wrecking_yard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wrecking_yard) wrote2014-03-23 11:54 pm
wrecking_yard) wrote2014-03-23 11:54 pm
Accidental Nano - Ch. 15
Fandom: FFXIV
Summary: SOB. WHAT IS MY LIFE.
Chapter Summary: Thancred's coping mechanisms include equal parts "try to find something else to do" and "OH LOOK, A DISTRACTING THING!", with occasional constructive edges of trying to figure out what the Hell even.
Warnings: Nothing direct that's a real warning. Thancred going distraction-chasing when he's not together enough for it to even be anything spectacular might be worth a minor one.
Louisoix stayed close the entire walk back; he'd shifted to get the coat on more properly, tugging the loose fabric in closer, thinking. He'd seen the Inspector more settled, and some of it was too much to be just stress and frazzling; like he was taking half of what was going on personally, and as far as he knew he didn't have a personal stake in it from the start like Marcelain, who'd lost family, and the worse reactions always happened when he was defending the people that'd turned out to be working with it.
“...What happened to him?”
Louisoix paused, glancing to him with mild surprise, then a sort of odd mix of sadness and approval. “That... you should ask him yourself.”
They took a detour close to the smaller wall around the college, stopping at a small bakery; it was quiet, and the way Louisoix was distracted and watching the main entrances, he half suspected Louisoix was gauging how much faster they would've gotten there than the wounded Inspector and stalling a little before going back to the politics.
They tailed the Inspector and Abylghota back through the gates; Abylghota seemed to be the only one that noticed, and she didn't seem to care, mostly intent on steering her partner back to the infirmary over any complaint. They weren't following close enough to overhear, but when the other pair reached the door, Y'shtola appeared in the doorway, tail ticking and ears back as if she'd been almost waiting. The Inspector's shoulders slumped in defeat, and Abylghota handed him off, far too cheerfully.
Louisoix nodded to him and turned to catch up to Abylghota, who stopped to wait partway across the square; it was as if there was a sort of passive permission in being left to his own devices. He slipped into the infirmary, waiting in the lobby to a few curious glances from the student at the front desk, half-dozing until Y'shtola emerged and spotted him.
“Please tell me you didn't find some new way to injure yourself.”
“Nnno, it's about Inspector Westin – is he conscious?”
“For now.” Y'shtola's flattened expression and ears suggested that this was something that could change at any time.
“...Is he up to talking? There's – something I wanted to ask him about.”
One of her ears moved enough to flick. “Is it likely to turn into an argument?” There was an undercurrent of 'so help me gods I will sleep spell both of you'.
“I – don't think so? If he doesn't want to talk about it or it starts looking that way, I'll leave.”
“Good.”
She did turn and lead to one of the rooms, following him in to stand by the door; he caught a brief glance up at the door before the Inspector did a very bad job of feigning sleep.
“...There was something I wanted to ask you about, if you'd be willing to answer.”
There wasn't any response except an irritable shift.
“...What happened? Not here, to you. I know there's something I'm missing, just – not if it's something you'd wish to share.”
The room was silent for a few, long seconds, and then the man stirred enough to give Y'shtola a tired, worn, uncomfortable look; she considered, then nodded. “I'll be outside.”
The door shut behind her, but he didn't hear her walking away; he had a strong suspicion she'd be back at the first sign of raised voices.
“It was my first few years. I'd been doing patrol appointments, around your age; my family wasn't well off, but we weren't starving, and we were right by one of the market streets. I knew a few of the others that were working that area well, and it was hard not to end up familiar with most of the regular folk through the area; the merchants were always happy to see us, having someone in uniform nearby was a good ward against petty thievery.” He shifted the blankets with a grumble. “I'm sure you've noticed what a big business smuggling is; some of the relics and tomes that pass through this city are ridiculously valuable, and there's some of the Ul'dahn syndicates willing to pay good coin for them without asking any questions about how they were acquired.”
He nodded; Hell, he knew some of those items were treated as 'if you can get one you're set for a long time' targets for thieves. “And they're usually happy to add a few people that won't be missed while they're here.”
“You ever hear anything about the groups that'd been fighting over the main gate over on the southeast, years ago?”
Thancred winced. “I did... the ring that came out on top is vicious enough about their territory that nobody goes that way.”
“We managed to catch that one of the big factors in who was winning any given day was buying out parts of the guard, and some of the mercenaries and adventurers that'd do deliveries and bodyguard work. I'd reported few of the ones on the take, and they started picking off my family. One of the people I'd thought I knew came in with information on where the main hideout of the worst group was, and we got a group organized to go in...”
There was an uncomfortable sense that he knew where this was going; he stayed quiet until the Inspector spoke again.
“Next thing we knew, we had steel aimed at our backs as much as our faces – not only were they prepared, but we'd had a bunch of the sellouts in our own ranks; killed most of the ones that they hadn't bought, kept a few alive to try to wring out things they could use or in case they needed a hostage; the ones that'd turned on us? They got worked over enough to look convincing and limped back. The only reason I'm alive is because some adventurer from a group they'd been buying off had a crisis of conscience and was smart enough to sneak out the back with some proof and go straight to the District's Head Inspector. Complete random stranger, Ishgardian I think, heard he went back to go join the knights. The ones that turned on us? They'd been eating well and a little too well off for months, but some of them had been passed off to the same nursemaids; they fed me lines and I believed them. When I was back on my feet again, I got passed around Districts for a while; never was sure if it was doing me a kindness or just worrying I'd get suckered again.” It sounded like he was liable to trail off to sleep mid-sentence, almost.
“That's why I bothered you so badly?”
The Inspector closed his eyes with an unintelligible mumble. “First I'd thought you were working with them; you said yourself, people down there hate it when someone goes to the law, they're more like to give false reports to try to lead us off than anything. After Abylghota said you were genuine, it hit me that you were doing the same dumb thing... they could get away with murder behind your back and you wouldn't believe it until you got knifed in the ribs, and even when you did, you didn't want to accept it.” He lifted a wrist, too tired to finish whatever the movement should've been. “Somebody who knows they're lying to cover it's bad enough but they'll slip up; it's the people like you that believe it that really help people get away with it all.”
“...I'm sorry.” He wasn't really sure what else to say; there was a running tally of things that hadn't been elaborated on, none of which he really wanted to ask about – he knew enough stories about that conflict and the group that came out on top to know that the worst he could think of might not cover it, even if some of the fighting meant they'd gone more to ground and gotten more careful about things.
There wasn't an answer; it looked like he'd finally passed out. Thancred slipped out the door with a brief nod to Y'shtola on his way out.
Without that to keep his attention on, he meandered the college district, half trying to learn his way around better and figure out what he'd even need or want with a place of his own, and half trying to not think about Ayla's outburst; it made for a very morose circuit. Ayla had never seemed that unhappy, to get pulled into something like that so easily; was that really all it took, a few shows of power and going through the motions of “providing security”?
It led to trying not to think about what he'd seen some of the others get into, in exchange for coin or a place to stay. He'd always thought they were doing well enough as things went to not be that desperate.
Then again, there was also something it'd told her that she wasn't willing to share; she knew at least a little more about their plans, and had apparently just accepted it as an inevitability.
That just brought around to boggling again that she'd apparently gotten along well enough with it to know its name. She was sometimes a little too good at things like that for her own good, but he hadn't realized it would go quite that far.
The sound of someone calling out hawking greengrocer's wares caught his attention; there were a couple of Lalafell that were barely visible under layers of coats and scarves with a wagon and a simple, easily broken down stall in the main plaza. A pair of chocobos were flopped out drowsing nearby, out of their harnesses, and there was a similarly over-bundled Miqo'te perched on top of the wagon, a bow across her lap; a little bit behind the stall was a less overdressed Hyur laying out on a blanket over the snow, a swordbelt dropped a few feet away.
“Only fruit of the season, brought to from the brilliant shores of Vylbrand by way of the treacherous wilds of Mor Dhona!”
He probably did need to ask about what he was doing for coin; he was pretty sure traveling merchants weren't among the people on a nebulous tab for a position he wasn't sure officially existed. They had a good range, most of it things he was used to just seeing on a rare stall in the summer; it looked they were doing a good trade in plums, raw grapes, and a few different kinds of berries, with a couple crates set aside in the back of the wagon, and some kind of odd spiked, thick green triangular leaves. There was another thing set aside as big as his head, spiky yellow and with sharp green leaves spraying out from the top.
He did still have one of the random stashed coin-pouches from the bribe run hidden somewhere; there hadn't been much left, and Y'shtola had apparently deemed it not worth retrieving.
A couple of plums cleaned out most of it, and he was starting to consider minding trying to not eat like it was expected to vanish, especially with a white coat; it wasn't an easy thing when the fruit was almost over-ripe, and he caught a laugh from above as the Miqo'te dropped a worn-looking kerchief on his head.
“I'm surprised there's no oranges.”, he commented idly; one of the two Lalafell shrugged and motioned to the crates.
“They and the honey-lemons are a special order; they're particularly good for the sick, so the medics lay claim to all of our stock every trip.”
“Any reason to go via Mor Dhona?” It wasn't a very common route, he knew he'd heard it was not a kept or safe road in the slightest.
“Well, the docks far enough north to get here are starting get icy and the roads that way less passable, but if we cut via Mor Dhona, we can get it here before it all goes bad. It's not really that horrible!”, she chirped.
There was something dark and profanity laden from the man at the foot of the carriage about morbols; the two Lalafell cheerfully ignored it, but the other now had his attention on something behind Thancred that required even more looking up. “Good evening, Inspector, is there anything we can get for you?”
“No, I'm quite alright, I was told to find this one.”
Thancred suddenly regretted his decision to not try to retire to his room.
“Inspector Rigaud! I hadn't been expecting to see you this evening.” He'd bless having the reflex to go into 'audience/public', if the dim look it got him didn't suggest that it was having something far from the intended effect.
“I was told to make sure that you didn't disappear before the meeting ended.” Marcelain did not seem to be treating this as the actual reason he was around. Apparently there is something else they want you to do.”
On the one hand, Thancred could hug Louisoix for finding an excuse to have him less involved in what sounded like affairs that could potentially affect how the street folk were handled; going paranoid and hostile because someone managed to bribe desperate people with a roof and some security would not help matters any. On the other hand, he could strangle Louisoix for the excuse involving him fielding the out of sorts Elezen. At least, he thought the man was out of sorts, although he'd never seen the man IN sorts to tell.
“Did they give any warning what?” After this morning, he would really like to get to try to sort his head without more unpleasant surprises.
“No.” It was the faint sulk of attempting to maintain dignity while very visibly aware he was being gotten rid of.
Thancred had his own small slump of not being thrilled with whatever was coming. “For what it's worth, I don't envy you the meetings.”
“Oh give it a year or two. The only one of his people that's gotten out of them is Yda, and I doubt you'll manage to get encouraged to sleep through them as she did.” Well, at least it seemed to be loathing the world in general right now, and not him particularly more or less than anything else.
“How did things sound?” He was trying for cautiously polite; maybe it would keep him on “same level as the rest of existence” for general hatred.
“Well, they're arguing between altering patrol patterns and rewarding reporting that sort of violence, arranging charity programs on the idea that if there'd been more than just Mattye at that sort of work more would've noticed it before it dug in, and some combination of both. I'm not sure why they bother having us after a point; it usually ends up them doing whatever they want and telling us to figure out how to make it work.” Thancred amended his 'hating the world' to include 'exhausted'; it was a very worn-out tired string of bitching.
He thought that one over; neither were necessarily bad ideas, but logistically...“The first would need ways to make sure someone didn't get clever and start scamming it somehow, or to include protection from reprisals for the one reporting; the latter on a larger scale would need watch kept for people who'd just take it as 'marks of opportunity' or setting up stable locations – Mattye could get away with his comings and goings without being targeted because he'd become so well-liked that anyone bothering him would get dogpiled, a lot of unfamiliar people wouldn't have that protection.”
“I don't think that a few handouts will change such people fearing and resenting the law in the area.”
It was almost idly said to the air; Thancred had succeeded at getting him on general bitching, and it wasn't worth taking it personally. “...It might help the assumption of enmity some, but it won't make things go away.”
Marcelain muttered something about hot air balloon surveillance and trained lemurs.
“At least the part with people dying is over.” Thancred leaned on the wall of the plaza.
There was more grumbling; whatever else was bothering the man, he wasn't up to saying it out loud.
“...Are you alright? I know you'd lost family...” Cautious sympathy; it earned him a very odd, suspicious, studying expression.
“I'll live. Synghotwyn's family is all in Limsa, Inspector Westin doesn't have any living, I'm lacking a second at current, so when they killed Amelie, I shooed the rest of my family to Whitebrim; unfortunately, between making sure there aren't any hiding stragglers looking for a target and the look of the passes, they're probably there until spring.” He shot Thancred a very narrow look. “Somehow I doubt you have much of a concept of a lasting marriage to grasp that...and if you say any pleasant, consoling words about absence...”
It was probably good for his health that he was capable of sitting on the first thought, which had less to do with not grasping the idea of being separated from loved ones as a misery, and more to do with trying to process Inspector Rigaud as married. “No; the whole affair's been a trial, and it's left a Hell of a mess.” He wasn't sure if he should be terrified of the woman or feel bad for her, and he was doubly thankful he'd had the tact to not ask Inspector Westin details. He was starting to wonder if the ones that were responsible for that were the victors, or the group that'd managed to get too audacious and pissed off the guard enough to get a very determined push to get rid of them.
Marcelain briefly looked like he had a reflexive snap-back that vanished in ruffled confusion; he settled on the bench nearby with his shoulders hunched, hands trailing in his lap.
The two merchants seemed to've been doing a brisk business, including one of the professors being met with a great deal of cheer and some questions about a project's progress Thancred didn't quite catch; whatever it was, they handed over the spined fruit, and he caught mention of donations through 'the proper channels'. The traffic across the plaza settled a little, afternoon classes and lectures taking out most of the student traffic; the trader's business died down with that, the Miqote on the top of the wagon's balloon swinging down into the wagon to burrow into a pile of blankets. Marcelain didn't really look like he wanted to talk, and Thancred was perfectly happy to leave him to it and stay put.
There was some kind of quiet exchange between the dunesfolk lady and their archer in the wagon, resulting in the Lalafell ducking into the enclosed part of the front; after a few minutes, she emerged with a tray of hot tea, leaving two of the mugs with their hired guards, and walking over to the two of them with two of the others, stopping at Marcelain first.
“Here – it's made from some desert herbs, mixed with mint and honey from the Shroud; I don't know what happened, but you two seem like you'll be here a while and sound like you could use it.”
Marcelain gave an uncertain pause, and a very much quieter and meeker “thank you”, accepting it and curling around it on the bench; Thancred dropped to one knee for eye level when she turned to him.
“Thank you, milady.” The heat of the mug alone was welcome with the early-winter cold.
“Don't mention it; anything that would aim at a man's family like that deserves the bottom of the seven hells, and you...you're new here aren't you? To the campus, I mean.”
He gave her a lopsided smile. “What gave me away?”
“Well, you eat like a starving jackal and I've seen enough of the homeless to know that kind of jitter. Also your gloves and boots look like a good breeze would take out the last of the stitching.”
He probably should replace those; it was another of those new concepts, not necessarily needing to keep something until even some emergency stitching couldn't save it. “Still settling in; I've managed to have some good luck.” 'Lucky' wasn't the right word, and it was still hard to tell if getting off the street was worth what'd been lost.
“Good for you – it's always good to see someone getting to do better for themselves, especially with how dire the gossip around here's been lately. Just bring the mugs back when you're done, alright?” She patted his wrist next to the mug and walked back to the stall with a happy hum.
He wasn't sure if it was just getting something hot and some time to sit, or something with what was in the mostly mild tea, but it did seem to help the general stiff and sore that he'd been dealing with; he returned the mug with thanks, settling against the wall in a half-doze. Another bell went by and it was into afternoon by the time Louisoix and Abylghota came looking; as soon as they were visible, Marcelain disappeared with a few mutters thanking the Twelve.
“Oh good, he did find you. That makes this easier.”
He looked up at the marksman and the Allseer. “I wasn't sure how much of that was just getting him out of your hair.”
“...Only a small part. We weren't sure how long we would be tied up, and having to find you before it grew too late would've been difficult.”
“That and it was the next best thing I could do to spiking his drink; I don't think he's had a proper sleep in days.” Abylghota shook her head.
“So what did you need me for?”
Louisoix looked to Abylghota. “...There's kids. After we got the linkpearl call that the Ascian was down and the voidgate was closed, Marcelain took a few people into the tunnels to meet up with the Allseer and the others, to do a proper search; found a few folk locked up out of the way that're what was left of that underground settlement you'd mentioned, and a bunch of kids from the surface halfway the other way, all kinda wiped-tired and scared and confused. We got'em up to a safe place in our main keep, but they uh. Turned into terrors after a good sleep and some food – woke up enough to remember we were the enemy or somethin'. We can't really take'em anywhere to figure out a way to get someone t'take care of them with them plotting mutiny, and they traumatized one of our recruits who grew up with six siblings. Left him with minor injuries. We figured if anybody had a shot at getting them to settle...”
And he was willing to bet that half of them were the kids they'd tried to look out for – he tried not to think too much on how many of the people that looked after those kids were dead now. “It can't be as bad as this morning.” He stood, dusting snow off.
Summary: SOB. WHAT IS MY LIFE.
Chapter Summary: Thancred's coping mechanisms include equal parts "try to find something else to do" and "OH LOOK, A DISTRACTING THING!", with occasional constructive edges of trying to figure out what the Hell even.
Warnings: Nothing direct that's a real warning. Thancred going distraction-chasing when he's not together enough for it to even be anything spectacular might be worth a minor one.
Louisoix stayed close the entire walk back; he'd shifted to get the coat on more properly, tugging the loose fabric in closer, thinking. He'd seen the Inspector more settled, and some of it was too much to be just stress and frazzling; like he was taking half of what was going on personally, and as far as he knew he didn't have a personal stake in it from the start like Marcelain, who'd lost family, and the worse reactions always happened when he was defending the people that'd turned out to be working with it.
“...What happened to him?”
Louisoix paused, glancing to him with mild surprise, then a sort of odd mix of sadness and approval. “That... you should ask him yourself.”
They took a detour close to the smaller wall around the college, stopping at a small bakery; it was quiet, and the way Louisoix was distracted and watching the main entrances, he half suspected Louisoix was gauging how much faster they would've gotten there than the wounded Inspector and stalling a little before going back to the politics.
They tailed the Inspector and Abylghota back through the gates; Abylghota seemed to be the only one that noticed, and she didn't seem to care, mostly intent on steering her partner back to the infirmary over any complaint. They weren't following close enough to overhear, but when the other pair reached the door, Y'shtola appeared in the doorway, tail ticking and ears back as if she'd been almost waiting. The Inspector's shoulders slumped in defeat, and Abylghota handed him off, far too cheerfully.
Louisoix nodded to him and turned to catch up to Abylghota, who stopped to wait partway across the square; it was as if there was a sort of passive permission in being left to his own devices. He slipped into the infirmary, waiting in the lobby to a few curious glances from the student at the front desk, half-dozing until Y'shtola emerged and spotted him.
“Please tell me you didn't find some new way to injure yourself.”
“Nnno, it's about Inspector Westin – is he conscious?”
“For now.” Y'shtola's flattened expression and ears suggested that this was something that could change at any time.
“...Is he up to talking? There's – something I wanted to ask him about.”
One of her ears moved enough to flick. “Is it likely to turn into an argument?” There was an undercurrent of 'so help me gods I will sleep spell both of you'.
“I – don't think so? If he doesn't want to talk about it or it starts looking that way, I'll leave.”
“Good.”
She did turn and lead to one of the rooms, following him in to stand by the door; he caught a brief glance up at the door before the Inspector did a very bad job of feigning sleep.
“...There was something I wanted to ask you about, if you'd be willing to answer.”
There wasn't any response except an irritable shift.
“...What happened? Not here, to you. I know there's something I'm missing, just – not if it's something you'd wish to share.”
The room was silent for a few, long seconds, and then the man stirred enough to give Y'shtola a tired, worn, uncomfortable look; she considered, then nodded. “I'll be outside.”
The door shut behind her, but he didn't hear her walking away; he had a strong suspicion she'd be back at the first sign of raised voices.
“It was my first few years. I'd been doing patrol appointments, around your age; my family wasn't well off, but we weren't starving, and we were right by one of the market streets. I knew a few of the others that were working that area well, and it was hard not to end up familiar with most of the regular folk through the area; the merchants were always happy to see us, having someone in uniform nearby was a good ward against petty thievery.” He shifted the blankets with a grumble. “I'm sure you've noticed what a big business smuggling is; some of the relics and tomes that pass through this city are ridiculously valuable, and there's some of the Ul'dahn syndicates willing to pay good coin for them without asking any questions about how they were acquired.”
He nodded; Hell, he knew some of those items were treated as 'if you can get one you're set for a long time' targets for thieves. “And they're usually happy to add a few people that won't be missed while they're here.”
“You ever hear anything about the groups that'd been fighting over the main gate over on the southeast, years ago?”
Thancred winced. “I did... the ring that came out on top is vicious enough about their territory that nobody goes that way.”
“We managed to catch that one of the big factors in who was winning any given day was buying out parts of the guard, and some of the mercenaries and adventurers that'd do deliveries and bodyguard work. I'd reported few of the ones on the take, and they started picking off my family. One of the people I'd thought I knew came in with information on where the main hideout of the worst group was, and we got a group organized to go in...”
There was an uncomfortable sense that he knew where this was going; he stayed quiet until the Inspector spoke again.
“Next thing we knew, we had steel aimed at our backs as much as our faces – not only were they prepared, but we'd had a bunch of the sellouts in our own ranks; killed most of the ones that they hadn't bought, kept a few alive to try to wring out things they could use or in case they needed a hostage; the ones that'd turned on us? They got worked over enough to look convincing and limped back. The only reason I'm alive is because some adventurer from a group they'd been buying off had a crisis of conscience and was smart enough to sneak out the back with some proof and go straight to the District's Head Inspector. Complete random stranger, Ishgardian I think, heard he went back to go join the knights. The ones that turned on us? They'd been eating well and a little too well off for months, but some of them had been passed off to the same nursemaids; they fed me lines and I believed them. When I was back on my feet again, I got passed around Districts for a while; never was sure if it was doing me a kindness or just worrying I'd get suckered again.” It sounded like he was liable to trail off to sleep mid-sentence, almost.
“That's why I bothered you so badly?”
The Inspector closed his eyes with an unintelligible mumble. “First I'd thought you were working with them; you said yourself, people down there hate it when someone goes to the law, they're more like to give false reports to try to lead us off than anything. After Abylghota said you were genuine, it hit me that you were doing the same dumb thing... they could get away with murder behind your back and you wouldn't believe it until you got knifed in the ribs, and even when you did, you didn't want to accept it.” He lifted a wrist, too tired to finish whatever the movement should've been. “Somebody who knows they're lying to cover it's bad enough but they'll slip up; it's the people like you that believe it that really help people get away with it all.”
“...I'm sorry.” He wasn't really sure what else to say; there was a running tally of things that hadn't been elaborated on, none of which he really wanted to ask about – he knew enough stories about that conflict and the group that came out on top to know that the worst he could think of might not cover it, even if some of the fighting meant they'd gone more to ground and gotten more careful about things.
There wasn't an answer; it looked like he'd finally passed out. Thancred slipped out the door with a brief nod to Y'shtola on his way out.
Without that to keep his attention on, he meandered the college district, half trying to learn his way around better and figure out what he'd even need or want with a place of his own, and half trying to not think about Ayla's outburst; it made for a very morose circuit. Ayla had never seemed that unhappy, to get pulled into something like that so easily; was that really all it took, a few shows of power and going through the motions of “providing security”?
It led to trying not to think about what he'd seen some of the others get into, in exchange for coin or a place to stay. He'd always thought they were doing well enough as things went to not be that desperate.
Then again, there was also something it'd told her that she wasn't willing to share; she knew at least a little more about their plans, and had apparently just accepted it as an inevitability.
That just brought around to boggling again that she'd apparently gotten along well enough with it to know its name. She was sometimes a little too good at things like that for her own good, but he hadn't realized it would go quite that far.
The sound of someone calling out hawking greengrocer's wares caught his attention; there were a couple of Lalafell that were barely visible under layers of coats and scarves with a wagon and a simple, easily broken down stall in the main plaza. A pair of chocobos were flopped out drowsing nearby, out of their harnesses, and there was a similarly over-bundled Miqo'te perched on top of the wagon, a bow across her lap; a little bit behind the stall was a less overdressed Hyur laying out on a blanket over the snow, a swordbelt dropped a few feet away.
“Only fruit of the season, brought to from the brilliant shores of Vylbrand by way of the treacherous wilds of Mor Dhona!”
He probably did need to ask about what he was doing for coin; he was pretty sure traveling merchants weren't among the people on a nebulous tab for a position he wasn't sure officially existed. They had a good range, most of it things he was used to just seeing on a rare stall in the summer; it looked they were doing a good trade in plums, raw grapes, and a few different kinds of berries, with a couple crates set aside in the back of the wagon, and some kind of odd spiked, thick green triangular leaves. There was another thing set aside as big as his head, spiky yellow and with sharp green leaves spraying out from the top.
He did still have one of the random stashed coin-pouches from the bribe run hidden somewhere; there hadn't been much left, and Y'shtola had apparently deemed it not worth retrieving.
A couple of plums cleaned out most of it, and he was starting to consider minding trying to not eat like it was expected to vanish, especially with a white coat; it wasn't an easy thing when the fruit was almost over-ripe, and he caught a laugh from above as the Miqo'te dropped a worn-looking kerchief on his head.
“I'm surprised there's no oranges.”, he commented idly; one of the two Lalafell shrugged and motioned to the crates.
“They and the honey-lemons are a special order; they're particularly good for the sick, so the medics lay claim to all of our stock every trip.”
“Any reason to go via Mor Dhona?” It wasn't a very common route, he knew he'd heard it was not a kept or safe road in the slightest.
“Well, the docks far enough north to get here are starting get icy and the roads that way less passable, but if we cut via Mor Dhona, we can get it here before it all goes bad. It's not really that horrible!”, she chirped.
There was something dark and profanity laden from the man at the foot of the carriage about morbols; the two Lalafell cheerfully ignored it, but the other now had his attention on something behind Thancred that required even more looking up. “Good evening, Inspector, is there anything we can get for you?”
“No, I'm quite alright, I was told to find this one.”
Thancred suddenly regretted his decision to not try to retire to his room.
“Inspector Rigaud! I hadn't been expecting to see you this evening.” He'd bless having the reflex to go into 'audience/public', if the dim look it got him didn't suggest that it was having something far from the intended effect.
“I was told to make sure that you didn't disappear before the meeting ended.” Marcelain did not seem to be treating this as the actual reason he was around. Apparently there is something else they want you to do.”
On the one hand, Thancred could hug Louisoix for finding an excuse to have him less involved in what sounded like affairs that could potentially affect how the street folk were handled; going paranoid and hostile because someone managed to bribe desperate people with a roof and some security would not help matters any. On the other hand, he could strangle Louisoix for the excuse involving him fielding the out of sorts Elezen. At least, he thought the man was out of sorts, although he'd never seen the man IN sorts to tell.
“Did they give any warning what?” After this morning, he would really like to get to try to sort his head without more unpleasant surprises.
“No.” It was the faint sulk of attempting to maintain dignity while very visibly aware he was being gotten rid of.
Thancred had his own small slump of not being thrilled with whatever was coming. “For what it's worth, I don't envy you the meetings.”
“Oh give it a year or two. The only one of his people that's gotten out of them is Yda, and I doubt you'll manage to get encouraged to sleep through them as she did.” Well, at least it seemed to be loathing the world in general right now, and not him particularly more or less than anything else.
“How did things sound?” He was trying for cautiously polite; maybe it would keep him on “same level as the rest of existence” for general hatred.
“Well, they're arguing between altering patrol patterns and rewarding reporting that sort of violence, arranging charity programs on the idea that if there'd been more than just Mattye at that sort of work more would've noticed it before it dug in, and some combination of both. I'm not sure why they bother having us after a point; it usually ends up them doing whatever they want and telling us to figure out how to make it work.” Thancred amended his 'hating the world' to include 'exhausted'; it was a very worn-out tired string of bitching.
He thought that one over; neither were necessarily bad ideas, but logistically...“The first would need ways to make sure someone didn't get clever and start scamming it somehow, or to include protection from reprisals for the one reporting; the latter on a larger scale would need watch kept for people who'd just take it as 'marks of opportunity' or setting up stable locations – Mattye could get away with his comings and goings without being targeted because he'd become so well-liked that anyone bothering him would get dogpiled, a lot of unfamiliar people wouldn't have that protection.”
“I don't think that a few handouts will change such people fearing and resenting the law in the area.”
It was almost idly said to the air; Thancred had succeeded at getting him on general bitching, and it wasn't worth taking it personally. “...It might help the assumption of enmity some, but it won't make things go away.”
Marcelain muttered something about hot air balloon surveillance and trained lemurs.
“At least the part with people dying is over.” Thancred leaned on the wall of the plaza.
There was more grumbling; whatever else was bothering the man, he wasn't up to saying it out loud.
“...Are you alright? I know you'd lost family...” Cautious sympathy; it earned him a very odd, suspicious, studying expression.
“I'll live. Synghotwyn's family is all in Limsa, Inspector Westin doesn't have any living, I'm lacking a second at current, so when they killed Amelie, I shooed the rest of my family to Whitebrim; unfortunately, between making sure there aren't any hiding stragglers looking for a target and the look of the passes, they're probably there until spring.” He shot Thancred a very narrow look. “Somehow I doubt you have much of a concept of a lasting marriage to grasp that...and if you say any pleasant, consoling words about absence...”
It was probably good for his health that he was capable of sitting on the first thought, which had less to do with not grasping the idea of being separated from loved ones as a misery, and more to do with trying to process Inspector Rigaud as married. “No; the whole affair's been a trial, and it's left a Hell of a mess.” He wasn't sure if he should be terrified of the woman or feel bad for her, and he was doubly thankful he'd had the tact to not ask Inspector Westin details. He was starting to wonder if the ones that were responsible for that were the victors, or the group that'd managed to get too audacious and pissed off the guard enough to get a very determined push to get rid of them.
Marcelain briefly looked like he had a reflexive snap-back that vanished in ruffled confusion; he settled on the bench nearby with his shoulders hunched, hands trailing in his lap.
The two merchants seemed to've been doing a brisk business, including one of the professors being met with a great deal of cheer and some questions about a project's progress Thancred didn't quite catch; whatever it was, they handed over the spined fruit, and he caught mention of donations through 'the proper channels'. The traffic across the plaza settled a little, afternoon classes and lectures taking out most of the student traffic; the trader's business died down with that, the Miqote on the top of the wagon's balloon swinging down into the wagon to burrow into a pile of blankets. Marcelain didn't really look like he wanted to talk, and Thancred was perfectly happy to leave him to it and stay put.
There was some kind of quiet exchange between the dunesfolk lady and their archer in the wagon, resulting in the Lalafell ducking into the enclosed part of the front; after a few minutes, she emerged with a tray of hot tea, leaving two of the mugs with their hired guards, and walking over to the two of them with two of the others, stopping at Marcelain first.
“Here – it's made from some desert herbs, mixed with mint and honey from the Shroud; I don't know what happened, but you two seem like you'll be here a while and sound like you could use it.”
Marcelain gave an uncertain pause, and a very much quieter and meeker “thank you”, accepting it and curling around it on the bench; Thancred dropped to one knee for eye level when she turned to him.
“Thank you, milady.” The heat of the mug alone was welcome with the early-winter cold.
“Don't mention it; anything that would aim at a man's family like that deserves the bottom of the seven hells, and you...you're new here aren't you? To the campus, I mean.”
He gave her a lopsided smile. “What gave me away?”
“Well, you eat like a starving jackal and I've seen enough of the homeless to know that kind of jitter. Also your gloves and boots look like a good breeze would take out the last of the stitching.”
He probably should replace those; it was another of those new concepts, not necessarily needing to keep something until even some emergency stitching couldn't save it. “Still settling in; I've managed to have some good luck.” 'Lucky' wasn't the right word, and it was still hard to tell if getting off the street was worth what'd been lost.
“Good for you – it's always good to see someone getting to do better for themselves, especially with how dire the gossip around here's been lately. Just bring the mugs back when you're done, alright?” She patted his wrist next to the mug and walked back to the stall with a happy hum.
He wasn't sure if it was just getting something hot and some time to sit, or something with what was in the mostly mild tea, but it did seem to help the general stiff and sore that he'd been dealing with; he returned the mug with thanks, settling against the wall in a half-doze. Another bell went by and it was into afternoon by the time Louisoix and Abylghota came looking; as soon as they were visible, Marcelain disappeared with a few mutters thanking the Twelve.
“Oh good, he did find you. That makes this easier.”
He looked up at the marksman and the Allseer. “I wasn't sure how much of that was just getting him out of your hair.”
“...Only a small part. We weren't sure how long we would be tied up, and having to find you before it grew too late would've been difficult.”
“That and it was the next best thing I could do to spiking his drink; I don't think he's had a proper sleep in days.” Abylghota shook her head.
“So what did you need me for?”
Louisoix looked to Abylghota. “...There's kids. After we got the linkpearl call that the Ascian was down and the voidgate was closed, Marcelain took a few people into the tunnels to meet up with the Allseer and the others, to do a proper search; found a few folk locked up out of the way that're what was left of that underground settlement you'd mentioned, and a bunch of kids from the surface halfway the other way, all kinda wiped-tired and scared and confused. We got'em up to a safe place in our main keep, but they uh. Turned into terrors after a good sleep and some food – woke up enough to remember we were the enemy or somethin'. We can't really take'em anywhere to figure out a way to get someone t'take care of them with them plotting mutiny, and they traumatized one of our recruits who grew up with six siblings. Left him with minor injuries. We figured if anybody had a shot at getting them to settle...”
And he was willing to bet that half of them were the kids they'd tried to look out for – he tried not to think too much on how many of the people that looked after those kids were dead now. “It can't be as bad as this morning.” He stood, dusting snow off.