A Hand Dealt by Fate (Open)

[CherryStatic]

This will (hopefully) eventually be part of a larger plot arc, but for now I just wanted to see who might be interested. Please only post if you're willing to commit semi-longterm. Thanks!

The wagon--if it could even be called such, as it was very nearly a house on wheels--rolled quietly through the gates of Myrkentown one afternoon, drawn by two enormous grey draft horses. The beasts moved slowly, gently leading their burden down the main street. Scarves the color of roses were tied loosely around their massive necks, adding a splash of color to their otherwise modest appearance, but the woman holding the reins was a veritable field of flowers in comparison.

She stared straight ahead with a solemn expression, her dark hair falling in cascading waves over exposed shoulders. A laced cotton corset was worn over a white blouse that reached to just beneath her sharply defined collarbone, while a silk shawl the color of the dusky night sky hung behind her, draped across her elbows. Braided leather belts with scarves and pouches hanging from them crossed her waist and gave way to layered skirts that billowed in colorful tiers around her heeled boots. If her appearance drew attention from the people milling about the streets, she gave no indication that she noticed, her gaze never slipping from where it sat somewhere in the middle-distance ahead of the wagon.

At her side, as if in stark contrast to the woman, sat a rather plainly dressed blonde man strumming a lute, lazily watching the world beyond his perch on the wagon roll by. Messy hair framed a handsome face and bright blue eyes that seemed to catch on points of interest before moving on to other, more exciting venues. A piece of straw hung from the corner of his slightly upturned mouth, and a stripe of hair trailed from his bottom lip to the tip of his chin and along the edge of his jaw, the only thing about his appearance that seemed to be meticulously styled. A comfortable-looking tunic and loose pants hung on his skinny frame, and a simple short sword was propped against his knee, rattling in its scabbard as the wagon bumped along.

The side of the vehicle featured a painted golden star with the features of a beautiful woman drawn upon it. Elegant white words sat above and below the star, reading:

Donnabella, Mistress of the Cards

and

Teller of Fortunes

The odd pair continued their slow journey through the town, making their way South and eventually coming to a stop before the Broken Dagger, the tuneless melody from the man's instrument trailing them the whole way. The wagon creaked as it came to rest, the horses pawing at the ground and nickering as the woman loosened her grip on the reigns. Her companion set his lute down, stood, and stretched with a yawn before hopping off the drivers seat, landing in the grass beside the road.

"That guard did say there were stables, right?" He asked absently, plucking the piece of straw from his lips as he looked in the direction of the tavern.

"There is time enough to worry about that later." the woman replied with a rich accent, gathering her skirts in one hand and stepping off the wagon. "We do not yet know if we will be spending the night."

"Surely you jest?" The man looked nonplussed, if not surprised, at the possibility of another night on the move. "We've been on the road for days. My backside is likely bruised from the time I've spent atop that accursed seat. The least we could do is stay until sunrise."

"You are welcome to stay as long as you wish, if even a driver's seat is too much of a challenge for you to overcome. But I will not be delayed by such things."

"I at least require a drink." he pressed, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards playfully. "I am far less likely to complain with a belly full of mead."

"Do as you will." she said with a dismissive wave, as if shooing him away. "But make yourself useful and water the horses before you surrender yourself to your vices. They are truly deserving of rest."

She held her skirts to the side as she stepped across the grounds towards the tavern's porch, leaving him to care for the enormous beasts. He raised his eyebrows at his companion's back and looked meaningfully at the horse nearest him.

"Bundles of fun, that one."

[highawaywoman]

The horsewoman had emerged from the stables, cradling a bottle in one arm and a bridle on the other. Booted feet stopped as she watched the colorful woman dismount from her seat, issuing orders of some sort to her companion. The blonde brigand could barely read, but thanks in part to Gloria, she had enough of her letters to make sense of the words splashed across the side of the caravan. Gypsies?

The horses were obviously in need of rest and water. It was clear from the way they stood to Ailova's skilled eye. Feckin' hells. The last thing she wised to do was talk to some magical sods, but it was best for their beasts. She stepped up to the blonde man, doffing her hat in friendly greeting. The highwaywoman was dressed in male riding attire. Leather breeks, tall black boots, a fitted man's shirt, that was all but covered with her frockcoat. Hair the color of straw was stuffed into the confines of her slouch hat, leaving no clue to her gender - until she spoke.

"They be needin' res' and a drink. Need 'elp in unhitchin' 'em?" Her voice was pleasant, as she patted the side of one of the draft's face. "This oone be needin a rese' 'oo. His right foore shoe is aboou' 'o coome off."

Bridle and bottle were shifted to the same arm, as she bent to take a closer inspection to the draft's hoof. Now, there was a selfish streak in Ailova - and that flawed part of her told her to move along. It wasnae her business what happened to this pair or their horses. However, the part that truly loved equines, wouldn't see her move from her spot.

"Moind if'n I 'ake a cloos'r look?"

[CherryStatic]

"By all means, my good--"

'Lady' wasn't the right word. Ladies didn't spend their time dressed as men, tucking their hair and assets into clothing tailored for their counterparts. And 'woman' seemed like it might do more damage than justice, especially when she had made at least some effort to appear as a fellow. He grinned despite his bemusement, deciding to play it safe.

"Any help is welcome and appreciated, friend. I wasn't looking forward to tackling the task on my lonesome."

The horse nearest Ailova turned its head an inch or two towards her in curiosity, looking shyly out at her from under long lashes. Both animals had lovely, glossy coats the color of ashes and long dark manes that had been brushed regularly, but the effects of the road were still obvious. Dirt and dust caked the bushy curtains of hair that covered their legs from knee to hoof, and they did look fatigued, now that the horsewoman mentioned it.

"I agree that my companion and I should have stopped sooner, but she has a mind of her own and doesn't enjoy being told what to do." He held up a hand in anticipation of what Ailova might say to that. "I know that's no excuse, but the horses are hers, not mine. Personal property is something of a touchy subject with her at the moment."

He paused awkwardly, watching the stranger examine the beasts. She was paying more attention to them than she was to him, something he was more or less accustomed to from his own travelling companion.

"Would you be able to fit him with a new shoe, then? Or perhaps you know of someone who could? We've the coin, certainly."

[highawaywoman]

The highwaywoman glanced askance to where the sandy-haired man stood and struggled with a greeting. A grin was ready on her thin face, giving him a flash of golden teeth among white ones. Shortly, a work-roughened was hand offered in welcome.

"Ailova. Me name be Ailova."

The horses were more of a concern to her, but she bit her tongue when the young man offered excuses and then a ready apology for their state. At least they were well-fed. They weren't suffering, so she nodded with a bemused smile. His partner sounded a right bitch, but then whom was she to make such snap judgements?

"I can tack a shoe back on, aye. Dependin' on i's condition ye may need a new oone. Fer tha' ye'd 'ave 'o call on the farri'r. Noice enough man, froom northways, near Derry." The horsewoman had bent, running a hand down the foreleg and clucking an encouragement to the draft. The large horse willingly complied and lifted his hoof for her inspection. Fingertip traced the shoe, which was worn from their miles of travel.

"I'd suggest ye get a new oone, mayhap even a new se' fer booth - if'n 'is partn'r be in the same state." Gently, the hoof was let down and she straightened, gathering up bridle and bottle from where she'd discarded them on the ground.

"Ye two stayin' fer a bi'?"

Now, wouldn't they bring a spectacle to town? Everyone loved to have their fortunes read, especially if said fore-tellings were full of lies and happiness.

"If'n ye determin'd 'o moove oon? Careful in 'em woods. Los' a 'orse in there meself a few moonths back. But, if'n ye stick 'o the rooads, ye shoould be foine."

[CherryStatic]

He smiled once more, relieved that his hesitation over how to properly address her hadn't caused a wrinkle in their exchange. He returned the handshake with equally calloused fingers, a testament to years of strumming stringed instruments.

"Vance Morwitte, at your service, Ailova." His charming grin, although mischievous, almost conspiratorial, was sincere. He supposed luck was on his side that the first face he encountered in Myrken was a friendly one.

"Thanks for the advice. I, for one, think that we ought to go ahead and treat these two to new shoes all around. But, again, I don't have the final word in that. Hopefully my friend will see reason and visit the farrier on the morrow."

"Or" said a velvety, accented voice behind the two of them, "perhaps your friend will see reason, visit the farrier tonight, and already be miles down the road atop her wagon by the time the sun rises, on the morrow."

Vance winced visibly as the gypsy woman marched towards them, colorful skirts held to one side so that they did not get caught on the tall grass that lay between her and the wagon. She looked as irritated as she had upon entering the tavern, possibly more so. Whatever had happened inside had done nothing to soothe her ill mood.

"You truly are set on departing posthaste, aren't you?" he asked, sounding defeated. "At least have the horses looked at. Our friend here says that they are badly in need of rest and new shoes."

"Oh?" That bit of information was met with eyebrows raised in Ailova's direction. "I see. And I suppose you have discussed what we will be eating for dinner tonight, and where we will be sleeping? Or perhaps how much coin we carry in our purses?" She returned her gaze to him. "Has the nature of our journey eluded you, or are you truly so eager to be robbed again, you foolish man?"

"I wasn't robbed." he retorted in a tone that suggested this argument was being revisited for the hundredth time. "If memory serves, it was your wagon that was broken into and your possessions that were stolen. Yet here I am, being dragged across the continent in pursuit of some unknown thief with nothing to go on but your hunches. And all over a deck of pretty cards?"

Her palm cracked across his cheek hard enough to turn his head a fraction, catching him by surprise. She uttered something at him in a foreign tongue and spit at his boots before turning on her heel in a whirl of color and storming off to the back of the wagon. A door was opened and slammed shut as Vance turned to Ailova in embarrassment.

"So, yeah. A bit of a touchy subject, personal property." He rubbed his jaw, where the heel of her hand had struck him square on. "Sorry you had to see that. She does care for the horses, though. Now that the thought is in her head, she'll probably see the farrier before we leave. So again, thanks."

"By the by, have you seen anyone suspicious lately? I know that's a rather vague question, considering that Myrken must see plenty of people passing through, but has anyone in particular stuck out for some reason? Someone...thiefy?"

[highawaywoman]

The bloke seemed nice enough. He was a human, which was a mark in his favor. The brigand shifted as she stepped away from the horses, nodding to his pleasant exchange. Assuredly, if they were human, they'd get a warmer welcome. Witchery aside, of course.

Then. The she-bitch cut through the pleasantries and spewed out venom like a viper having her nest disturbed. Vance's face was slapped, the crack sending a frisson up Ailova's spine. Shhh. Nae your business.

But, Ailova knew the feel of hand across cheek, fists to the face, or kicks to the ribs. Vividly, the nightmare of her long-dead father striking her came unbidden and flashed through her mind.

The highwaywoman remained quiet through the exchange between man and woman, her jaw locking to keep from speaking to the beast in skirts. In her jaded mind? She wished the best to the bandits that had raided them. Save for the fact that the nice fellow was taking the brunt of blame for the job.

Only when the slamming of the door assured her that the she-devil was gone, did the horsewoman look back to Vance. A trembling hand pushed the brim of her slouch hat upwards, fixing him with a very serious look.

"Ye shouldnae le' 'er stroike ye. Does she be yer woife or kin?" A wad of spit was sent into the footprints of the woman who'd just departed, "Ev'n if she is? Dinnae le' tha' shite 'appen. I cannae aboide abusive sods."

"By the by, have you seen anyone suspicious lately? I know that's a rather vague question, considering that Myrken must see plenty of people passing through, but has anyone in particular stuck out for some reason? Someone...thiefy?"

If Ailova hadn't been so angered by that colorfully dressed chit? She might've laughed at the question. Havers. He was standing right next to a highwaywoman. Her last heist had been a great haul - thanks to that fat nob, Treadwell and his equally fat friend. Two hundred golden sovereigns. She was a rich woman; she hadn't the need to work - unless it was in doing what she enjoyed.

"Havers, man. This be Myrken. Knaves, cutthroats, bandits? They all make their way through 'ere."

[CherryStatic]

"Eh. I thought as much." He scratched his goatee. "Thought I'd ask anyway."

He glanced sidelong at the wagon into which the gypsy had disappeared. "Donna'll be wanting to have a look around, that's for sure. Which means that we'll be staying for tonight, at least, so maybe luck is on my side after all? I really wasn't looking forward to another night on the road. It can be dangerous."

He was entirely oblivious to the fact that the woman whom he addressed was at least partly responsible for said danger. Instead, the corners of his lips twitched upward in another friendly smile. He nodded at the bottle in the crook of Ailova's arm.

"It looks like you're running a bit low, yeah? Since we'll be here for a while, can I at least buy you a mead or two as way of thanks? The horses will be getting some well-deserved rest because of you."

Without waiting to hear her response, he walked around the wagon to the door, opening it a crack. He opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it a split second before something heavy thunked against it. He reappeared around the corner of the vehicle, laughing nervously.

"She's fine, come on, let's go." he said in one breath, heading towards the tavern at a brisk pace.

[highawaywoman]

Words of warning against taking abuse were ignored. But, she really couldn't blame the man. After all, it was a slight to one's dignity to be treated thusly in front of another. This she understood.

The horsewoman shifted on her booted feet, looking at the caravan as if considering something. She couldn't imagine much in the way of valuables being left within. And there was just the two of them. Aye, they'd been ripe pickings for the bandits that'd waylaid them. Hells, it was an easier mark than the Lord Steward and his friend, and assuredly easier than the heist she'd been planning currently.

"Since we'll be here for a while, can I at least buy you a mead or two as way of thanks? The horses will be getting some well-deserved rest because of you."

An easy grin was thrown to the man as she nodded in return, golden teeth seen briefly before she spoke, "Aye, bu' I dinnae care fer mead. 'ow aboou' we share a boottle o' whisk'y? The tavern 'as a decen' enoough amber. 'Tis bett'r than the ale, I assure ye."

There was something about the congenial man that set up Ailova's interest. These two struck her as something a bit more than just gypsies out and about in their travels. Vance seemed overly worried about the she-devil which could mean a number of things, but the blonde brigand focused on two especially.

She could be a witch.

He could be entangled with her and unable to extricate himself from her due to love or responsibility.

The nervous laugh was received with as much alacrity that she could muster, nodding as she followed him into the Dagger. The barkeep looked up, nodding as he noticed the horsewoman entering after the newcomer. Ailova and her thirst was well-known in the tavern and before they reached the bar - two tankards and a bottle of whiskey were placed before them.

A hand that trembled slightly poured out a healthy dram into each vessel and she pushed one to Vance. Booted feet hooked to the lower rung of the barstool, as she gave him another curious look.

"Soo, Vance. Why do ye pu' up with 'er?"

[CherryStatic]

He gratefully accepted the tankard that she filled for him, raising it to his lips and taking a swig of its contents. He raised his eyebrows at her question, setting the drinking vessel on the bar and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"She's my employer. Sort of."

He paused, trying to gauge how much he should say and whether or not the question was just small talk. Ailova seemed at least somewhat interested, so he shrugged.

"I, uh, wasn't doing so well for myself before I ran into Donna. Spent a lot of time playing for scraps in more taverns than I count, all the way from New Dauntless to Heath. I probably would be, still, if she hadn't found me." He chuckled to himself, remembering. "I still don't know why she asked me to come along with her. Maybe she wanted someone to watch her back. Maybe she was lonely on the road, just her and her wagon. I'm not sure. She says she could pull more profit with an opening act, but she does fine on her own, believe me. Fortune telling is in demand no matter where you go."

"It's real, you know." He leaned towards Ailova slightly, the corners of his mouth pulling up. "I thought she was just another con artist at first, like most of these traveling acts are. I guess spending as much time as I had latched to the underbelly of society made me a skeptic. But I swear, the first time I saw her spread those cards out on a table, I knew she was the real deal."

Perhaps he saw something in the way Ailova reacted to talk of magic, because he was quick to defend his companion. "It's nothing sinister. She outright refuses to fool around with anything other than the cards. Says that she has no business dabbling in things best left untouched, or something." He flapped a hand as if waving away a curl of smoke. "People are quick to accuse her kind of thievery and witchcraft, but that's just small-mindedness, in my opinion. She's a decent woman, even if she does have a sharp tongue."

"But as for the reason that I stick beside her? I owe her. She opened a door for me, and I want to repay the favor." He had another go at the whiskey, frowning. "But I haven't really delivered in that regard. I took first watch on the night her cards were stolen, so its my fault the thief got away. Maybe I was just tired, but I can't remember much about that night. I just remember how frantic Donna was when I awoke."

[highawaywoman]

Magical cards, bandits, women foretelling the future - angry women. Ones who apparently held grudges; from the way she treated her companion. Sure, Ailova was interested. The longer she lived in Myrken? The longer she was forced to accept that magic was simply a whispered part of everyday life. Not that she cared for it - or trusted anyone who dabbled in it more than before.

Vance leaned forward, apparently happy enough to share a dram and his tales. His assurance that the fortune-telling was no hoax only gave her more pause. To her? The future was something to fear. She had a habit of moving constantly in order to avoid any sort of future. And this woman? If'n she was able to read one's future? Ailova would remember to never give her her palm - or sit before her; if her devilish cards were ever found.

"I 'ave nae such desoire 'o ken me future. Inna my experience? The future is bett'r lef' fer 'em aboove 'o decoide. Nay the loikes o' us 'ere on firm groound." The more she drank, the less her hands shook. The thirst was being satiated; so a brief blissful peace from the shakes would follow for a few hours.

Still, despite his assurances that this she-bitch was alright - a decent woman? Ailova couldn't help but deny that fact in her mind. Anyone who struck another without so much as a by-you-leave? Well, they were damned in her reckonings as a sod.

"So, these thieves? All they toook was yon dev'l cards? Nae anythin' else o' value? If'n soo? Soounds moore loike a plann'd joob. Oone with a purpoose. Mayhap, a competin' band o' fortune-tell'rs? Or, mayhap, soomeone who dinnae loike the fortune yer woman gave?"

There were many reasons to rob. Ailova had run across all the motivators during her lengthy time as a highwaywoman.

"Canna she still 'ell 'em fortunes? Ev'n withoou' 'em cards?" The bandit ignored his statement that such who were distrustful of the woman were ignorant. That was just foolishly blanketing all who had the mind to discern - in her jaded opinion.