha, for her part, begins to look offended, quite so! She'd been standing near Sandy, though well, there had been posturing. It looks as though she'd gotten to wear her 'formal wear' today, and she's quite proud of it. Glimmer! Shine!

Strut!

Oates raises an eyebrow a bit at the assorted happenings, but he does wave at the apporaching Llyranesi. "Well met, Maendir! How fare you this day?"

"Hello to you too, Srassha," says Sandy, aftera moment. She nods towards Svarshan, though, and then says, "Please take the books, Svarshan. And," she says to Oates, "I am not a demon. At all." She nods her head up and down. Some would certainly beg to disagree. She is, after all, often called 'the demon elf'.

Constantin saunters through the gardens, a spring in his step even as his expression is appropriately somber. Then he sees Srassha. "Hi, princess!"

Feeling the broom come to a juking halt before she even /notices/ that it's actually hit someone, Myrana very nearly drops her ledger. The broom bristles fart out a shower of sparkles and Myra lets out a startled 'Oh! Ack!' as the pen in her hands bounces out from her fingers and clatters down to the cobbles a few feet beneath the edges of her skirts. "Oh, damnit Sandy!" She exclaims, instantly blaming the elf. "What are you-- oh dear. Oh, Oh dear. Ahm--- aha." She hops down with a clack of heels and looks up in mortified horror at Svarshan.

Myrana also takes in note of the other people here, and gives them all looks like: You all saw that 'Makar jump in front of the broom oh god don't send me back to community service. "Are you alright?" she asks Svarshan, and then shoots Sandy a glare.

Svarshan rubs at his jaw and eyes Myrana with a half-grin. "Demon," he says distractedly to Sandy as he takes the books. And then: "What are you..." he starts to ask, and then there's another sildanyari walking down the pathways. When Oates calls out he falls silent a while before grunting, and then lifting his jaw in hello.

Beside him, Srassha is an example of contrasts. When Constantin appears she thumps her tail and then prances over that way. 'Hello!' that seems to say. And then she tilts her head this way and that, just-so, to show off the pretty sparkles on her mecate and barding. Look! that seems to say, Look! I am so pretty! So magnificent!

Constantin waves a hand as if to frame Srassha, "Yes, you look particularly lovely today!" He turns, looking around for others. Maybe a parade.

Maendir bows low to Oates first, then to everyone else about him. "Greetings Oates. Salutations, all..." He gives a brief smile to those around him and offers a brief smile to Myrana in her fluster. "I'd make a snide comment about not being able to see the poor Sith'Makar you just made a statistic of, dear lady, but I fear it might be taken in ill manner so I will refrain from doing so." He laughs softly under his breath, giving a nod of respect to Svarshan before taking notice of Sandy.

Maendir says "<something you don't understand in sildanyari>"

Srassha turns to the side, just-so, so that her silver barding glimmers in what's left of the sunlight. I am pretty, that says. I am a princess! And she lifts her head proudly. The FIERCEST princess!

Svarshan looks over that way, and lifts his chin again. "Sssa. Beneath. The Dragon's wing, Constantin. And you assss well, Friend-of-Oatess." Svarshan speaks slowly, and with difficulty. Each word is carefully framed.

As Manedir speaks to her, Sandy merely answers him in common. "He doesn't, really. It's a game between old friends and the fact that I'm not entirely a nice person." She shrugs her shoulders, then eyes Srassha and Svarshan balefully a moment as she says to Oates, "You know this guy?" A gesture at Maendir.

"Met him the other night at the Wayfarer's Inn," Oates replies. "Decided to get some fresh air outside the city, and happened to encounter him in the inn when I stopped by for a bite to eat. Wound up talking about learning and knowledge for a bit."

Maendir ahs! "Forgive my manners, everyone. I am Maendir Valadain, of the Llyranesi House Guardian. Charmed to make your acquaintances." He offers a loose bow, one hand grasping his rapier to keep it from flailing about as he bows. "Indeed, I met Mr. Oates here at the Wayfarer. Did not get to chat long, however. I had some business to deal with."

Svarshan looks for a long while at the llyranesi after Sandy finishes speaking. "We are old friends," he says quietly, and pauses. "But that doesss not stop me from assigning her to the Hearthguardsss...or her from throwing me off a cliff, or ffiring canons at. Closse. Range." He pauses again after that and, "Svarshan Kotharrventin. I hunt demonss." He is also a very gifted poet. He does not seem short on words--merely very /bad/ with them.

Myrana's cheeks flush guiltily and she clears her throat. "Sorry, Svarshan," she says quietly to the 'Makar. "Been uh, been looking over th'finances and I stopped looking where I was going." She reaches up and snatches the slim reading glasses she'd been wearing off of her face and turns to face Oates and Maendir attentively, niether of who she recognizes. Meanwhile the broom floats in place just a bit behind her. A slim, queer sort of saddle rests on it a little ways ahead of the bristles, clearly designed for the rider to sit atop it in a side-saddle fashion, with a single stiff stirrup and a stiff horn to hook one's knee around.

Constantin bows over towards Svarshan, "Sraasha's keeper," he intones with humour. There's a pause, then he focuses on the broom. "Delightful!"

"All of those things were well deserved," says Sandy to Svarshan, firmly, as if there could be no doubt in her mind that he deserved to be throw noff the nearest cliff. "I might need to do that agan sometime," she adds, giving a nod to Constantin as well. She recognizes him, after all. Then to Myrana: "You pay attention to your finances? Have the Oxleys been spending your money again?" A nod to Oates, of course, as well.

Srassha's head comes up at that, her semi-intelligent eyes fixing on Svarshan as though offended. And sniffs.

For his own part, the sith'makar looks quietly cheerful. He steps over towards Myrana, and throws an arm about her shoulders. "Drinks," he says, meaning just that, and one word is easier to say than several, and that one carries so much with it.

To the others, "Thisss is. Ssandy's sse--room mate. Myrana-of-the-Beer. Myrana, thisss is Oates-of-the-Fieldss." And he studiously ignores Sandy, then, and focuses on the new arrival. You see, there's history, there.

"Oates-of-the-Fields," Oates says, the expression on his face reminiscent of a winetaster at work, getting a sense of the feel of the extended name. "Nice to meet you, Myrana," he nods.

Maendir offers brief nods in greeting to Myrana and Sandy. When drinks are suggested he hums to himself thoughtfully. "I could do with something to drink, myself. I am feeling rather parched as of late." He folds one arm across his chest and lightly taps his chin in thought with the other. "Come to think of it, can't remember when last I ate either, I've been so busy."

Svarshan's chin comes up, and he regards Maendir a while, his expression thoughtful...before half-turning and looking to Myrana in inquiry. It's her beer, after all.

And, "Sa. One heard the Adventurers' Guild wasss. Looking. For...catering? Catering, this end-of-week."

Myrana curtseys politely and somewhat akwardly with Svarshan's heavy-as-stone arm draped over her shoulders like a scaly black sandbag. "Pleased to meet you," she says. "Myrana Tarris, I run the Ox Str--- oh, hello mister Constantin! I didn't see you." She clears her throat in some embarrassment. "I'd offer you all drinks but... well." An oblique look is pointed at her 'room-mate'. "Hrn. I can't prove they've been stealing from me, but... well."

"Of course you can't. They probably just want you to think they're stealing from you so you'll go crazy trying to prove it," says Sandy to Myrana. "And then they really CAN steal from you after they do." A nod follows. "Drinks. You know what? I want a drink." Then she gievs Svarshan a grin as he departs. Just a quick one.

"A drink would not be amiss," agrees Oates. "Nor would a sociable bite to eat, either, but a round of drinks would be easier."

Maendir stands there for a moment, considering. "I second that notion, Mr. Oates." He smiles warmly. "Unfortunately my time is all but spoken for at the moment. I'll be truly surprised if my contact doesn't spurn me for being tardy." He sighs. "Fortune to you, Mr. Oates, and to everyone else as well. I must be off to take care of business. Mayhaps I can find a bite to eat along the way..." He mutters that last part almost as though he were speaking to himself.

Myrana smiles and raises her hand. "It was nice to meet you, mister Maendir," she says, then gestures toward one of the cafes nearby. "They've got nice sandwiches there, and Sandy's rich. Let's go."

"Yeah, yeah. Bloody nice to meet all of you," says Sandy, giving a nod towards Manedir. She grunts, then eyes Myrana again warily. "Who says I'm paying?"

Myrana says, "Oh, no-one. But it would be awfully nice of you, you know."

Myrana clears her throat. "I'm thinking of you, after all. What if there was a robber?"

Myrana half hoods her eyes and smiles slyly. "What with your fiancee not being here to swing in on a chandelier that is."

Oates listens in. You might be surprised how much you can learn simply by paying attention to what others have to say, especially if you stay quiet.

Myrana can't quite manage to keep the pure villany off of her sweet face. It's like trying to keep a water-baloon from bursting on the end of a hose.

"I do not have a fiancee," says Sandy, firmly, to Myrana. Then she glares at everyone jusgt omake it clear. Then she kicks Myrana right in the shin.

"Ow!" Myrana hops, her skirts jouncing with the motion, and she lands about a pace further away from Sandy, one foot hovering up over the ground. "That's not what I heard!"

Myrana says, "Who's the unfortunate soul?"

Myrana gives another wobbly one-footed hop backwards, grinning.

"Or is it simply a case of the rumor mill trying to make flour out of straw?" inquires Oates. Which is another distinct possibility.

"Not married!" Sandy tells her, loudly. "Yes," she tells Oates. "This is the third time I've been married in recent months. I guess I'm an eligible bachelorette or something."

Myrana lifts a hand to whisper not-very-conspiratorally at Oates: "Or the truth spilling out despite the filonious efforts of Sandy's hordes of jealous admirers."

Myrana says, "They're all just queueing up to find out who they need to beat up to restore the status quo."

Constantin just watches. "Are you beating them off with a stick?" He doesn't just watch. He can't help it.

"Oh shut up, you two," says Sandy, making twinned ruge gestures at Myrana and Constantin before adding to Oates, "See what I deal with? SEE?" Of course, she sort of deserves it.

Oates contemplates this for a moment. "Let me see if I'm reading the grain right. Every so often, the rumor mill declares that someone is engaged to Lady Sandiel, despite any proof to the contrary? Or does someone actually step forth to profess their love, and it takes several weeks before the idea is finally beaten out of their head one way or another?"

Sticks! A wicked-hearted giggle escapes Myrana as she nods to Oates, but then she puts a hand to her breast and gives Sandy a dark-eyed, wounded look. Such rudeness! Really!

"Pretty much," says Sandy to Oates. "I have to deal with nonsencial proposals too." Then she kicks Myrana in the shin again. She deserves it.

Myrana says, "Ow!"

"What does it usually take for the rumors to get quashed?" Oates queires. "This is starting to sound interesting, and I would not be opposed to helping you frustrate the rumor mill." An impish grin is spreading across his face.

Myrana hops around comically, her heavy braids bouncing and the broom hovering placidly.

"Well, that is unexpected," says Sandy to Oates, "I will keep it in mind. No doubt I could use some help frustrating the rumor mill. And Myrana." She gives her *another* kick in her good shin. The non kicked one.

Myrana says, "Ow!"

Myrana is being kicked in the shin by Sandy, who is some sort of demon-lady-beast, and Oates and Sandy are talking together.

"What can I say, I have a fine appreciation for well-placed mischief, and it sounds like the rumor mill could stand to be kept on its toes," Oates replies with a cheerful shrug. "Sounds like fun!"

"I will keep it in mind," says Sandy, firmly, to Oates. "You've been rather helpful." Then she nods towards Myrana again and adds, "That's right. That's what you get."

Myrana holds her newly offended shin and gives Sandy a dirty look. "A cat can look at a king! And I can give you the business!"

Quint rubs that back of his neck with one wrapped hand as he walks down the well-kept path of the gardens. The cowl of his patched mostly-gray wool cloak is hanging back between his shoulders and the lines at the corner of his eyes might indicate a wince. He carries his sword mid-scabbard in the opposite hand and moves with a surprising lack of purpose.

Oates just smiles and watches Sandy and Myrana razz each other. He does happen to spot Quint wandering the gardens, but doesn't do much more than a simple nod in Quint's direction. Not his place to invite others to this conversation, after all.

"Oh, look. A paladin. I am going to kick you some more and then he will arrest me for assault and we will go back to jail, where the Altheans will give us a hard time." Sandy sighs. "So I'd better not kick you." And then she does again. Just because. Then back to Oates and then to Quint. "'Ello,"

Myrana says, "Owowow!"

Myrana hops back a good measure out of reach, holding her poor shin. "Why hasn't anyone locked you up today?" she yelps. "Is it to protect your cavalier and probably vengeful betrothed who would probably kill to protect your honor?" Hop hop hop awaaaay!

"I cannot arrest you. As well you both know." Quint says after returning Oates' nod. He tucks the sword under his arm long enough to pull his second glove back into place over his wrapped hand, taking a few steps closer. "The falls within the remit of the Watch... and I have been told I am to take a night away from my duties and relax." Even without inflection, the subtle pause in his already-halting method of speach makes the final word sound like a swear.

Myrana actually does a double-take up at Quint.

"Grain never takes a day off while growing, but even farmers need a day of rest each week," Oates points out. "We just stay vigilant to unexpected problems, and trust in the fields to carry on without us as we gather our strength for the rest of the week. Is that not so in other professions?"

"Are you alright?" Myrana asks, letting her knee go down and shoe touches down. "What happened to your hands?"

"Oh, okay," says Sandy.

And then she kicks Myrana again just because, you know, she needs to kick her more. She's hunting her down to keep kicking her, see.

She she turns towards Quint and adds, "See what I put up with?"

Myrana says, "Ow!"

"Perhaps," Quint tells Oates after a moment's thought, "but I have no profession. I surrendered that to no great loss when I gave myself into the Dreaming Goddess' service. I am little else now... nor would I hope to be." He offers a ghost of a shrug before turning to look at Myrana, considering. "Yes. They are always so. Nothing new has happened to them." His hands, that is. The Acanian is rarely seen without his gloves on and never without full-length sleeves or a coat. Finally, he turns to Sandy. "Please do not kick Miss Myrana. I am sure there are others more deserving of your ire, lady, or other outlets more productive. Miss Myrana suffers more than her fair share at her place of business, certainly."

"He's right! My shins have suffered enough!" Myrana says, and then pauses. "...Well I mean. Not really. My shins I mean cause I don't get kicked by the Oxleys BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!" She finishes strong.

Oates gives Quint a headtilted nod, acknowledging the paladin's point while agreeing to disagree.

"Ahahaha," says Sandy, pointing at Myrana. "Fine. I'll stop kicking you and then we'll go get utterly drunk and raz a play. It worked out so well *last* time," she adds.

Myrana says, "B-but I need to balance my books."

Myrana picks up her dropped pen as if to illustrate this point and hugs the ledger to her chest.

"...no drinking?" asks Sandy of Myrana, mournfully.

Myrana says, "N... well I mean..."

Myrana pauses, and looooks up at Quint out of the corner of her eye.

He's probably never -that- off shift. She clears her throat loudly. "I mean! No! No drinking, just work ahaha. Good afternoon!" And with that she hops back onto her broom and zips off.

"I am not your overseer," Quint reiterates after catching Myrana's look. "But I would be..." and then she's on her broom and speeding away. 'Disappointed' was the word, surely. He looks at Oates, thinking back to the trouble with the so-called witch and the not-called hag. "Miss Myrana is an arcanist. She is a good person," he explains, just in case the farmer was worried about the flying broom.

"Absent-minded at times, from the way she arrived, but not a person to cause trouble," agrees Oates. Glancing over at Sandy, he adds "Other than what appears to be good-natured razzing, that is." A thought crosses his mind, and with a slight shrug he follows up on it. "If'n it doesn't bother you, might I join you for drinking and such?" he asks Sandy.

"'Course you can," says Sandy to Oates, "Don't mind at all. Least I can do for you holding onto the books for me." Then she eyes Quint and Myrana. "Fine, fine. Let's just *go* already."

"Goddess' blessing," Quint offers Oates and Sandy, nodding one last time before he turns to continue his walk. Surely there is -something- for him to do this way. Perhaps.