[Round 4] Common Ground

[Awkin]

OK! Sorry about the delay -- I was partaking in the art of the devil (revising <__>) -- let's see if we can't have a damn good shot at this!

(IC)

A cat tensed as a dark figure drew near, but relaxed before it reached him. Anything that made so much noise as it moved, it reckoned, with evolutionary stunted beyond being any kind of threat.

William ducked from doorway to doorway, collar pulled over his face and hat low over his eyes. People actually stopped to watch him as he ducked from doorway to doorway, dodged behind carts and froze surreptitiously in shadows.

Johann followed along behind. Noone paid him any attention. At first he'd seen his apprentice as failing in the art of urban movement, he didn't seem to think acting inconspicuous counted unless people saw you doing it. But anyway, it was exceptionally useful for diverting attention away from Johann himself.

Al-Kalir was a matchstick city. It formed the border of the Saracen and Oriental empires, a merge of cultures: Peoples and climates.
It was the last great act of peace -- the 'Let's be buddies, yeah?' kind -- not the 'Apologize to unspecified-istan right now or you're in detention for the next week!' kind, which means so much less. Two great nations firming the decision of not entering a massive, unwinable bloodbath with a noble handshake in the form of merging architecture, traditions and citizens in one city placed in the merchant valley they used to pass between the two respective capitals.

As William turns off down a main road, Johann carries on into the original city. Al-Kalir was built in a year, out of local timber. It wasn't built and expanded as it was needed, but rather built and then expected to fill. Which happened, for a time -- a place of music and dance and wonder.

There's something very primal about art -- wherever your put humans, it comes forth. Whether in cave paintings, ice carvings, music or the great standing turnips of the Shimhao monks: it seems something core to the human spirit.

And yes, this still lives on -- the city expanded out for miles into the plains of Kimar as any city would, but left standing was the strictly structured, ordered and perfectly assembled streets of the graceful, city of peace.

~/-\~

As the noise of the city fades, a strange still settles upon Johann. He has heard that strange things live in this part of the city: Old things, obsolete and afraid to move on. The buildings seem like a strange, ancient site a hundred times their age -- Johann was used to shantytowns, but this was all ordered, in rows -- with gentle curves and stark, standing wooden pillars.

He splashes as he enters the city, cobbled streets sloping down to a lake formed by the breaking of a the aquiduct: The walls and pillars rising strangely at right angles from the still surface of the water, silent and stark and lifeless -- casing shadows that somehow skewed Johann's perception of the place, confusing his eyes.

Hitching up his coat, Johann wades slowly through the water, the slow ripples he casts before him seem to extend for miles as he walks down vast stretches of mirrorlike water; a street -- a boulevard, a courtyard. All silent, noiseless -- motionless. It had the same peace as a graveyard, reverent sincerity. Coming into an open plaza, the sun beats down from over an ornate archway -- glaring off the musky layer of tangible glass. Johann rises up some steps, his sodden trousers clinging to him -- and looks to the building before him.

There were lilies floating on the doorstep. Godsdamn lilies -- and yet the copper doorknocker was not only oiled, but polished and -- above all -- attached to a functioning door.

There should be a thrill, perhaps -- a wickedly guilty pang. But as Johann slips inside for the third time in three days, he feels nothing but guilt.

[Librairian]

OoC: Your writing style, Awkin, is supremely confounding. Either you’re deliberately trying to win this by confusing me, or you are about to become a published writer whose book will be famous, though no one will know why. Oh, and, for the record, I know zero about history, and less about the globe. As a result…

BiC: It was a man in a red bandanna. She missed his name; Juarez or Domingo, or something along those lines. But it was a man in a red bandanna. She saw him dancing in a sun soaked court, bar adjacent. He was surrounded by his friends; dancers, singers, and musicians. He was part of a music troupe, he was the lead dancer. He was the best dancer. His friends would spin two times, and he would spin four. His companions would make three steps, and he would make five. She was in a daze because of him, and not just because she was in awe. It was a man in a red bandanna that betrayed her trust.

Doubutsu Yari, short name Dreamer, lurched down the length of a very long street. She was sweating in her thick shirt, dragging her even thicker jacket along behind. Though she moved slowly, she stirred up dust as she pulled her colossal coat down the road. The weather was agreeable, certainly, to anyone who grew up in the city she staggered through, but it was nigh on intolerable for the snow bunny lass. She stammered forward in search of shade. An archway, a bridge, an awning longer than a foot, anything. She found nothing. The high noon sun would not tilt a single shadow in her direction.

To escape the mildly intense weather, she thought she might take a rest at a rest or go in to an inn. If she knew where to find one, she would have. She had never been anyplace where nearly every doorway was unmarked. To her credit, she had been many places where she could not read the doors that did have signs, but that did not help with her problem. It may have been a paranoid misunderstanding, but she did not want to walk in someplace where she should not be walking in. She could end up looking more foolish than someone who was pulling a large piece of clothing along the ground.

Then, the music started. She heard it, listened for a moment or two, and immediately forgot what she was doing. She had to find out where the music was coming from. Brushing her hair out of her eyes, she looked ahead. The street made a left turn, but there was no musician. She walked. Looking down the turn, she saw crowds doing crowd things, and people coming out of doorways without signs, but no musician. She listened. The music was coming from behind her. Without thinking about the solid wall she knew was behind her, she turned to look where she thought the sound was coming from.

She hadn’t noticed before -meaning no one going her direction would have- but there was a small, shaded, opening where the wall she had been following met the wall she would have run in to. It was a little alleyway tucked into a corner. Nearly as soon as she saw it, she speedily stomped over to it, letting out a deep sigh of relief as the cool shadow swallowed her up. The music. It was coming from where the thin darkened area opened up. She walked the room’s distance, and blinked in surprise. It was a court, a suspiciously well hidden square. In the opposite end, in the opposite corner, the music.

Standing just behind the sunny wall that cut off her shadow world, she spied on the colorful group of strangers from whom the music came. Her foot tapped to the beat of the strings and horns without having to be told to. Her entire body would have already been moving to the beat if she were not so unsure of one thing. Had she just walked in on something she was not supposed to walking in on? She could scarcely tell. It looked like a public court to her, but she could not be sure. The entrance was hidden well under the boards that bridged one rooftop and the next.

Had she not been spotted, she would have turned and left. Were she not one to take a moment to be surprised -seeing that one of the colorful group was pointing in her direction- she would have bolted out of the alleyway. But no sooner had her shock dissipated, she saw that she was being waved at. Not only waved at, waved over. It was indeed a happy moment for her. For no apparent reason, a group of people were, no matter how little, in need of the snow deer lass. Taking in an awed breath, she threw on her jacket. It practically covered her with dust, but she hardly noticed.

Leaning her spear up over her shoulder, she power walked across the square, making it to the social area before the socialites could even hail her. While she did take their statistics as she walked, that was the very last thing on her mind. However… Group size: nine or ten people, depending on if she counted the nearby bartender; Occupational: Three dancers, three on strings, two on horns, and one manager (A guess); Ethnicity: all fellow foreigners of foreign origin in an already foreign city; Gender diversity: All male besides the manager.

“Hola,” said a man in a red bandanna, “Do you like our music?” The entire group had by then quieted. “Dah, very much,” Dreamer replied, trying to match the man’s accent by accentuating her own, “I’ve never heard anything like it, before.” One of the string players started up again. “Well, then, why don’t you kick back with us for a while, eh? Take a seat, señorita.” With that, every string and horn became alive with sound again. Likewise, the man in the red bandanna began to sway from side to side. “Take breather, eh? Must be hot in that thing you got on.”

As if she had never even came upon them, the colorful group started up their music again. It was the same song she had been hearing, though she now had the pleasure of seeing a dance that went along with it. Her eyes nearly rolled when she saw the dancer’s movements. Much like the music, they were steps she had never experienced before. Their feet moved like a mirage. When they should have been moving backwards, they moved ahead. When they should have been moving left, they moved right. When they should have been moving down, they moved up.

That was when he did it. The man in the red bandanna suddenly began walking backwards with a motion that told the eye he was moving forwards. Dreamer’s jaw dropped, and her teeth lined up into an astonished smile. He backwards walked right next to her, and then seamlessly transitioned into a spin. He stopped, still, as if he had no inertia at all. So did the music. Had the Sacred Lance holder any less self control, she would have already thrown her spear away as she clapped like a maniac. Instead, she merely stood there, standing stunned like a child.

“Ey, hombre,” one of the string players said, “I swear, you get better every time.” The man in the red bandanna laughed. “How long have we known each other, amigo?” he replied as he wiped some of the sweat from his forehead, “And you still feel like saying that, eh?” A different string player struck a note after tuning his instrument. “Si, man. And I’ll keep saying it until you stop getting better.” Suddenly, each of the colorful group had a drink in hand. Dreamer became faintly aware that the alcove they were all sitting in front of contained a bar.

“How did you like our dance?” the man in the red bandanna asked, not obviously looking at his starry-eyed onlooker. “Oh, it was absolutely incredible,” she replied, forgetting to use the heavy accent she introduced herself with, “I’ve never seen anything like it before in my life.” He chuckled at her dreamy response. “It is called the dance of illusion. It is meant to confuse the mind, and please the eye. Tell me, do you dance at all?” Suddenly, she had a drink as well. “Yes, I dance a lot. It’s one of my hobbies.” The illusion dancer chuckled again. “Well, then, let me show you a move or two.”

Quickly finishing off her fruit juice -a lucky guess considering the snow squirrel lass did not drink an ounce of liquor- Dreamer took a spot at the man in the red bandanna’s side. “Now then,” he began, preparing a ‘do as I say and as I do’ style exercise, “First, bring your right foot forward. Next, put it on the toes. No, just your right. Then, move your left leg backwards. No, don’t do anything with your right leg except brace yourself. Remember to keep it flat on the ground. No, only your left. Then, when it is all the way back, put your right foot flat, and your left on the toes. Good. Now, slide your right foot back. Good.”

“Oh, I see,” she remarked, coming to a halt after repeating his instructions for the third time, “This is how you finished your last dance. It’s that backwards walk.” With that, she mimicked the end of his performance, even throwing her own kind of spin. She nearly fell over when one of the horns played a verse to her motion. “Thanks,” she said, though it was more of a reflex than a show of thanks. “S’alright,” the horn player said as he took a seat on the ground. Smiling, she did the backwards walk back to the man in the red bandanna’s side.

“It should be taking effect right about now,” she heard a female voice say. And then she was out cold. That proverbial final image before she passed out was the illusion dancer nodding in approval. The man in the red bandanna had drugged her.

OoC: Yeesh, there's a lot I can say about this exchange. The one important thing I can say is that it was a good struggle. Let's see who comes out on top, if it's even a question, that is. Yes!