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--- campaigns:taika-daagru:2021-07-10 [2021-08-16 23:10] – Post-midnight posts pinkgothic
+++ campaigns:taika-daagru:2021-07-10 [2021-09-04 22:10] (current) – This weekend's stuff pinkgothic
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 Perhaps the right way to go about it was to first volunteer more about her own life, but for the moment she was going to try the direct route, remind her unlikely assistant that she wanted to know more about her.
+**Concavenator**:
+Kukri's own life had not been terribly exciting. Her work had absorbed mostly of her energies, and she found shale and moss to be more pleasant companions than most feathered, speaking beings. There was a tale, told in filigrees on stone and in the slime-paths of worms, a poem whose lines were whispered in anthills and river gorges, a song whose notes came one every hundred generations. There was -- she knew -- beauty and wisdom far in excess of the petty chatters of women and men, of the gruesome glories of kingdoms, but it was so fiendishly scattered and concealed, a tale so maddeningly hard to follow.
+There Kukri turned all her attentions when the world of mortal 'ikra felt pettier and crueler than usual. Once she thought she'd found an exception, one fragment of 'ikra-kind that was almost as beautiful, almost as sweet as the song of stones and rivers; but that had been long gone. It had left a hole, like the ones that fallen trees open in the ground; but rain and wind had come, and the hole had quietly filled with detritus.
+Did Giya feel the same? Some of Kukri's colleagues would have scoffed at the idea that the lowborn of the borderlands could have thoughts more complex than those of cattle. Yet so little of Kukri's own state of mind passed through the blackness of her feathers. Why not the same for that poor creature?
+Giya was quiet for a while, and then said: "I was born in Yakak'ratu, I think. My father is from here. I have done many trips like this, but I always come back here". It was hard to say if the last sentence was spoken with relief or despair.
+**pinkgothic**:
+There was, perhaps, not much of a way around it now. "And what of your mother?" Kukri asked, taking care to choose an inflection that was non-threatening, merely a reflection of encouraging curiosity.
+**Concavenator**:
+At the last word, Giya flinched, as if bitten by a gadfly. She shied away, her head moving back and up, and turned toward the moldy wallboard. Kukri's tone had been the gentlest of which she was capable, but no gentleness would probably have sufficed.
+"I don't know", she answered, studying a particularly continent-like patch of mold, "I was only with my father and my siblings. We never heard of her at all".
+**pinkgothic**:
+It gave Kukri pause. Perhaps this wasn't the entire explanation for Giya's plight, but it seemed as though it was quite likely to be a large component in what had put her into her miserable position - however the details of it might manifest - in the first place.
+For one, it wasn't as though Giya could have followed in her mother's footsteps, assuming she had held a respectable job. For two, as much as Kukri did not want to be mired in stereotypes, the father was likely to be overwhelmed by the situation. Certainly Giya's situation didn't suggest otherwise.
+Several questions immediately came to mind - had Giya's mother died? Had she simply abandoned her family in pursuit of some nebulous goal? Were Giya's siblings still alive and how were they faring? Did they help each other?
+But all of those questions seemed poor form to ask.
+After quite some time of polite silence, Kukri said: "I'm very sorry. That must have been difficult for you," fully aware how generic it was. But it was no less true for that.
+**Concavenator**:
+Giya's posture lost some of its tenseness, her head sinking back into the ruffled feathers of her chest. She looked again around the smoky room, into the flickering shadows and the overflowing bags. She scratched her muzzle with a claw, and quietly tapped her tailfan against the floor, though she stopped suddenly, as if she feared to draw attention on it. Finally she spoke: "It is what it is. I live here, I work, I go with you. My father and brothers will wait, I hope not very long".
+**pinkgothic**:
+Again Kukri lingered in some silence, considering the information that had been presented to her. Why no one had yet to employ Giya, who was clearly desperate to work and at least willing to promise following through with whatever the job demanded of her, was something of a mystery. Even by the most cynical standards, surely someone was at least willing to //exploit// her desperation, in which case she would have had little time to listlessly linger in the streets.
+Kukri began to check their travel equipment, ensuring that it was either adequately bound or in the process of being made so. She had a few changes in mind in how her supplies were arranged, but none of it would take too much of their time.
+She took the opportunity to be frank about her curiosity: "What happened to your previous occupation?"
+**Concavenator**:
+Giya drew a deep breath. "I can't be too long away from the nest. My father and brothers, some are very young, I have to take care of them -- not enough sisters, now -- I would stay here to work on the feast, or go to Chaatai, but I must be back, I must always be back -- let's not be away too long, please --"
+**pinkgothic**:
+'Not enough sisters, now' painted a grim picture. Either they had perished or abandoned their family. But a practically-minded 'ikra would try to get the older brothers to help with the care of the family as well.
+The greater concern came encoded in the phrase 'some are very young'. If Giya did not know her mother, but there were brothers younger than her, it suggested her father was quite irresponsible.
+Kukri paused in her preparatory work to look at Giya with concern. "Should we tell your family that you'll be away for a few days before we go?" she encouraged.
+Kukri didn't look forward to speaking to a man who could not keep his base instincts in check, but she supposed it was only right to accompany Giya if they were to announce the quest, make it credible - especially if there was a chance that other young women had abandoned the family.
+**Concavenator**:
+In the best case, Giya's father had accepted to take care of eggs whose parents had neglected to recover them. In the middling case, he had placed undeserved trust into lovers who had later abandoned the household. Perhaps then the eggs had hatched already, or he hadn't found in himself to toss them in the snow. Either way, there were worse sins than an excess of trust; but poor judgment was one of these, at least in the eyes of 'Au'a the Watchful, in whose name Kukri had sworn many oaths for the guild. In the worst case, the man had been drunken on the pleasures of caretaking, and forgotten for whose benefit a nest was built. Hopefully that was not the answer.
+Giya's countenance gave a sign of surprise. "Ye-yes", she stammered, "Please, if you will, madam". Apparently she hadn't expected or even hoped for that concession. "But..." she looked at the half-empty plate of cold soup. "Maybe, if you will, I could bring some... If you will, madam, for them".
+**pinkgothic**:
+Kukri had not agreed to feed Giya's family and there was a risk that if she did, there would be an expectation of doing it again - her instinct was to decline as politely as she could. But on reflection, it was likely only one less meal, given they were going to be gone for the next couple of days, and it was a cold one by now, to boot.
+Kukri regarded her future assistant with gentle scepticism. There was no use not being honest about it.
+"You may - but I would like you to understand, my provisions cover only the both of us, and I am unfortunately not so handsomely paid as that I would not be cutting it close. I would like to say otherwise, but going forward, I will not be able to also care for your family."
+**Concavenator**:
+The light in Giya's eyes dimmed somewhat, but not as much as it was a hundred heartbeats before. "Yes. Yes, I-- understand, of course, madam, yes". She did not pick up the bowl yet; she'd probably want to take up the food outside, in the discretion of the shadows. There was still energy in her posture, an impressive amount, in fact, compared with the sullenness of her speech.
+She was now muttering something that could have been more thanks, more for her own benefit than Kukri's, and in fact they seemed to be in the Yakak'ratu dialect. At the same time, she moved toward the travel charts, as if now she could bear more easily to study them.
+**pinkgothic**:
+If nothing else, Giya was polite. Kukri just hoped the politeness would maintain itself and not give way to disgruntlement and aggression somewhere in the middle of the journey. Giya did not seem the type to adopt such a mood easily, but it would be wise not to rule it out entirely.
+Still, as much as it was appropriate, it seemed like an unnecessary emphasis of Giya's status to call Kukri 'madam'. "You can call me Kukri, no need for formalities," Kukri encouraged. "We'll need to depend on each other on the journey, which is best done amongst equals."
+It was a charming fantasy for them to be at all 'equals', but it would be a useful fantasy for both of them to indulge in at least superficially.
+Kukri made no effort to stop Giya from taking a new look at the notes. "Do you happen to have any experience with the specific terrain we'll be crossing, or know enough to guess at a good first location for a camp?" she asked, trying to make it clear with her tone that she expected 'no' and would not be disappointed by it.
+**Concavenator**:
+"Yes, of course, yes. Ah..." Giya did not quite bring herself to utter Kukri's name. But she paid more attention to the chart, and concentrated very strongly on the contour lines, as if looking for something useful to say. It was not clear whether she had ever seen any map of her kind; all her experience of the terrain was probbaly from ground-level. Which, in fact, could be much more useful than one who knew every detail of the glacial plains but had never walked a step on it.
+For a while all sounds came from outside, whistling wind, and wood falling on wood, and quick-paced chatter among the workers. Finally Giya said: "There is much wind, strong wind, always. We must keep on the coats, and we must rest between rocks. Else fire will die, and we also may die. People in caravans sleep in the center with all the astrapotheres around, but we don't have them, no? We must also burn all our dung, so specters cannot find us, because they burrow in the snow -- burn it and let the wind carry the ash far away..."
+**pinkgothic**:
+The comments Giya made came as what was in sum a pleasant surprise to Kukri, having expected none at all. The remarks on coats, winds, fire and rock might be common sense, but it was better than a noncommittal grumble by far, and indeed suggested some familiarity with the terrain, at the very least cognitively.
+She had no idea what a 'specter' was and it sounded like superstition to her, but if it was instead was a mythological shadow of a local creature they should avoid, the advice was sound. It did mean spending effort on making those fires - effort and perhaps some kindling, if necessary - but it was not so pressing a problem as for Kukri to want to challenge Giya's superstitions here and now, especially if they might yet prove to have a basis in reality, as local folklore was often prone to.
+"I appreciate the advice," she said. Nonetheless curious about the superstition, she asked: "Have you ever encountered or observed one of these specters?" And, reasoning that there might be an answer even if the previous question resulted in 'no', owed to the details in stories about them: "What are they like?"
+**Concavenator**:
+Giya's mouth opened and snapped shut again, perhaps seeking a way to fix her host's dismal ignorance without offending her. "...They come at night, under the snow. You don't see them, you don't see them, ever. They make sounds, like they hiss, you can hear it; but they come when you sleep. They take a woman or a man, or if you are travelling with children they take a child. They take it and it goes along with them, and it becomes one specter more. They follow smell, of dung and unfinished food."
+**pinkgothic**:
+Kukri kept her body language neutral while the superstitious tale was told, nodding along politely. She did respect the story - she could imagine there being something to it, that there were predators out there that sought out their prey by smell, preferentially picking off people as they slept.
+She kept her interpretation to herself for now; there was a chance that discussing it might become relevant eventually, but she was happy to defer to Giya as a local guide in this matter unless she thought the fancy might threaten rather than assist their survival.
+"They indeed sound as though best avoided," she concurred. "I appreciate the warning." And she did; it wasn't even a lie. No one back in Grikaa had warned her about anything like it. The standard warnings about predators applied, of course, but that's precisely what they were: Standard. This was considerably more specific - which hardly guaranteed it was true, but was certainly pleasantly actionable.
+And it was //just// vague enough that it did not even inspire fear.
+**Concavenator**:
+Between her general apprehensions and the fears she must have relived as she spoke, Giya's temperature must have risen uncomfortably, as she leaned against the outer wall and let the bitter wind filtering through the boards cool her face.
+Then she slightly shifted her stance, bringing one eye to level with a slit between two wooden boards, and peered deep into the bluish expanse of snow. Was she actually looking forward to leaving this dismal city for a while, and return to the harsh but purposeful travels of her youth? Or was she simply hoping -- and she was hardly blameworthy in this case -- to be back quickly with some relief for her family?
+It was time to organize their leave. The guild would give no funds for even one wasted day, and Kukri had more than just herself to manage now. Neither party would linger in that inn for longer than needed, and the horrors of the Polar Fields called, strangely inviting for once.