[Freezair]

Toulouse~~~~~~~Gavotte
(both in anthro form)

Today was the day they made it big.

Today was always the day they made it big.

They set up their usual piece of the sidewalk, brushing away the dust of the previous day. They nudged their orange crates into place, and pulled up their sacks. Toulouse pulled out his guitar and, sitting down on the crate, began tweaking the strings. He plucked them and tweaked the knobs to adjust the sound. Gavotte unpacked his easel and his Spectrahue markers, clipping his drawing pad to the top of the stand.

"What should I start drawing to attract the people?" he asked.

Distantly, Toulouse answered, "Drahw zee street aure sawmsuch. Zee people seem to like zat. And eet should be good prhactees, no?"

"Guess so," Gavotte answered.

Toulouse plucked an arpeggio.

It was still early in the morning. They had plenty of time to get rich still.

[1]

[Adelie]

Lamenolai, Lamenolai, Lamenolai--the name had an odd ring to it, as if she'd been here before.  But she'd checked, and throughout her long history of wandering through the lands, she'd never stepped foot in the city of the guardians.  It was the stone guardians that kept her away--they made her feel like she was being watched, and she never liked that.  It made her feel small and too easily found by the father who'd probably given up on reining in his unruly daughter long before.

But she needed to grab some supplies, and there was no way in Evelon that she was going to try her luck in the Slums.  (While she felt quite lucky, the Slums were the stuff of nasty rumor and legend.)  And so, here she was, striking in overly dyed black-blonde hair and looking like she was just begging to be assaulted in a tight. figure-hugging dress that exposed quite a bit of leg and arm.

((Apologies for lousy post and Tempest's horrendous sense of style? D:))

[Freezair]

Toulouse's head snapped. He whispered conspiratorially to Gavotte.

"Oi! Joo! Preetty girl aht nine o'clock!"

"But it's only seven-thirty--"

"Joo knawe what I meen! Zat way!" He sunk his hands in behind the metal wreathe on Gavotte's head and jerked it in the direction of the approaching shopper.

"Oh! Sure thing." He flopped back down into his seat and quickly pulled out his pens. He hastilly began sketching in the trunk of the tree across the way, the bumps slightly bumpier than they ought have been.

Toulouse tweaked the strings of his guitar into place, and strummed a melancholy bar. His voice warbled low and heavily accented over the paved stones, the sad words of his song thrumming along with the wind.

He nudged the hat on the ground forward with his foot, as conspicuously as he could manage without loosing his melody.

[2]

[Adelie]

Oh dear.  She wasn't exactly sure what to call them--beggars?  artisans?  crazy marauding people? --but she really didn't need to see them right now.  It would not be the greatest of manners to not pay them something, especially when she knew exactly how they felt (let's just say she isn't very good at drawing maps, shall we?), since she'd done that a few times.  But long story short, she really needed to actually go get some provisions, and she didn't have any money to spare.

But they did sound good, and she loved a good piece of music...  If she just paid a little less, she might be able to spare a few keystones.  And they looked nice, nice enough to deserve something.

She tossed a few keystones into the hat and stood by, watching the two carefully and wondering if she should try to make some sort of conversation.

"Um..hey?"

[Freezair]

"Gewd mawrnink, Madamoiselle," Toulouse said thickly. He strummed a dramatic chord out on his guitar. "And 'ow ahre joo zees morning, mon cheri? 'Ave joo a Keystone or deux to spare fahr zee stahrvink arteests of zee world?"

"I can do your picture!" Gavotte said eagerly. "I do caricatures and stuff. I'm doing the street right now! See?"

In truth, he'd gotten distracted by the possibility of money and accolades, and the curb of the street in his picture had gone off in a rather baroque direction. It sliced through the root of the lumpy tree and dissolved into a blob of ink. He tapped the paper with his marker and left another dot up in the sky.

[3]

[Freezair]

((Still room for one more person. Anybody?))

[Adelie]

"Um."

She looked at the picture.  She looked at Gavotte.  She looked back at the picture.  (She also looked at Toulouse, but that sentence and the rhythm of the area didn't make any sense.)  "Is there any chance you could explain exactly how that's the street?"  Tempest looked closely at the picture, attempting to decipher what kind of art type was being used (impressionist?  cubist?  lines-and-dots-in-strange-places-ist?), hoping that maybe the dot in the sky was something other than a random dot.  She pointed at it in slightly disguised interest.  "Is that supposed to be a dot, or something else?"

[Freezair]

One of Gavotte's eyelids twitched.

"Are you... Are you saying there's something wrong with my picture?"

Toulouse's eyes popped; his song hit a sour note. He scrambled up off his orange crate and dashed to his friend's side. He looked over at the picture, first. Yes, it looked as if Gav had gone and messed up a little.

"Naw, naw!" Toulouse said dismissively. "Zee madamoiselle is seemply... enquiring after joor style! Aw'm shoor she likes it verah much!" He gave the young lady a worried look. "Doesn't she? Ahnd besides, 'e is... ah... Distracted by joor beauty, madam! Eef he puts 'is mind to it, 'e will make joo a great work of art!

[4]

[MillietheWarrior]

Darman
('Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum' Picture of Darman and Etain by orcasaurus.
Used only as reference to armor and looks.)

Darman was slightly uncomfortable without his vode, his brothers, close by. It had been a long time since he'd been alone; either without Etain or his squad mates.  His Katarn armor obviously didn't help the fact that he stood out like a sore thumb. The dark rig and gear made him an obvious distraction for most of the people he happened to pass by. But he couldn't just strip it all off; then he'd really be a distraction. And the way they looked at him; the way they edged off like he was a monster. Maybe it was the custom Verpine shatter gun slung over his shoulder, or maybe they'd just never seen anyone in state-of-the-art GAR issue Katarn Armor. His eyes twitched nervously, but for all intents and purposes, his face was cut off from the world. His helmet made absolute sure of that. No matter what he did, what kind of face he made, how loud he talked or screamed or yelled, no one on the outside would ever know he was even making a sound.  It was a feature he rather liked and depended on when it came to his helmet.

Despite all the advanced sensors and different vision scopes that came equipped with it, Darman still found it stifling sometimes; emotionally, that is. Something with a built in cooling and heating system could never be called 'stifling.' But he didn't take off his helmet because that was what he was used to; and honestly, he didn't know what kind of reaction the locals might have to someone like him...To a clone. Shab, he wished he had Mereel's confidence right now. He'd just walk up to any old random person, introduce himself, and find a ride out of this town and back to Etain within a few hours. But he wasn't. He was Darman; demolitions expert, professional squad sleeper, and Etain's husband.  He kept his arms close to his side as he walked, trying to look as small and unnoticeable as possible. Every person he passed either stopped and stared or did a double take and rushed to the other side of the street. Was he really that scary? Maybe he was. Is that what Etain had seen the night she’d met him? No, she’d seen Ghes Hokan and tried to decapitate him. What a way to meet your future wife.

Darman sighed loudly, but the only thing that gave any indication that he’d done so was the slight shrug of his shoulders. He crossed the street (He was tired of making people do that himself, so he’d save them the trouble) and plodded down the sidewalk near a large, empty field. He paused to stare thoughtfully out into it and he could’ve swore he heard music. Albeit, slightly off-key music, but it was music nonetheless. Was it a sign? He blinked and turned his head. No, it was street performers. Or...wasn’t that what they were called? He wasn’t sure. with a few tentative steps, he started towards them; maybe they’d know where he could find a ride out of town and back home. He certainly hoped they did. They were standing with a female, who he instantly dismissed and seemed to forget about. Etain was the only woman for him. As he approached, he tilted his head. Seemed there was some sort of...Argument going on. Or were they arguing? He wasn’t sure. Either way, the purple one seemed annoyed, and the black and white one seemed to be trying to placate the situation.

For a clone, whose only way to identify a brother out of the millions of others was to watch and perceive body, face, and eye movements, it was fairly easy to tell what their emotions were. “’Scuse me, sirs, ma’am,” he said, reaching up and snapping off a sharp salute with two fingers. His helmet projected his voice out to them; though, granted, it wasn’t very loud. He always felt like he was booming down at people...Like someone from the Manda. “I’m RC-1136." Darman and his squad mates, or rather, clones in general, hardly ever gave out their nicknames. It wasn’t considered ‘appropriate’ for them to have any name other than their designated number. Too much free will and individualism was a horribly bad thing, or so the Kaminoans would have said. And then it would‘ve been off to be...reconditioned. The commando shuddered and blinked. Darman was embarrassed by his name, no less, like some of his brother clones were and he was hesitant to ever let anyone but those he considered near and dear to know it. “Wondering if I could bother you for a moment, if it‘s not too much trouble. I have a problem, and I was hoping I could ask for a bit of information...GAR business.”

[1]

[Freezair]

Toulouse's body went stiff, and his bony crown slipped down over his face. He nervously pushed it back up--he'd heard that these police types could be pushy if they couldn't look you in the eye--and he tried to grin innocently.

Out of the corner of his mouth, he whispered to Gav, "Zee heat! Keep joor gob shut, and zay nuzzink about zee pineapple incident!"

The introduction of this new, slightly frightening force seemed to have distracted Gavotte about his art worries. The Khimera saluted sharply, and winced as his big, pawlike hand collided with one of the sharp, pointy plates of metal sticking out of his hair. His eyes squeezed closed, watering heavily, while he bit his lower lip into a foolish grin.

With an overlarge, falsely affable smile, Toulouse said, "Why, hallo zhere, Awfficer. What can I--awre my pahrtner--do for joo zees mawrnink? Eef joo need it, Aw can show joo awre liscence to sell awre wares from zee street..."

[5]

[Adelie]

"Um."

Her train of thought wandered; she had been saying that a lot recently.  It wasn't a good habit--made her seem indecisive.  She shook her head faintly to clear it (though it only made her more muddled, in her opinion, but it was another habit she couldn't shake), and looked up at the GAR-person.  What, in any case, was a GAR?  By the others' reactions, it seemed to be some sort of police force, but she'd never heard of it, and she prided herself on being well-traveled.  Probably just local--she wasn't in this area often.

"I'm not involved in whatever business this is you're talking about," she said, slightly defensive.  Just in case, though it might look a little saucy.  She had a sneaking suspicion that she probably shouldn't have said that.

[MillietheWarrior]

Darman sighed in the back of his head and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Here we go again, he thought with a slight inkling of disappointment. He pushed his verpine behind his back, shielding it from their view. Why did everyone become so nervous around him? Well, he supposed if a very large armored clone walked up to him, and he was in their place, he’d get his shebs outta there too. He guessed it came with the territory of being what he was. The man, who was wearing what looked like a weird type of crown on his head, stood very rigid, his body stiff as a board as his crown slipped down over his face when Darman spoke. Darman had to resist the urge to snort when the second man (Were they men?) saluted him and ended up stabbing himself in the hand. Riot, these two. Then the first man spoke. Darman winced at the atrocious accent. He sincerely hoped his partner would speak for him from now on; he could hardly make out a word of the odd man’s accent.

Squinting his eyes, as though doing so would help him decipher this new puzzle, he turned his helmet to face the woman. She wasn’t involved; he already knew that. And none of them seemed to know what the ‘GAR’ meant or even was.  “Understood ma'am." Then to the two men; "That won’t be necessary,” he said through his helmet’s audio, turning again to face them. “And I’m not an officer. I’m a Commando. There’s a big difference. You may address me using my given designation; RC-1136.” Unlike his brother clones, the ones that weren't on any type of ‘special forces’ teams, like ARCs, commandos or Nulls, Darman had no problem being frank and dropping titles when he felt they weren’t called for. He was still the essence of military protocol; a sharp, crisp voice, business-like manner, and curt, short gestures. However, he seemed to have decided they weren’t much in the way of being ‘superior officers.’

Meaning, he shabla well didn’t have to use any title when addressing them. “I’m only looking for the nearest transport out of town. My business here is completed, and I have to get back to headquarters to report in.” He didn’t realize how stupid he must’ve sounded to these people, who knew nothing of the GAR or military protocol and regulations. He must’ve sounded and looked as alien to them as they did to him. “Can you perhaps direct me or lead me to the nearest mode of transportation? It's imperative that I depart as soon as possible.” He was so tired of civilians; they were never very useful, and he found they got in his way more often than not. Clone sympathizers or no, he really had no love for any of them, no matter what side of the war they stood on.

[Freezair]

Toulouse and Gavotte both sighed audibly. He wasn't a policeman! Or if he was, he wasn't looking for them. He just needed to find a cab or a bus of some kind. Toulouse slouched comfortably back into his seat, and his Chombones helmet fell back over his eyes. It made him look rather like someone going to a costume party, but he was too releaved.

Gavotte nodded. "Depends on where you need to get to," Gavotte said. "Where're you headed off too? If you just need to get outside, a cab would probably help... but if you really need to get far, a bus would be better. So... Where d'you need to get to?"

Probably a military base somewhere, Gavotte thought. Or a laboratory. With his "title" and his outfit, he could be some kind of android.

[6]

[MillietheWarrior]

Darman hated public transport. In fact, he hated anything public. He'd be far more comfortable in GAR issues transportation, among his vode. The fact that these two were so relieved when he told them he was not a cop, made Darman tilt his head in curiosity. Obviously, they were doing something they shouldn't have been. Not that he could complain though; Kal'buir was just as bad. What with embezzling funds from the Republic, blackmailing, espionage, and even silencing people who needed to be silenced. Darman turned the other way, refusing to make a comment on it. "I just need to get out of this place. I don't fancy riding with civilians; apparently, I make them jumpy."

He said it with as much disdain as he could muster, his voice dripping with annoyance.  With a tilt of is head, he crossed his arms tightly over his chest; a good way not to show any body movements when one was having an internal comlink conversation with another vod. He remained absolutely still. "I'd be grateful if you could help me find...Some way to leave here. I just need to get back to base." The Vast Plains, rather, he thought inwardly. He needed to get back to Etain, back to where she was.

[3]

[Adelie]

((Oh dear.  I keep on having nothing to say--if I don't respond, just go on without me for a while; Tempest just feels awkward jumping into a conversation.))

He seemed nice enough, not like he was going to arrest anyone, although his armor and demeanor towards the fact that he was making her jumpy was making her jumpy.  Tempest relaxed a little, though just in case--she'd keep alert.  Anything to do with arrest would probably send her back to her father and ruin what limited freedom she technically had at the moment, though it wasn't like he could do anything about her running wild.

"Where's base?" she asked, both curious and trying to help, though she wasn't entirely sure if this was an open conversation she could just jump into.  She clarified quickly, in case he thought she was being nosy.  "I mean, there's a few exits; if I knew which way you were heading, I could point you towards the right one."