Sabata:Warehouse District ~ Amica (Samheen 22, MT)

[Amica]

She had not been wrong, not this time. Sure enough, someone came...and without hesitation, Amica slipped into the smaller cabin and closed the hatch behind her, giving the visitor all the space he or she might need to close the deadlights without noticing her. But she was not satisfied. While it was doubtful her welcomer might venture into the cabin, she glanced around for any additional hatches or windows that might need secured before she spotted her next most likely hiding place. Moving slowly and cautiously, like the cat prowling it's prey, she lowered herself down upon the cabin floor and pushed herself under the cot, seeking to be unnoticeable should the sky sailor do the unthinkable and check in on the cabin.

While waiting for his feet to pass, Amica had but a few moments to think about his movements...for his movements did indeed give clues regarding what she might expect. She knew there would be yet another door beyond the two that lead forward, and this second door might likely open out upon the deck itself. But that left chambers between the two sets of doors, chambers that might hold a hatch leading down, perhaps. Amica knew nothing of the construction of such a Flying Machine, but she could make many guesses...and she guessed that this would be the case.

And what of T'Kil? she thought, focusing to control her excited breathing. He will see the windows close and he will pause until I open one once again, she thought, one of her ears pressed to the thin planks upon which she lay, listening as the movements of the nearby sentry thudded through the next room.

[Guest]

Amica heard the booted steps in the other room halt and another string of curses followed by a series of strange sniffs. Whoever had entered was entirely displeased at the weather and had no qualms about calling out the gods for their indiscretion in ruining his afternoon. The steps started again but this time moved slower, more deliberately. They were coming toward the room where Amica lay.

The coat hit the floor first, water still beaded on its surface. The man’s boots followed, unceremoniously tossed into the corner. Stocking feet began moving toward the cot when Amica heard the sniffs again. The man was smelling something and in a rush of realization, Amica knew it was her. It was one aspect that had seemed even more out of place than the clothing in the room and she’d missed it. The smell was distinctly foreign, and though her time with guarrdi had been little, she knew it to be a smell of perfume and cleanliness.

With a grunt, the man sat down on the cot and sighed deeply.

“So tell me . . .” he said into the room in a very western accent.

“Are you here to kill me or just to spy? If the former, you’ve won, make do and leave. If the latter, now is your time to run for I have no energy to chase down a rat through these dusty streets.”

[Amica]

It was a moment frozen in time. The beating of Amica's heart stopped, her slow, careful breathing came to a halt, and it felt as though her blood froze in her veins. She had been caught, and suddenly her options were gone. Oh, she might bespel the poor man...a simple sigla upon the underside of his cot beneath his seated form might do the trick...but Amica was not predisposed to use her magics even in the best of times. And these were certainly not the best of times, for her memory of how her rune had burned her last opponent gave her to fear that she might only do the same to this man. A rune powerful enough might even kill him...and that was simply not a wise or attractive option for the shaman.

Is this failure? she thought, her eyes closing momentarily. The man expected her to kill him or flee, his sharp mind already coming to two of the three irrevocable reasons for her presence. But she could not kill him...she had not the heart for it, by magic or by blade, and her quest denied her the right to run away. He is from the City of Flesh Peddlers. Can he not be bought? she hoped, noting that his voice did not seem familiar to her. It could have been his fatigue, but she did not recognize it as the voice of Sky Captain she had heard earlier.

It seemed absurd, but Amica was left with only one possible solution. If this were not the same man as before, she might manage to negotiate some kind of deal. It was the only option she had remaining, and it was one that had already failed before, but it was now all she had left. Unless I steal Flying Machine, she thought, the very notion of taking the ship by storm and capturing...enslaving those aboard...to take her West was less attractive than murder. I will sooner the world perish than I would make a slave of anyone, she thought. Opening her mouth....she had been gritting her teeth fiercely...she spoke.

"Does come to hide aboard Flying Machine that I might escape Ram'e'ssu," she said, her voice small and desperate and already lying. It was not a genuine lie, perse...she was escaping the guarrdi chief...but she fled from a minor enemy to face a greater one. That was the curious nature of Amica's service in tribus negri. She did not slide out from under the bunk yet...that would have been threatening, and she did not wish to make him to feel threatened...choosing instead to act upon his orders, a situation that would make negotiation easier. "Art in no danger, guarrdi. This one asks you to hear her words before she will leave you in peace."

[Guest]

The man, indeed not the pilot she had met earlier, stood up from the cot upon hearing Amica’s words and moved towards the wardrobe. His steps were slow and deliberate. He wasn’t retreating or panicking. Amica could see more his frame as he moved away. He was so tall she could not see his face only the legs of fine, straight trousers.

“Well, then,” she heard him say, “come out from your little hiding place and let’s hear what you have to say. I’ve heard of this Ramessu, though haven’t had the pleasure of his company. I can’t say he’s a friend, but . . .neither is he an enemy. Come then, out with you.”

The desert had taught Amica to use her senses. Sight could be distracting and the advantages of smells, tastes and sounds could well save one’s life in the wastelands traveled by her people. Above the opening wardrobe door and the rustling of clothes, Amica heard the smooth sound of metal slide against leather.

[Amica]

The moment the new man rose and moved, Amica rolled out from beneath his cot. She did not rise up, but instead remained crouched upon the deck of his cabin, one of her knees upon the wooden floor for support and the other tucked up near her chin. She inspected him closely...his voice was far more powerful than the last Sky Captain she had known...and when she heard the weapon drawn, she winced to herself...but she did not move. It is wise that he might arm himself. It is wiser if I let him. I must place myself under his power if he will hear my words.

"Re'ma'su no great friend or enemy to this one as well," she replied evenly, her voice small and sadly very feminine. "He hast given my People...Gens Harenae...to flee City by Great Water, and so we do this. This one asks for bargain. Will take this one and husband to you as guard and guide, for which will take this one and husband away from City by Great Water. Will serve Sky Captain until he next comes to earth beyond Great Desert," she offered, speaking only the guarrdi tongue and watching this new man for his reaction. "This one is called Amica Tempestatis."

[Guest]

The man before Amica was tall and well built and held the saber that had been in the wardrobe drawn and pointed lazily in her direction. Blond hair, with several flecks of grey, was long behind his neck but neatly trimmed to match an equally trimmed beard. He had cold, analytical eyes set deep within a weathered face. She knew instantly he was a soldier, not a sailor. Even in his stocking feet he held himself with an air of authority. His eyes told her he was used to men following his orders without question. These same eyes looked her over cautiously. The only movement visible as he analyzed her was deliberately calmed rise and fall of his chest.

“Tempestatis,” he said evenly, testing the strange word on his tongue. The word sounded exotic and wonderful in deeply accented voice. “You are of the tribes in the desert, no? This is different. Hmmm.”

He seemed to think over his realization. Of all the reasons one of the People would be here in his cabin, Amica’s seemed logical. He had no quarrel with the tribes and none with the governor of the city. She could see his mind working to rationalize his course of action.

The conversation had been slightly distracting for Amica. She’d not heard the approaching boot steps as early as she’d might for within only a flicker she knew someone else had entered the gallery beyond.

“Marshal Fairmount, sir? Are you here? I received your summons when you had boarded.” called the voice from outside. Amica knew instantly that she was cornered and also knew why the Marshal had been so confident in dealing with her. He knew he wasn’t alone. Reinforcements, summoned before their meeting, were already on their way.

“I’m in here, Captain,” replied the Marshall, keeping his eyes on Amica.

The Captain, a man in his mid twenties with short cropped hair and the same, strange uniform of the Marshall entered the room at the bidding. His face was clear surprise when he entered to see the Marshall, sword drawn and half undressed, facing a strikingly beautiful maiden native crouched on the floor. If he had seen stranger things in his life, he didn’t show it.

“Captain, this is Amica Tempestatis, I believe, one of the local tribeswomen that seems to have forgotten the location of her room on board our vessel. Perhaps you could find her some temporary quarters while we locate something suitable,” suggested the Marshall.

“Of course, sir,” stammered the Captain, his blue eyes wide in confusion. “Where do you think . . .”

“I was thinking your cabin, Captain,” interrupted the Marhshall. Now, the Captain’s eyes almost popped out of his head, but he was not about to countermand his superior officer.

“Keep her there,” ordered the Marshall, “and hidden until we launch tomorrow, Captain. And, in the meantime, send someone to find something suitable for her to wear.”

“Miss,” said the Captain trying to regain his composure. He held out his hand to help her from the floor.

[Amica]

It had happened so fast that Amica was left almost breathless. Oh, she could speak the tongue of the guarrdi...she could speak it fluently and understand it perfectly...but this was a level of communication that went well beyond the language alone. These men were accustomed to each other, and they wore the same clothing...uniforms?...and they spoke in such a way that much was left unsaid, words and ideas communicated perfectly between them that she could not understand.

But she did understand Sky Marshal's implied deceit when he presented it before Sky Captain...a new Sky Captain...for approval. Something she had offered...either herself, her service, or her need....had given Sky Marshal to look upon her favorably. He would hide her aboard, and it was here she would be when Flying Machine rose away. Rising up slowly from the floor with the held of the offered hand, Amica bowed before Sky Marshal, keeping her eyes down such that she would be little more than the meek girl she must surely appear. No words would be needed from her, either, as she moved to follow Sky Captain to his quarters. And yet, as she followed Sky Captain, her mind wandered to so many frustrations and concerns.

First, there was T'Kil. She had been caught, but she had managed to negotiate that which might give her to remain. She could not imagine T'Kil's fate, though she was comforted with one thought alone: if he failed to join her here, aboard Flying Machine, then he would be left behind such that he would not share her fate against Aeis the Dragon of Wind. Amica's loyalties to her people and to T'Kil were comfortable with that abandonment, for he would live, and she would meet her fate comfortable in the knowledge of this.

Second, Sky Marshal had remarked upon her clothes. Glancing down at the loose desert sari she wore, the only reason he might give her to shift her clothing might be to make her less obvious to those watching. She was dressed in a manner befitting her People...no, she was dressed perhaps less completely and more carelessly provocative than most of her people might consider generally appropriate, a result of her recent awakenings to the more carnal uses of a man. Still, it was proof to her that Sky Marshal did not want her...a shaman of the People...to be seen by those both beyond the airship and within, so she would accept whatever disguise they offered her and she would say nothing until she was required to do so.

Excitement growing in her heart, Amica followed the Captain where he would lead her, her hand lingering upon his absently. May the Desert protect you, T'Kil, and may you find shade and water, she prayed, comfortable that she had indeed come to find her fate.

[Guest]

The captain was clearly dumbfounded as he led Amica from the Marshal’s room and into the gallery. He did not say anything, but the tribeswoman could sense his eyes wandering back to inspect his new charge. The woman with him was both beautiful and foreign. She belonged on this ship even less than he. He tried in vain to hide his concern. This may have been the most confusing order the young captain had ever received. Holding up his hand he bade her wait in the gallery and paused to inspect the hallway before continuing.

The captain’s room was not far from the marshal’s, within hailing distance, but the drop in quality was noticeable. The marshal obviously had received one of the better cabins on the grand vessel. The captain had not. Still, the man had a private room, which, aboard a vessel designed for transport indicated the respect in which he was held. The room was sparsely furnished with small desk and a fold away bed that Amica found curious until she realized that with the bed lowered there would be almost no ability to move about the small space

“Pardon my hurry, ma’am,” he said apologetically. The captain ushered her within and shut the door.

“I am Captain Liham. And, apparently, you are my guest.” He looked about confusedly.

“I am not sure of the marshal’s plans for you but I must request that you remain here until we are aloft. Make yourself comfortable, please. I will be along shortly with the clothes the marshal requested.”

He gave the woman a curt bow, shut the door and left.

OOC: Amica, please continue here.

[Morg]

Skilled