Some Dreams Do Come True, tag: nyarai

[Galia Baryk]

There wasn't a particularly high rate of desertion in Escova's armed forces; given how little work was actually required of most soldiers (they'd been at peace for so long, after all), joining the military was a fairly viable career option for most young, virile men. It paid enough and, if you knew how to play the system right, you could get away with being absolutely terrible at your job and still manage a comfortable living.

But every once in a while, a man got it in his head that it was just too much for him to take. The worst of this came to a head during the cold season, a bleak winter leading to stir craziness and acts of desperation. Worse yet, the news about the missing scouts had spread even greater fear and paranoia through the barracks. No one wanted to be sent out there, where unholy creatures lurked in the shade of the forests, waiting to tear apart unsuspecting travelers.

Lieutenant Raske was a new transfer to Maristheum, some second son of one baron or lord or another, commissioned with coin rather than merit. It didn't matter that he'd had little field experience; he was expected to lead a small platoon out to establish defense in a nearby town.

Except he'd gone missing without a trace that very morning.

While the operation had been conducted without him, the men marching out at the first light of dawn, it was simply unacceptable for him to remain unaccounted for. To her chagrin, it had fallen to Galia to track him down. Captain's orders. He couldn't have gone very far, but no one seemed to know where he'd actually gone. Much as she wouldn't mind purging the weak from the ranks, they weren't in any shape to lose able bodies, let alone that of any officers. That not only sent a poor message to the subordinates, but Raske's particular status as nobility meant his disappearance wouldn't go unnoticed.

After a day spent interrogating Raske's closest associates, all inquiries had led her to this door. It didn't look like much on the outside, but by all accounts, this little shack was the domicile of one of Maristheum's best whores. As unlikely as it seemed that she might actually find the soldier here, it was as good as any place to start looking for him. And who knew the streets better than a street walker?

The sergeant lifted a gloved hand to the door and brought it down hard on the wood. "Hello? Is anyone home?"

[Nyarai Khartuul]

She awoke to pounding at her door.

Turning slightly, she watched the man in her bed shift noisily, his naked body hot against hers. His snores had kept her up most of the night, and every pointed suggestion that he leave was met with obliviousness. Even when she told him to go away, he stayed, rolling onto his side—away from her—and falling into a deep sleep. The bastard even had the audacity to chuckle.

And thus she'd slept fitfully, waking every few hours to the touch of him—the smell of him. She would have pushed him out of bed, but he paid well and times were tough.

So she made due.

But with daylight streaming through her window and someone knocking at her door, Nyarai now found a reason to push herself up out of bed and grab a long, loose robe. She draped this around herself and secured it with an old sash. Then, for vanity's sake, she teased back her hair and walked to the door, sleep still clinging to her like an old, needy friend.

It opened with a creak.

Her eyes narrowed immediately at the sight of armour. What was this? But for all the sudden panic, she kept herself calm, and when she spoke, her words came with a brittle little smile.

“Yes?”

[Galia Baryk]

It took a long moment for anyone to come to the door; she was starting to lose her patience when she finally heard someone shuffling around within. So someone was around. Listening carefully, only one person could be heard moving, the floorboards moaning underneath presumably bare feet, but she could also hear the faint rattle of a snore. So, two occupants.

She took a step back when she heard the lightly padding footsteps settle at the door, uncertain what to expect when it finally opened. The thin wood was only pulled back enough to see a little of the woman behind it, heat from within the room seeping out around her. This woman, the seemingly infamous whore of the Quarter, was actually quite tall, forcing Galia to look up at her, for a change. She was slender from what she could judge underneath the sheer robe, and had a pretty face, almost exotic in her features.

Well, Galia supposed she could understand the appeal. She looked healthier than some of the other prostitutes she'd encountered, and some men had a particular taste for Refugee women over locals. There was validity to the claim of her popularity, it seemed.

"Ma'am," the sergeant tipped her head politely. "I hope I'm not disturbing you. I'm looking for a man, whom you might know."

[Nyarai Khartuul]

Ma'am.

It had been a long time since anyone had called her that—never, actually. It came as a strange, blunt sort of word. Ma'am. That's what Nyarai called some of the women she worked for, when she tried to make an honest living cleaning houses or doing laundry. Ma'am. It sounded wrong somehow.

She eyed the soldier carefully. The woman seemed hardened somehow, her blond hair about the only thing that seemed out of place in an otherwise capable figure.

An Islander then.

At first there was the very real fear that she'd come to shut Nyarai down—or drag her to some prison. Nyarai wasn't sure what she did was illegal, but then, a lot of things were forgotten out here, in the Refugee Quarter. Laws didn't matter—not when there was no one to enforce them. Thus it reasoned that this woman was here for some other reason. A reason which was abundantly clear a few seconds later. She was looking for a man. For a second Nyarai considered that she might be a scorned lover—a wife—here to extract some sort of justice. She knew she had to be careful. Maybe even try and be nice for once.

Tucking some hair behind an ear, Nyarai opened the door and stepped out into the light of day.

“I can try,” she said in her heavy accent. “Who is he?”

[Galia Baryk]

So far, so good. Most Refugees either wouldn't or simply couldn't cooperate with the local law enforcement. Galia wasn't being met with any resistance, for a change, nor was she being misunderstood. She wondered how long the woman had been in the country, as she still had a thick accent, but didn't seem to have any trouble with translation. That made this situation a lot easier.

"A soldier. Jonothan Raske, or...Jon, I suppose," she shrugged. They weren't familiar enough for her to address him informally, though that was the nickname his colleagues had used. There was also a chance that he used an alias instead, but it was worth asking.

[Nyarai Khartuul]

Cooperation was key.

Let this woman think they were temporary allies. It was the least Nyarai could do.

A name was given to her—Jonothan Raske. Or Jon. Or some variant thereof. Nyarai wanted to point out that she usually didn't ask for names, but that would just be a confirmation of the kind of business she ran behind her door. It wasn't anything she was ashamed of—at least it had come to a point where she wasn't—but she wasn't in the habit of seeing judgement on peoples' faces either.

So, still fixing a lock of hair behind an ear, she cast her gaze around them before returning it to the female soldier. “Do you know what he looks like?”

[Galia Baryk]

As she suspected, a name would get her nowhere. It could have gone either way, really. Some men used a whore for therapy, others were discreet and wanted one thing only. Galia didn't care to know which sort the Lieutenant was, nor did it seem likely this woman would tell her, anyway.

The people who drew up the Wanted posters would have come in handy right now. She sighed, closing her eyes to picture Raske's appearance. The most tempting and apt descriptor was average, but that didn't help at all. The soldier raised one hand a few inches above herself, roughly at six feet. "This tall. Average build, but well fed." Borderline plump, if you asked her. She would never have gone so easy on him in training. "Short, blond hair. Fair skinned. Pimpled," she gestured at the edges of her face. "No older than twenty. Does that seem familiar?"

[Nyarai Khartuul]

That was half her clientele.

Nyarai swept her gaze to the right, catching sight of her neighbours. They were a handful of women who gathered and gossiped—as they did now. Probably about her.

Then she looked back at the soldier.

Yes, she knew the man. Average was a good word. He paid well too, which told Nyarai that he was from wealth—probably even nobility. At least, he also talked like one. Nyarai smoothed down the sleeves of her robe, letting the loose fabric fall around her wrists. “You will not find him easily,” she said. Men were a strange group—they would tell her anything. More than that, they would tell her what not to say.

The man she spoke of was currently avoiding 'trouble', as he'd told her. He didn't say much, but Nyarai could guess as to his intentions. He was trying to avoid some sort of military duty.

She licked her lip in thought.

“I do not want trouble,” she admitted.

[Galia Baryk]

While the refugee didn't say as much, the implication in her answer was that she was familiar with Raske, at least. But that wasn't enough. Galia needed to find him, not just make a list of women he'd paid to bed.

No, of course she wouldn't find him easily. That was what had brought her here in the first place. Galia resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the vague statement, as burning bridges with patronizing looks was not the smart thing to do in this situation.

She had begun to think she was wasting her time when the woman spoke again. "You won't be in any trouble, ma'am," the scout replied, attempting to sound reassuring. "Just help me if you know something, and I'll be on my way."

[Nyarai Khartuul]

Nyarai felt her lips purse.

“No; you do not understand. You will have trouble finding him.” She opened her hand and swept it up and down, indicating the uniform. “No one will speak to you dressed like this—and there are many others you must speak with.” She dropped her hand and sighed. Leaning back, she spied the man still in her bed, snoring the morning away. The bastard. His limp cock, so insistent last night, seemed almost comical now.

Nyarai pushed open her door.

“You should come in.”

[Galia Baryk]

Now a hooker was giving her fashion advice.

Great. This was an absolutely fantastic start to the day and delightful boost to the ego.

Galia glanced around, hesitant to set foot inside a den of sin and debauchery, as if she might contract a disease just from inhaling. All in service of the great nation of Escova, right? "Fine," she said curtly, stepping forward into the warm little hovel.

To absolutely no surprise, there was a naked man sprawled in the bed across the room. And if she had taken up any other occupation, she might have averted her eyes from his pasty, prone form. But she'd seen more than enough dicks in her past ten years of military service that she was completely desensitized to his indecent exposure.

Galia glanced back to the woman expectantly, voice low. "He's not one of the people I need to speak to, is he?" she gestured with a wave.

[Nyarai Khartuul]

Nyarai shook her head.

"Though if you could make him leave, my life would be a lot easier." Maybe then she could fall asleep and stay asleep. Even now, as she spoke, she watched the man flip onto his belly, a mess of pillows marring his dark hair. The words were a jest though, given with a cold smile. It was clear Nyarai didn't mean it—nor did she expect this soldier to understand.

Walking deeper into her little residence, she fished out two clay cups and a jug of water. These she planted on her little table and invited the woman to take a seat, pouring out both cups.

Then she spoke in hushed tones.

"The man you see is deep in the Quarter—deeper than most Guards go. You would do well to change and come back. You will only invite trouble wearing that." Again she indicated the clothing. It was nice, but conspicuous—and there was only one man who was stupid enough to saunter through the Quarter decked in full soldier's garb.

[Galia Baryk]

Making that guy leave was absolutely doable. If you asked anyone who knew her, Galia had a particular knack for scaring men away. Unfortunately, the request was meant as some sort of joke, judging by the wryness of her expression and flippant tone.

She sat, stiffly, after a second of eyeing the chair and wondering just what sort of activities other than sitting had occurred in it. The same sort of scrutiny went into sniffing the cup of water (it was, indeed, water) before taking a polite sip. Or at least pretending to. She wasn't thirsty.

Galia looked down at her outfit, well aware that it was too clean and neat for her to blend in with the locals, and perhaps a little too masculine in cut for an average woman. But that was all she owned, and she wasn't expecting to go undercover in this district. The last time she'd had to wear a disguise was in Kyha... And she didn't want to think about that thrilling adventure.

"I don't have time for that," she stated bluntly. Trekking all the way back to the barracks wasn't going to help, anyway. There weren't enough women around to spare an extra dress. And she didn't have any female friends (or any friends, to be honest) to borrow from, either.

This was stupid. But worth a shot. She sized the other woman up, taking in her proportions. "I have money, though."

[Nyarai Khartuul]

Nyarai wanted to shake her head.

Soldiers.

They had no subtly, no desire to listen. They just barged in, thinking they could bend the world if they just pushed hard enough. Even the women seemed rough and masculine. Like this one.

“Keep your money,” Nyarai said, putting down her cup and rising to her feet. Standing, she took in the other woman, trying to figure out what would fit. They were about the same body type: slender, toned—but this woman was a little shorter, a little more muscular. But still very female. Tapping a few fingers against her mouth, she turned smartly and disappeared behind a wall.

Sometime later, Nyarai returned with a cream coloured blouse and a dark blue skirt. It wasn't much, but she knew the garments would fit.

She folded the clothes and held them out to the scout.

“I don't want your money,” she said. “Just don't bring trouble to my door.”

[Galia Baryk]

Good. She didn't really want to give up any of her money for this, and she wasn't sure that administration would compensate her for the expenses. What kind of transaction would she classify that under, anyway?

"Trouble already came and went out your door, ma'am," Galia replied gruffly, still misliking the woman's tone in spite of her cooperation, "I'm just here to pick up after it." After a moment's deliberation, she threw in an extra, "Thank you. Excuse me." Because she could mind her courtesies, even with strangers who were borderline hostile.

She stood up, finding a corner of the room that looked relatively clean (for it being the corner of a rundown shack) and out of sight. There was no time to find another place to undress and redress. She untied her cloak, then began to unlace her breeches. Her tunic and undershirt were the last items to go, everything folded neatly and piled in order.

The soldier was midway through setting aside her personal items when she heard a shuffling step behind her. "Heeeey, she didn't say she was having friends over..." Galia turned her head. The beast had awoken, and he was leering, "Do I have to pay extra for you, sweetheart?"