Safa

Safa

Storm Eyes
Character Profile
Profile
"Sure, I'd trade ya a lockpick for salt. Everything in that pouch and we have a deal." Safa's dark brows laid low over her eyes as she scowled at the merchant's skinny son. He had yet to grow more than a few sparse hairs on his upper lip and chin, though if he had his father's luck, he'd have something to show off in the next five years. Sweat beaded on his forehead, not yet coalescing and dripping down his brow. It was a shame that he knew himself to be handsome; something about that always made their attractive features less attractive. Maybe it was because they all wore that smug smile with that same smug glimmer as if they knew they could get away with more things than others.

"A quarter of salt," Safa said as she raised her chin, matching his smugness with her haughty wit. No way beneath the Mother would Safa trade all her salt for one measly lockpick. The quality was decent, sure, but to call it fine craftsmanship would be like calling any pretty opal shard a part of the Shroud. The boy shook his head and opened his mouth, but before any sound could come out, Safa pounced. "A quarter of what I have, or else I go look elsewhere." She raised the brown pouch in her hand and moved to shake it, but all it did was swing side to side. The boy hesitated, which was all she needed.

"Suit yourself." She stashed her pouch under her tunic and into her more gray-than-blue sirwal pants pocket. The boy sighed as she pivoted on a heel, slower than she usually would have. Safa knew he relented before she even looked at him.

"Fine, fine, you have a deal." She turned her head over her shoulder, giving him a toothy grin. Safa couldn't be more pleased with herself. She took out her pouch, and the exchange was made. She spilled the gray salt onto a finely woven red cotton sheet, letting the merchant's son confirm that he had received his quarter. He handed her the lockpick as he lifted the red corners and folded the valuable salt into a little parcel.

"If you had said half, I might have taken that deal," Safa said, standing up straighter after her victory. She inspected the lockpick, ensuring there wasn't more damage than she had seen. He snorted.

"If I said half, you would have said an eighth." He replied.

"And I still would have won." The toothy grin didn't leave her face as she gave him a wink and sauntered off. With the lockpick in her possession, there was only one thing that Safa needed for her trip to Naya Vapna: a ride. Preferably the cheapest ride she could get. She maneuvered around a shepherd and his white trail of lambs, ready to be sold to the highest bidder.

The sun was high in the sky, the air warm but not uncomfortable as she walked beneath the shade of buildings. The main street was the usual hustle and bustle, which often distracted newcomers long enough for one of the swift-fingered children running about to snag something of value. If they had been in the new capital, they might have had to worry about repercussions, but here it was a game; all was fair as long as one didn't get caught. Safa never got caught, even now. She walked underneath the low-hanging roof of a stable attached to an inn, having done this so many times that she had stopped ducking her head. She'd have to walk on the tips of her toes to brush her scalp against the splintered wood.

She eyed the mules, spotting even a pair of horses. Horses weren't the easiest to steal, sticking out like a reed in a stream, but while mules could be overlooked, they were stubborn. Her stubbornness naturally rubbed them the wrong way, just as theirs did to her. There didn't seem to be any finery attached to any of the steeds today, but Safa pushed that nagging thought away as she left the stables. If not adequately guarded, a politician would be targeted by all the peddlers and street urchins. Anything relating to the Empire was bound to be stolen and resold, so perhaps someone was experienced or instead listening to the advice of someone who had burned far too many times in Svapna.

Stepping inside the dim inn, Safa kept her gaze low after a quick purview of those inside. She'd work her way from the outside to the center and maybe, if she was lucky, find someone willing enough to let her hitch a ride.
 
The merchant boy stalked Safa with the meager amount of salt twirling between his young fingers.

She was curious, almost slipped away from him once or twice. Even in the warmth of the days sun he had a hard time keeping up with her. Sure he could use his sorcery to trick anyone but the craft of sneaking was a different art altogether. Which is why he needed her. A quick masquerade about the worst places in Svapna with a bit of grease on his words and he had heard of her. To hear them tell it she was without peer. He did not believe in such mastery but he knew that skill and luck were powers almost as formidable as The Shroud itself.

As one might step into the light Morcar shed the visage of the young merchants son. His dark eyes followed her to the main street where he watched her watch the scene. The children came close after they had passed her and he tossed the salt for them to chase. It was like watching rats chase a slice of ham.
Safa disappeared into the stables so he assumed a new form, that of an old woman, with faded hair and wisdom in her words but not by any means frail.
As he spoke the voice was not his own.

"Going somewhere deary?"

In his experience, hiring a thief was a task best done through others, or at least the belief that the thief in question was being asked through others. If indeed she was to take the job then he could reveal himself but until then, better to take the slow way and be tactical about his hand.
 
Safa had only taken a step, eyeing her first two victims who were busy playing a game involving two die and guessing a number. They had a half-eaten plate of dried meat and were now picking at the small bowl of brown and green olives between the moments they rolled the dice. Their mugs must have gone empty a while ago because neither of them went to take a drink. Usually, it was easy to sit across and order whatever ale they had. It usually would result in a glance her way, and one look was all she needed to spark a conversation.

She hadn't expected someone to start a conversation with her. Particularly not one so heavy with suspicion. She turned slowly, facing an old woman she had never seen before. Safa's dark brow was arched in question, begging the question of 'Who? Me?' With the woman's eyes so clearly focused on Safa, the thief now wished she had pretended not to hear the question. She should have kept walking straight into her plan.

"Me?" She shook her head, forcing a smile. "I'm right where I'm supposed to be. I'm only lacking honey wine and a handful of olives before dinner. It's time for aperire, isn't it?" Safa jerked her head in the opposite direction of where she wanted to go, hoping the woman would turn her head and allow her to scuttle off. "You're wanted over there; that man is staring at us."

@Morcar the Faceless
 
He smiled behind the visage of the old woman and she smiled as well.
"Nobody is looking at me child. Not while one so young and healthy as you are next to me."
He did not even have to look to know it would be her chance to give him the slip. She was very suspicious, good instinct to have.
She relaxed her posture, appearing all at ease.
"But if you'd rather talk over aperire then I'm happy to pay for wine and olives."
When in doubt, offering to pay for a meal was always a good gesture. Food opened many doors that even sheckels could not.

@Safa
 
"You'll pay?" Safa looked the woman up and down again, this time far more invasive than before. She didn't note any jewelry, not even copper, though everyone knew that wealthy people liked to flaunt their silver rings or gold bracelets. However, that was only one indicator of wealth, and few in Svapna had it. The real story was in the clothes the old woman wore. Looking over the woman's attire, it seemed that she could afford aperire for two: the fabric was thick, not thin, and as far as Safa could see, there had yet to be any needlework done to keep the attire intact. It starkly contrasted what Safa wore, pants riddled with poor, sloppy, miscolored lines that spoke of many holes that needed to be mended. And everything Safa wore had been worn for years, fabric frayed at the ends, stretched until thin, even some places nearly transparent.

"Only a fool would say no to a free meal." Safa grinned; she was no fool. Perhaps, if this lady was so inclined to feed her, it meant one other thing: a job. "A spot opened up just for us there," she was already walking to a table on the outskirts, not quite in the corner, as that table was occupied by four cloaked figures who all huddled their hidden heads towards each other but further from the door from where they now stood. No one paid them more than a glance than a serving boy doing his best to balance as many open cups as he could between his fingers while cradling even more against his chest.

She chose her seat first, preferring to sit with her back toward the table of Cloaks, giving herself the safety of being able to see everyone who came in or left the inn. She turned her head in the direction of a braying mule, shouting coming soon after. When the noise had settled, the voices now muffled and indistinguishable, Safa faced the woman.

"So why would an old woman like you want to spend time with someone like me?"

@Morcar the Faceless
 
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The old woman settled with another smile, simple and in a pleasant voice she ordered the necessary for aperire for them. This was a good spot amongst the unnoticed. The cooked figures did not concern him much. Many had things to hide and he was not one to judge on that account though he kept an eye on them. Watched to see if they were listening as he spoke to Safa.
"A simple offer. I want you to get something for me and I don't want anyone to know that you did it."
The smile he made was simply pleasant and nurturing as if the visage of the old woman was taking about the good weather they had been having recently.
"I am hoping you will say yes but I feel it would only be fair to warn you that this task is full of peril and I would hate to see a promising young woman meet an unfortunate end."
Morcar had no time for those who did not understand the risks. For him to get the best out of Safa he needed her sharp and ready for anything but he was not going to give details until he was sure that she was in and that they were not being spied upon.

@Safa
 
She snorted a sound that was every bit as unladylike as the eye-roll that accompanied it. She raised a hand, waving it in a way that suggested smoke was in the air as if she could toss the old woman's words away. She nearly knocked over the serving boy's tray of their honey wine and bowl of olives, a mixture of three varieties that could be found throughout the divorced lands of the Arshaken Empire.

"If you came to me, you know what I can offer. You know I care little for glory and humbly let others brag about my skills in uncovering items that need a new home." She grinned, the clipping of heavy hooves outside the only applause she'd ever get. "As long as you have the coin, I'll do it. Let me know what it is, and I'll name my price. It couldn't be too risky if it's as simple as you say."

@Morcar the Faceless
 
The old woman poured some wine for them both and passed a glass to Safa. Her own she took up and smelled, Morcar liked wine and this one, while nothing special, was sweet enough to work for him.
"Do not mistake "simple" for "easy" child. The item in question is far from here and well protected. A ring one of six given to the high houses of Naya Vapna by the great Dwarfs Gemly and Jewely."
The image of the old woman drank and Morcar tasted the nectar hit his throat and stay long after he swallowed it and in the old woman's voice he asked.
"So how much would such a task cost me?"
The hustle and bustle seemed to pick up. Outside a coach arrived and from the sound of it a party of some note was exiting. That was good, less eyes on them and more on whoever that was.


@Safa
 
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her facial expressions in check, regardless, there was a brief raise of her brows as she realized what exactly this strange, old woman was asking. There was a long stretch of silence, it would have made most uncomfortable, but Safa felt no shame in mulling this knowledge over in her mind. She pursed her lips before deciding to enjoy the honey wine, taking a couple of long swigs like a camel that had traveled far without water. She slammed her glass on the wood, uncertain if she was really already feeling the effect of the wine or if it was all in her head. Regardless, she had her liquid courage to finally spit out the words that had been dancing around in her head.

“Who sent you?”

@Morcar the Faceless
 
The old woman's face smiled wide as she sat up straight.
"They said you were sharp." She appraised.
"He is a sorcerer from the Empire and he has a fondness for collecting art. The rings are of course a unique set. They have peaked his interest as well as a few other items if you should like more work."

Her old finger played with the glass on the table, she ran it along the rim a few times.

"Does it trouble you to work for a Weaver?"
Some took issue with it. Morcar was reluctant to give his name until he had more securely gotten Safa to agree.

@Safa
 
"Art, you say," Safa repeated, narrowing her dark eyes at the old woman. "I've heard those six rings, gifted to the Rinat family centuries ago, are more than a pretty decoration." She took another long, hearty pause, waiting to see if the woman would fluster. Nothing but steel was staring back at steel, so Safa continued. "Secret letters marked by an intricate red wax seal for political gain for the Rinat family do not struggle like some other High families that waste away in their capital. The Rinat family hides in the shadows; their words are never heard but instead seen. Surely the sorcerer from the Empire knows of this?" Safa went back to holding her wine, but before she could even take a sip, there was something more she had to say. "I care not about whether he is a weaver; the only thing that matters to me is how deep someone's pockets are. But you have a case of bad luck-- I have already agreed to another contract to get that ring." She grinned now, eyes lighting up in impish delight at revealing her hand.

"So, how much does this sorcerer offer for this difficult job? And don't try lowballing me. I am well known in these parts for my haggling skills."

@Morcar the Faceless
 
Shrewdness was a trait that some found troublesome but for Morcar he found it much easier to deal with those who knew their worth.
"I think it would please him to hear you say that you are still open to offers."
An old hand plucked an olive and popped it into an old mouth, chewing it and savouring the bitter flavours.
"My Employer will match the price you have agreed to and, for your trouble, provide you with additional funds for travel, lodging and equipment for the duration of the task. He offers his protection from your previous employer should you accept and the promise of first refusal on future jobs, provided the success of this one of course, with no obligation to exclusivity on your part."
He took another drink through lips that were not his, it left a warmth in his chest.
It was always good to let them have their freedom. He did not wish to put together a crew of partners. Merely hire those who could do what he could not and he liked it that way.

"I hope his terms are agreeable."
About them the small drinking area had become busy, with louder voices drowning out their little chat. Some travellers whom found themselves without seats were simply standing about by the tables drinking and talking loudly. The swell almost threatened their little area.

@Safa
 
It sounded almost too good to be true. This employer was loaded. They also had power. It was a dangerous combination but not unusual in Southern Ilica, which always seemed to draw about seedy and unsavory people. However, what sort of employer could guarantee her protection? They must have some political sway; was it a primus khashatrii or a praetorian? Did it matter if this person was willing to offer them jobs in the future? Could she get consistent work that paid well?

Safa could only imagine what it would be like to not worry about her financials and not regret buying fruit instead of keeping to only the essentials. What would it be like to get bolts of cloth when she needed it instead of repeatedly trying to repair the same hood and cloak until the fabric was so thin that it wasn't even suitable to blow her nose?

"One thing before I agree." Safa tried not to sound eager, to temper the glint in her dark eyes. "How can he promise me protection? Just from my current employer for this job? Rich men are known to hold grudges for a very, very long time."

@Morcar the Faceless
 
A cruel glee came to the old woman's face at the question.
"My employer will likely kill them once they know who they are."

She took another sip of the wine and Morcar savoured it as he watched Safa's expression, it didn't budge, a perfect professional.
He laughed in the old woman's voice.
"Oh don't be alarmed, they will be made a generous offer to back down and if they take it all is well, if not... well."
Her old hand picked up another olive and played with it.
"Not everyone is as reasonable as we should hope them to be and one less rich fool will help me sleep at night, I don't mind telling you. One lady to another."
Fussing over her clothes she eyed the encroaching figures on their space.
"It's getting busy in here, I have a long walk home so I'll need an answer I'm afraid."
The noise was bothering him, he could stand it for a while but the chattering voices drilled into his mind like a hundred chisels.

@Safa
 
"Your employer sounds like a dangerous man, Zsa-Zsa." Safa said with light humor that didn't match the darkening of her eyes. "It sounds like you enjoy working for him." She added, a calculated prick towards the old woman she had just endearingly called grandmother in the most respectful way one could when out and about on the streets. It was always preferred over 'hag' or 'old woman' in Safa's experience. Only a fool would dare call this old lady something so crass.

"So I think I will, too." She held her hand over the table, not knocking over their cups of wine. "I will set out at the expected time as I have already arranged my travel plans with a merchant going to the new capital tomorrow before dawn. Where can I expect to deliver the item? Or should I walk you back to your home to keep you from getting mugged?"

@Morcar the Faceless
 
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