• Hail Guest!
    We're looking for Community Content Contribuitors to Stratics. If you would like to write articles, fan fiction, do guild or shard event recaps, it's simple. Find out how in this thread: Community Contributions
  • Greetings Guest, Having Login Issues? Check this thread!
  • Hail Guest!,
    Please take a moment to read this post reminding you all of the importance of Account Security.
  • Hail Guest!
    Please read the new announcement concerning the upcoming addition to Stratics. You can find the announcement Here!

Who says you can't go home?

  • Thread starter Trae Markwood
  • Start date
  • Watchers 0

Trae Markwood

She wrung her hands in the water trying to purge the remnants of garbage from between her fingers.

"When did this start?" Tossing her wavy locks of brown over her shoulder she turned her head to the woman behind her.

"Some months ago, miss."

She nodded simply. She'd met Basil just inside of the healer's hut. His normally hazel eyes were dark with massive circles beneath them and he was screaming. She could have gotten one of the ropes to tie him with, but Trae's heart bled personal freedom.

She would not render him incapacitated, because to do so meant taking away his will. So quietly she had distracted him with coo's and reminders of past moments before slipping his sword out of his hand. When the kiss had been planted, his eyes glistening with moisture as she peered into them, her own fist on the hilt of his weapon, sliced straight through. Friends deserved mercy.

Paytience.. would need Mercy as well.

Trae Markwood

There was a brisk edge to the rain as Trae stepped out, pulling her cloak around her. It seemed to be consistently storming in Skara Brae and though the residents were used to the moisture it didn't stop a wrinkling of the nose when it started up again. One of the crew had long ago weather proofed several of the cloaks and robes, including a line of wool insulation for winter months. Tonight, however, it was her doublet, skirt and bare skin against the thin outer cloth. Her entrance into the dark blue moongate was brief. Her exit the same.

Britain was quiet at this hour. The rioters had long sense tired of arson, electing instead to strew garbage much as Basil had. But here, they were not friends. Here they were empty faces in a sea of equity and profit. Just beyond the bank she turned to the right and entered the Artist's Guild. Half finished molds of reddened clay lined the corner of the room while mismatched pastels trailed across the canvases in front of her.

Her blue eyes scanned down the row of periodic white searching.

Focused on whatever lay in front of her, a long jet black braid trailing down her back she sat still. Her long fingers, once adept at slipping the thickest wallet from its tighest sheath, was now poised with a brush mid air. The hint of canary yellow coating the tip of the fine hairs as if sunlight were only moments away. But Trae had known sunlight had eluded her friend for so long now that shadows only glazed themselves across her brown eyes.

Approaching her in a steady gait she laid her hand atop the shoulder of her grey dress, caressing.

"Soon, Pay."

Trae Markwood

Five Months ago....
She didn't feel one way or the other about her. This new noble whose parents lay in their own blood would either drive the economy up or would rock bottom it. Maybe she would bring business back to the empty streets as Goodfellow suggested. Maybe they would fear what she's capable of and do whatever she requested like servants on a chain. Nevertheless, the new noble whose parents lay in their own blood would affect the economy. Aristocracy had that kind of effect. And where there was the tide of coin, there was the tide of taking advantage of it. In Trae's case, it was young and old men alike, with their festering and full wallets just bulging to be spent on their latest find.... Her.​
Cadre' was placed.​
Seamlessly they would slip into the throng of faces and at the end of the day, the take should be good. There had been quite a bit of off site betting on this and people always brought extra gold for that.​
Her eyes cut and lowered. To anyone but The Cadre' it was nothing more than a change of expression. The arena was well packed, especially since it's location was less than trammel moon friendly. There wasn't a moment of downtime from the second the flames licked the field.​
She smiled, sending a wink to Knockout as her newly painted nails drifted down her exposed stomach landing on her side. She shifted her weight and blew a kiss. Ken, who was less than a foot away from his friend, leaned in to elbow him, forming is lips to catch the kiss instead. Laughter dripped from her as her cerulean eyes scanned and lifted, taking note of the crews place markers as the weapon contest started. Thrusts and swings of axes reverberated off the arena walls. It was taking longer than expected. Many of the spectators were now on their feet awaiting the final blow.​
Nothing would have prepared her for that moment. For the announcement of the winner, for the show of jet black hair as it fell in a ponytail down the woman's back. While most applauded and congratulated the figure, she and the rest of the Cadre' stood still.​
When breath could once again fill her lungs and adrenaline extended into her nerves putting them on automatic she said the only thing she could.​
"Base group."​

Trae Markwood

Five Month's ago... continued

It started with silence.​
What was there to say. Paytience, their Paytience, sat frail and comatose cities away, conveyance interrupted. The same way she had been for the last 3 year under Emilio's vigilant care.​
"That's clearly not possible." Thomas' voice held a shake Trae wasn't used to hearing. Self assured and confident... almost bordering on cocky it echoed the sentiment raging through the group like flood waters from a flash summer storm on a levee shore.​
"And yet that was -clearly- her." Aaron chimed in, the voice of relative reason.​
"It wasn't. She had a scar across her neck." If Aaron was reason, Trae was fact.​
"Fine. If that isn't her. Who is it?"​
"A plant?!"​
"A fake."​
"A liar."​
One after another speculation laid waste to notions and notions.. laid waste to improbabilities. The similarities, were too close to be an imposter and the differences.. were to varied to be an actor. This was Paytience. This just wasn't -their- Paytience.​
Thomas, Trae, Aaron, Lowel, Gabby, Mel, and Cord stood in a circle, eyes locked on one another.​
"Possible. Very Very Possible."​