Apr 09 19:19:51 109 PA - Little Veggies, Brief Swing

From Chronicles

Apr 09 19:19:51 109 PA.

NORTH 'DREGS

Fizzlesnoot has driven down into the Dregs today in his rusty bucket of bolts. Most might be worried of theft in these parts, but not like anyone would want his smoking bucket of bolts even with the keys in it. The vibration of metal and the loud bangs of backfires announce his approach long before the rusty conversion van is even seen.

The big smith is off in Little Russia, enjoying a place where he can speak in his native tongue and not have to worry about being understood. At the moment, Pavel is leaning up against a wooden stall selling some more exotic vegetables like peppers, onions, artichokes and a wide variety of specialty items. A huge lump of gear, ranging from a pile of what be dozens of links of fine silver chain, to swords and his personal hammer are piled up nearby. A small young woman is at his side, and along with three others, there is a lively conversation going.

Fizzlesnoot's destination just so happens to be Little Russia. Not that there is much else out this way otherwise. Finding a place to park out of the way, yet close to the market, the van's engine is cutoff, though is stubborn and runs on for another few seconds before rumbling, causing the metal of the body to clatter before it goes silent. A few moments later, the side door of the van opens with a loud creak and slam as it slides open, spitting out the odd little D-bee in his bright orange winter coat where he takes a look around as he slides his carpet bag out of the van before closing the door with an equally loud creak and slam. It's apparent it's not his fault, the van is a piece of crap that barely runs.

The clattering and nearly explosive halt of the beat-up van does draw the attention of those in the small market. It first brings silence. Then open, raucous laughter. Pavel even points one of his big sausage fingers, "Khot kol na golove teshi!" Others around him pick up the laughter as he surges himself up off of the post where he'd been leaning, and starts to make his way to the van. He tries something, something to see how well he'd done. He calls in a vast and smiling Russian, << Fizzlesnoot! How'd you manage to get that thing all the way here, did you hire someone to pull it? >>

Fizzlesnoot slings his bag over his shoulder turning to Pavel, a laugh of his own coming from his pot belly. << Allo Pavel. She works good, though not the best looking and loud, >> he shrugs admittedly. << How's your day today? >>

<< Doing very well! >> It's not that Pavel is moving all that swiftly, it's just that he has large gait, bringing him rapidly to his almost hideously ugly little friend. << I'm glad to hear that you've remembered what I taught! Come, come. Say hello to the family, meet some friends. What brings out out here? >>

Fizzlesnoot gives a shrug following along with the big guy, << Come to buy vegetables, take a look around. I've been trying to keep in practice. >>

Pavel puts an arm behind his friend's back and brings him over to the group, introducing them in order, and ending with the short yet beautiful woman, who turns out to be the 'Anya' that he'd spoken so fondly of before. Long black hair, ready smile, brown eyes, low alto voice that rolls like velvet... oh yes, he likes it. << So, what kind of veggies can we fix you up with? You made a long trek to get here. Couldn't find it in the Merchant's Plaza? >>

Fizzlesnoot tips his hat as each is introduced, his trademark creepy toothy smile goes along with, << Good to meet you all. >> A shrug goes the question, << Of course I could get in the Merchant’s Plaza, why limit your options? What is available this time of year? >>

The gathered Russians give Fizzlesnoot some looks, but seem to take him easily enough, perhaps as there's clearly already some kind of local social bond with Pavel. Anya steps forward to offer a very ripe tomato and a rolled greeting. << We have just about everything you could look for, Fizzlesnoot, >> Pavel says. He then corrects, << Well, I suppose *they* have everything. Not me. Of course, this is planting season, not reaping season. But they do have some cold-weather food. Beans, peas, asparagus, garlic, onion, lettuce, spinach. And of course - cabbage. >> All of the gathered men and women native to Asia laugh at that one.

Bernard emerges onto the street from the odd building with the cross-shaped lanterns out front. His gaze wandering casually up and down the street as he makes his way towards one of the street vendors of Little Russia.

As the little D-Bee wanders off to inspect other wares, Pavel goes back to talking with his gathered friends, conversing - not surprisingly - in Russian. << Yes, they came on, I don't know why. I don't know where the refugees were to fight, either. There are supposed to be ten-thousand of them. That's almost three-hundred people per square foot, if they didn't have a couple of buildings. Did they hide in another dimension or something? >>

Bernard offers up a quick incantation of tongues as he approaches the vendor, someone selling quick and easy street food. He offers a bit of a gesture, "How much for one of those?" he asks for one of the 'delicacies' displayed at the man's stall.

The aged Russian selling street food holds up four fingers, his thumb tucked back so as to clearly not be included. The discussion gets Pavel's attention, and he takes the few steps necessary to reach the table, giving Bernard a nod in greeting. Then an explanation. << Nikolai is mute. A psychic got inside of his head years ago and apparently messed things up. Four credits, for the meat. >>

Bernard shrugs his shoulders, "Huh, damn psychics eh?" he says with a bit of a grin, then offers over for credits to the mute fellow, taking the food from him. "The food isn't so bad here, at least." He shrugs, "I suppose we can thank the psychic for not damaging his cooking skills?"

<> Pavel says with a soft smile. Seems as if any ill will around the jovial fellow must have passed by now. <> The final word is one that Pavel practically spits out. << They would come in from the west, sweep through an area leaving chaos in their wake. We are not so stupid as not to have been wary, but psychics... they are hard to hide from, no? >>

"I don't have much dealings with them myself." Bernard replies, "I suppose some have tricks to find you though." He agrees at that, "And my encounters with gypsies are even less, though I've heard they were fairly common across the channel." He adds.

<< Channel? >> Pavel quirks his head as if the term makes no sense to him. << Which channel? The Volga is a river, not a channel. East of Krasny Kut, where Saratov sits. They are common enough to cause trouble on a regular basis. It's unusual though, and I'm not sure if it's good or not... Warlord Romanov is more generous than the others. She doesn't have 'hunter-killer' groups searching for them. They're allowed to enter without harm. But, that is what you must deal with though, when you're not a crazed butcher. >> The big fellow offers the last with a laugh, glancing back quickly to the vegetable stand before returning to the immediate conversation.

"The English Channel of course. It's like a river, but really wide." Bernard says with a laugh, "Has Splugorth moving about it every now and then. Not something you really cross unless you're not happy with your life." He adds, "And I never encountered any of the warlords when I was there, I'm sure they're about the same as any other human ruler though."

Again, Pavel's brow furrows, but this time it's in thoughts trying to access a memory. A memory that apparently isn't there, as he shakes his head, causing his curly, shoulder-length hair to wave. << I do not know this 'English Channel.' I never traveled vast distances inside of Romanov's domain, and I have only recently come out of the Federation. Where is it located? I have heard of 'Splugorth' but only since I arrived here. I understand that they are cruel and horrific, but I have never really learned much more. People tend to just stop talking about them when I ask. >> His shoulders roll elaborately, causing his tool belt to jingle as some of the smaller bits bang against its metal construct.

"It's not all that important. It's quite a ways away from here." Bernard says with a grin, "Probably someplace neither of us will see again. And I suspect they mostly plague the coastal regions. Something your home has little of really. I've had some practice robbing them though, as I've mentioned. They're slavers and the like, ruled by powerful dimensional intelligences."

Pavel lifts his head in understanding. << I have never seen an ocean. I doubt that I was ever... well, I don't know the distance, but I was far, far from any large body of water. Lots of land, good land. Lakes and rivers, too, but not coasts. At least, not coasts as I think you're meaning. >> The mention of theft elicits a smirk, one that he chooses not to follow any further. For now. <>

Bernard shrugs his shoulders, "Never know what you'll see. Not likely if you're more of a homebody and not out for grand adventures or whatnot." He grins, "If I live long enough I'm sure I'll see all sorts of things. I'm more of a tourist through life rather then a passenger in a lot of ways."

<< Tourist? >> Pavel's brow raises again, the word registering with a definition, but perhaps not making any sense. <> He lifts a big hand and waves it back west toward the city proper. << This place, it is... different than most places I have been, and there are people here who need me. I may stay awhile, but eventually? >> A loud finger snap echoes down the street, coming from his own digits. <>

"I'll do much the same, but when I move on it'll either be a few years into the future, or another dimension, possibly another continent, or a combination of the both." Bernard replies at that, "Though I'm not sure who Svarog is or why he'd decree such to you."

<< Svarog is the god who made me as I am, >> Pavel explains. << The highest of the gods, in fact. He makes us to serve the people, and so the people can rid the world of beasts like... the Splugorth, I suppose. You would not grant such gifts out of hand to have them sit in one place doing much for few, would you? >> His eyebrow quirks high. << I have been to two continents now, and I can say that there is not much difference between them. Yes, details. Some people fighting others. Many sad, few happy. I doubt that others would be any different, although... I don't know how many there are. Perhaps they can be very different? As are your dimensions, which I also do not understand, despite your having explained them to me. I'm slow. >> Teeth show as he taps the side of his head with a fist.

"Consider the idea of continents. Now take that idea and expand it so our world is a continent, and there are many others across the vastness of space and the boundaries of reality and you have other dimensions, other worlds and continents. Some are more hellish, some less. Most monsters come from other dimensions, however. The Splugorth, your god Svarog, the Xiticix. Even the vampires I believe." He says with a shrug of his shoulders.

The big smith chuckles, shaking his head. << My friend, I have only a vague idea of what continents are! But I think perhaps your dimensions are like different towns, one of which can be reached directly by you from any other. Yes? >> Pavel stops to scratch beneath his chin. << What is a Xiticix? >> Even having just heard the word, he has difficulty repeating it back properly. It's tough for native English-speakers, so that can't really be held against him. Or at least, most people wouldn't.

Bernard nods, "Like other towns yes." Bernard agrees, "And I don't know much of them frankly. They're some invading alien insect up north, near where the fighting’s been going on. I've never seen one actually, just read, and heard about them."

<< The Tolkeen fighting? >> Pavel laughs again, shaking his head. << I really don't know where I am, Bernard. I know that I'm *not* in the Federation. I know that I *am* in Kingsdale. I know that it has cold winters here, but not as cold as where I'm from. I know that there is much magic here, and a Coalition that believes in humans above all others. But... other than that, I do not use maps or spells or anything special. I simply... follow where I am needed. >> Offering a dismissive wave, he clarifies, << It's not some kind of special sense beyond human observation. But I know where to go. >>

"Well, then no sense worrying about it too much I suppose, eh? If you go that way you go that way and you'll learn about them when you need to," Bernard replies at that then offers a little shoulder shrug.

Pavel shakes his head again. << No, no. That's not what I meant. I'd *love* to know more about North America. I only meant that I don't have any useful reference point to understand just where all of the fighting has been going on. I think that I'm... >> he spins a full circle, ending with a smirk. << Somewhere in the middle? >>

Bernard shrugs a bit, "I don't know much more then you frankly. I've been to Quebec, The City of Brass, and here and a couple places in between, I've just heard stories and the like. The library likely has maps though."

<< Yes, I'm sure they do. I guess I just haven't had much reason to go there. Besides, I was somewhat disgruntled when I was there. There wasn't much there written in Cyrillic. At least, nothing that I found useful. >> Pavel points his chin at the recently purchased meat. << Is that like what you had in... ah... near the English Channel? >>

"Not too surprising I suppose. You could always learn to read English," Bernard suggests. "And I studied in Russia, learned magic there actually, though outside of your warlord's territory by a ways."

<< I could try to learn to read English, yes. But I don't know any tutors. I'm sure that Rasputin would help, but he's never around. Anya reads for me, but I hate being a burden. Jaxain used to do it for my contracts and such... but I have not seen him in a long time. >> Pavel shrugs, then smiles. <>

Bernard shrugs, "Or you start to practice at it yourself, though it may not be as easy or fast." He says, "I learned to fence on my own, for example." He says with a grin, "But yes, you could find a tutor for it I'm sure, especially here in town."

The big blacksmith offers up another wide grin. << Yes, I'm sure that something physical like that could be self-taught. Maybe more cerebral things, too, like... cooking. Or maybe reading a map. Reading, though? >> Pavel looks dubious. << Even if I could get a word-for-word copy of a book, Cyrillic and English, I would only be able, at best, to learn some words. But not actually how to read them, or which characters meant what. Like, how to look at a word and know how to say it correctly. >>

"Well, if you say so." Bernard replies to that assertion, "Though, I still think it's manageable if you put your mind to it, but maybe not easy. You have to start someplace after all."

A hand is held forward with its palm up. << I will try, yes. But it is... like cracking a code. I need an instructor to learn it in any useful time period. It slows my learning though, as there are other things that are more important at the moment. Such as learning how to properly wield those large weapons that we talked about a little the other day. >> Pavel grimaces. << I... I almost broke the test weapon that the Gunnery was loaning me. Bartholemew never told me just how many ammo drums that you can go through before the barrel starts to thin. >>

"Yes, they have a tendency to do that given enough rounds." Bernard agrees, "I couldn't really tell you how many it could take, Just to fire it in short bursts instead of emptying the whole drum."

<< It takes about nine, fired consecutively without much stop in between, >> Pavel says with an embarrassed smirk. << I know that we just kind of touched one the subject before. I was at kind of a, ah... rough... time. If I were to pay you, do you think that you could show me what I need? I was learning before, and now this thing with the refugees has simply solidified the point that what I have is not entirely useful when there aren't others around to do any decent ranged work to thin numbers before they reach my hammer. >>

"I could, though it may take me a week or two before I can start instruction for you, if you can wait that long." Bernard replies, "There is a spell I need to study before I can focus on your instruction."

Pavel claps his hands together lightly. << Beggars can't be choosers, and it seems as if I am now the beggar. If you can teach me, I would appreciate it. You mages and your spells, though. I find it amusing how you reference your own work. It actually came up with Aya and her psychic abilities, with Max interrogating her. She does not have names for what she does, she just does it. I do not have names for what I do, I just do it. Yet spells are learned, cast and named as if I were asking an apprentice for a specific kind of hammer. >> His lips purse happily. <>

"Well, much like learning to be a smith, you learn to be a mage. It took me a 4 year apprenticeship just to become somewhat competent in magic." Bernard says, "We can develop new magic, refine old magic, and share our formulas, much like a smith could with his methods and plans on how to refine ore and form it into it's end product. Psychics do not have to really learn to be a psychic. They either are, or are not."

<< What I'm trying to say, though, is that some put names to it. Rather than just doing something, it's given a name. Now, sure, there are things that get names. A process, for instance, like 'quenching.' >> Pavel looks over to the other fellow. << But when I use tools, or go through a specific process, none of it requires a name to call something. Max seemed annoyed that neither one of us showed much recognition at all to what being a 'burster' meant. >> A dismissive hand is waved, followed by, << Yes, yes. I realize that's psychic. But mages do the same thing. >>

Bernard shrugs slightly at that, "You may not call it a name but I'm sure the process has a name." He says, "But, I don't know much about smithing, or psychics though, so it's just assumptions from me I guess."

<< Yes, likely, >> Pavel agrees. << I wanted to be a carpenter, but Svarog came to me, and made me a smith. Now I'm happy being a smith. Why did you become a... magic thief who hops dimensions? You'll forgive me, but that sounds like a waste of four years of your life as an apprentice and who knows how many years of your life learning it outside of instruction. >>

Bernard laughs, "Someone came to me as well and that's that." He says in response, "I don't have much skill at dimensional traveling yet, actually. But eventually I'll be able to open rifts and the like."

Pavel nods. << And you want to do this traveling, all to steal? There is time to spend it when you're dead? >> Pavel finishes with an amused question.

Bernard shakes his head, "I only do the work when I need the credits. Otherwise I live a pretty normal relaxed life. There are far nicer places to relax and rest than here though. With far less employment opportunities."

<< Why not go steal from the gangs, Bernard? >> Pavel asks with an interested tone. << I'm sure they have far more things that would line your pockets than what you could take from the refugees. Equipment, weapons... probably bags of money laying around somewhere, rather than trying to cash in medical supplies with the local... fence? Is that the term? >>

"The refugees are hardly without means there." Bernard replies at that, "And those were just the first things I found worth pocketing. The Refugees may not have trained soldiers but there's some wealth in there."

<< I'm not saying they don't. I'm saying that a gang that has apparently been there forever, with powerful connections and running an entire underground economy would probably have coffers far above those who had fled Tolkeen, >> Pavel explains. << Or are they above your ability to steal from? The gang, I mean. The one that the refugees are fighting. >>

"Perhaps when I'm ready to leave I'll do something like that, sure. For now I'm content to stay where I am. It's easy to make enemies when they'll be dead of old age when you come back through, but I'm not looking to be assassinated while I plan to remain in the area."

Pavel grins, both as a jibe and good humor at the same time. << Ah, I see. So they *are* above your ability. That's nothing to be ashamed of, everyone has a limit, eventually. Perhaps you could meet with Marcel and see if he would pay you to steal something important. Payment and goodwill at the same time. >> His hands are then rubbed together fast enough and hard enough that he probably could have started a friction fire. In fact, knowing him, that would be extremely likely. In the end, though, a nod is given to the small, beautiful woman from the vegetable stand. She starts to walk over, and Pavel excuses himself. << I think I will be back to Anya, now, Bernard. Good luck with your spell studies! Please find me if you happen to come free to teach me about those weapons. Or anything else that you might want to impart! >>

Apr 09 19:19:51 109 PA - Little Veggies, Brief Swing

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