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Log: Foolish Flower

Page history last edited by Forbidden Blossom 14 years, 8 months ago

Synopsis: Forbidden Blossom meets with Green Brass Poet shortly after her beginning in Creation. First appearance of Forbidden Blossom.

Location: Great Forks - Temple District

Recorded: Friday, May 29, 2009

Cast: Forbidden Blossom, Green Brass Poet (in disguise)

 

Forbidden Blossom walks through the central temple district, making her way past the temple to the Three with nobody the wiser. It's more fun to skirt the edges, after all, and the prayer filling the air is beautiful... if a bit misguided. She pauses, and then looks to the shadows, judging her lateness as she quickens her step. She hums softly to herself, a tune generally alien to this world as she folds her hands behind her, twirling her parasol behind her for a moment. She turns into an alley, the mass of people receding behind as she makes her way down into a incline between the buildings, into a tunnel generally only used by slaves and other indentured servants... but... right now, it's largely empty, the economic crisis even hitting the lowest of the low.

 

And her hum comes towards an end as she turns, closing her parasol. "Mmm. I do hope this is the place."

 

A brawny indentured worker relaxes in the shade of the tunnel, his scarred and tanned flesh bared from the waist up, his trousers torn and mottled white. His head is shaved bald and the roots are a dark blue, suggesting heritage from the far north or perhaps west. He is leaning against a wall and humming under his breath, the tune an easily-recognized children's song often sung in the city during games. It is mundane, lacking Blossom's alien rhythym. His arms, folded over his chest, part as the parasol-twirling beauty makes her way closer and talks to herself. He looks around once, twice; they are not completely alone. That is good. Hiding a needle in a haystack is a bad idea, you hide it in a pile of other needles. People talking all alone in isolated areas is suspicious; people talking, unconcerned with others around them, is unremarkable.

 

"Such a pleasure to see you," the worker rumbles, locking eyes with the woman. He taps his fingers against the wall behind him, a pointless tic, and scratches at his chest with his other hand. Ugh, it's so hot.

 

Forbidden Blossom looks over to the worker, raising an eyebrow, and then looks behind her before she looks over with her green eyes. She tilts her head, "Ah, and a pleasure to run across you, if not the best of days. Quite a bit much sun.", before inclined her head back towards the direction she came. "And how do you find yourself?", she asks, as her attention turns to a group of squatters farther off before finally focusing her pale green eyes on the worker before her.

 

"It's terribly hot," the burly man agrees, his hand dropping and the tapping of the other coming to an end. "Ignoring that complaint, I am well. The air is clean, the birds are chirping, and all is right in the world." He smiles sardonically. On a man who looks ill-accustomed to thought, let alone dry humor, the expression is odd, to say the least. The squatters are paid no mind; they exist as scenery, to render the situation unimportant in the eyes of those who pass. That they might actually be listening or pose a threat is quickly dismissed, though the worker does not simply discount the possibility entirely. "What did you want?" Because, of course, people do not talk for the sake of talking; such an idea is alien to this man. Where people interact, their must be ulterior motives, some thought toward profit. He need only discover what.

 

Laughing softly, Blossom says, "It is quite the city, yes. So many things to see..." She rests her parasol's tip on the ground, and her hands folded on the handle. "What do I want? Perhaps to fling the Three apart, to break the promises made by the temples above us, to have reasons to laugh..." She closes her eyes. "... but of you, we know, but we have not met. What I want of you?" She opens her eyes, pursing her lips for a moment. "To see to common interests, of course."

The worker purses his lips in thought, eying the parasol. He once considered carrying one, but discarded it as too flamboyant for the majority of his purposes. That Blossom carries one reminds him of his earlier wishes and tempts him to acquire one; he instinctively rebels at limiting himself, even if it is for his own good. He must focus on suppressing those natural desires. "I am listening," the man says, voice suddenly smoky and intrigued. "I am quite capable of achieving my goals by myself, but doubtless there are amenities you could provide I would enjoy. Aaah, but the price, always the price, one gives and one takes. Tell me what I can do for you."

 

"Ah, but telling you what I want... is already giving something, isn't it?", she says with a coy smile. "It is a very valuable thing to know what one wants... but then, we are to be equals, or so I hear." She looks thoughtful. "But wants seem to be such little things, but needs... there are things I need. I need to find a place within the Confederation. I need to find those who would become lords among the scheming merchants of the East..." She trails off, and then adds, "And I need to find the Sun's children.", thinking for a moment, and then concludes with a impish look. "I need to play."

 

The worker has the grace to look impressed. He spends so long amongst the naive, the loose-tongued, those who cannot understand the first lessons of deception, that someone who knows something as simple as the wisdom in keeping your own wants hidden is a welcome relief. It is a sign of one accustomed to mistruths, a sign of one who skirts around honesty; it is, in short, someone like him, someone like he thinks the world should be filled with. A world of darkness, where those like him dwell in shadows and enlightenment. "We are but fifty, equally priceless in the eyes of our masters," he agrees. "Such a treasured gift, information. The Confederation, scheming merchant-princes, and the Children of the Sun...my fingers spread far and wide, and all is known to me. You wish to play? Such is my command, then. Names, names will be enough for you." He thinks for a moment. "Philokrates, once of Great Forks. He is the simplest victim you could find amongst the golden ones. His nature is transparent and overwhelming."

 

"Ah, then, I acknowledge the favor. Gratefulness is overrated, after all." She straightens, and then taps her lip with a finger before asking, "And have you already approached him? I would hardly want to cut the spider's web, should there be one." Her smile becomes brighter, almost genuine. "But I will seek him out, then. If he is truly transparent, then his secrets spill out with his steps."

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