As Luck Would Have It

Hunt hunched himself at the far end of the bar, focused on his food rather than the chatter and bard performing and dancers. His cloak hid most of his maroon and black and leather uniform and the captain's armband and scout insignia that branded him a soldier on the payroll of the Duke of Ramberaht. But his slender features, dark hair, and bale blue eyes gave him away as an outsider.

Most of the folks at the Rabbithawk weren't looking for trouble. They were here because they didn't fit in with the upper class or simply wanted a drink or cheap bed or even to gamble in the basement below. They recognized a fellow outsider when they saw one and avoided his demon-eyed stare.

He noted the redhead gallivanting about the tavern. There weren't many around here and there were even less in Taknier. He wondered briefly what had dragged her out here, but spared little more than a passing glance. He was more interested in his roast duck and his ale and trying to convince himself not to gamble his wages away. He could resist the allure of cards easily enough. Although he was lucky when it came to the mundane, he was almost too lucky, and that got him labeled a cheat more often than it helped him win anything. But the fights that the tavern would be setting up for downstairs soon…those were where the real money was.

Hunt listened to the bard wrap up his current tune and sighed, finishing off the rest of his meal. Duty called and he could not ignore it. Though he supposed it wouldn't hurt to wait until morning. No matter when he returned, his superiors would be displeased. The king had not provided the Duke the answer he sought. His commanders would seek to take out their frustration on someone and despite being the mere messenger, the resident foreigner was always the choice of preference. So Hunt was determined to enjoy himself for one more day before subjecting himself to whatever new torment they decided. Likely just another deep scouting mission, as they weren’t very creative. Though he was only marginally healed from the last one.

The redhead he had seen dancing before sat a few seats down. Hunt didn't pay much attention until he noticed her hands move. Exchanging something with a man beside her, which was odd. He couldn't hear what was said from the distance and over the music and the man held his hand in front of his mouth when he spoke. Plenty of sleazy business went on around here between the gambling and illegal fights. Whatever it was, the woman didn't seem pleased. Maybe she had lost a bet or was some sort of courier. Hunt caught himself staring at her as she set down her drink. She was pretty, her hair giving her a wild appearance.

If she caught his pale eyes when she looked up, he would hold her gaze, intrigued.

She didn't laugh at his self-deprecating humor, so he decided it was best not to stray into that territory again. Suited Hunt just fine. He wasn't much for strangers these days. The woman at least seemed in a good mood, flaunting herself like that, the hair toss, the wink, inviting him to stare. Hunt flicked his gaze over her and then away again, refusing her offer. He itched to pull the hood of his cloak up. If only veils were in fashion in Manthir.

She was lovely to look at, but the problem was Hunt found he got in trouble for looking. At anything. Likely she meant it as an olive branch. A way to say she wasn't going to belittle him or mug him just because his mother failed at that vaunted control everyone was expected to have. At least her different looks were exotic and beautiful. His...his was a blight. It was worse here, where they called him a demon.

One corner of his lips curled upward, knowing what it was she was referring to. But it didn't reach his eyes. "I know some that would argue against that," he said. It certainly wasn't a need he shared with most people. Or even a want. He did manage a brief laugh when she explained she was very interested in dancing. "Betting woman, eh? I should have known." It was a figure of speech, as he certainly didn't know. But she did have a sort of rough and ready feel about her that gambling and drinking fit right in.

"Sport?" He wasn't familiar with the term. "My Manthiran is sometimes...rusty." He gestured at his chest, the Duke of Ramberaht's colors and his leather armor. "I spent most of my time up north." North where the raids were.

Gambling and brawling seems very different things but he supposed she mean the word had to do with both. She seemed quite excited by the notion which wasn't surprising. Taknier was known for its combat techniques and both official and underground fighting rings. It seemed there were no official tournaments here, at least not regularly. Hunt had seen a pair of noblemen duel over some slight before which seemed barbaric. At least in Taknier or in a ring, both parties had intended to risk their well-being. But the young man had certainly seen more than his fair share of 'sport.'

He shrugged. "Even the north here is warmer than home." But he certainly found it a lot rougher than what he had been used to. After about a year, he was nearly used to the place. The geography, the weather, the architecture. But not the people. He still felt like the outsider her was. There were a few people he had connected with, but overall... Hunt recalled the soldiers that had beat him up over the principle of his eyes and place of birth. He missed that place. "By that notion, we were both forged into steel," he said. He saw her compliment for what it was and quietly stowed it away.

"Refuge is one way to say it," he said, his hint of good humor fading. But she wasn't wrong to ask. He could have gone anywhere after leaving Taknier. The far west. Zahn. The Commonwealth. So many places he had never truly been. He looked down at his drink that he hadn't touched in a long while. Hunt couldn't tell this stranger the initial reason he had come here. He wasn't looking for her pity. "I came here to fight," he said vaguely. Not for glory or anything adventurous. "Not good at much else. You?"