Honest Work, Honest Heart

[Andy]

Another day and another set of chores, this time they found Alrim in the armoury. Well, in, out, around and at some point the felt sure it would be under and above the armoury at any rate. For the moment he was sat on a rough legged stool, the top of which was worn smooth, no doubt from the scores of people it had supported over the years. The air was thrumming with the rhythmic sounds of the ongoing work - forging, maintaining, oiling, sweeping and evening singing at times. Anything to beat back the tedium of the task. Alrim had it worst, he had extra chores, not because he had done anything wrong but because his superiors wanted to make sure he was kept disciplined. He couldn’t complain, in truth it was smartest thing that could be done. Besides which I quite liked the armoury. It was boring but predictable. He could sharpen blades for the rest of the day but time wasn’t on his side there. Mostly h liked it because it gave him time to think and at the moment he was musing upon the encounter he had had with the Gaidin Captain some days ago. As he shifted the whetstone down the sword before him repeatedly he was considering his future. Better late than never he mocked himself quietly, a small curl of the lips echoed it outwardly. His gaze flicked across the faces of the other Drin and Ji present, a few but he knew none of them. He didn’t know many people and it seemed none wanted to know him. Maybe it was his age, he was older than most. The real question, though, was why he was there. Why the Grey Tower was easier to answer. The Black was looked upon with suspicion if not terror by most and the White was somewhere he could have damaged the family standing irrevocably. The Grey was a compromise, in truth, between necessity and desperation. It rankled him and cut deeply, the idea that he was seen as so damaged he was a risk even far from home. His hand paused in its working, switching to the alternate side of the blade as he frowned at the whetstone, as if it had insulted him. He clicked his tongue and set about the rhythm once again, he could sharpen metal at least. What hurt the most was that it was right, he had been a rake and a rebel, both things tolerated but not when they were your only traits. He had not fought bravely against numerous Trolloc raids to balance his mistakes. It had always been a source of bitter amusement that others could be worse than he had been just so long as at times thy were better. A balancing act so hollow as to seem pointless. “At least I was honest” he muttered as he worked, momentarily oblivious to the world around him. Then the day of reckoning and he was sent away, Grey Tower bound, where he has not yet failed to measure up but was what thy might say ‘in need of adjustment’. Like he was a bloody shift dress to baggy at the waist! But…they were right. Arafellin’s were renowned for their strange sense of honour and he was starting to feel his come back, bit by bit. Oh how it scolded him. Almost enough to make him wish it would leave forever. He sighed and ceased the sharpening, flipping the blade to look down the edge with a squint. Satisfied he pushed himself up to put it back on the rack and take the next one up. “Honest work for honest pay” he snorted to himself as he sat back down, a few glances shot his way but nothing stated.

[Roan]

Paks Liard

Long ago, Paks learned to manage the routine of being a Drin at the Tower. Those who started about the same time as her were already in the darker grey of the Ji'val uniform, with one peer already wearing the Fancloak. The primary difference between Paks and her peers? Most came to the Tower by their choice, where she was ordered there by mandate. If she weren't there, she would have gone to jail, though she'd likely have served her sentence and be a free woman by now. Instead, she was in Drin grey, bound to the Tower with the threat of jail hanging over her if she tried to leave, or were kicked out.

On the one hand, adjustment to the full schedule from morning until evening meal had initially been challenging, but at the same time, Paks found the freedom to. . .enjoy herself. Since the Seanchan attack, the wayward Drin tended to spend most evenings in Hama Valon, finding a warm bed to share with some beauty of a lass (or the odd lad. . .and sometimes both at once), or getting piss drunk before stumbling back to her shared quarters in the Warder Hall. Her roommate loathed her, and called her a drunkard, and worse.

For Paks, the nights out were an escape. She came to the Tower from a troupe of entertainers, and was not, by nature, a fighter. Yes, she trained to fight, and did alright with unarmed, and knew enough about daggers not to stab herself, but when it came to actual fighting? Her memories of bone crunching beneath fist made her shudder. Pushing the thought to the back of her mind, Paks turned her attention to the sword she'd been sharpening when she heard the Drin next to her say, "Honest work for honest pay."

Despite the deep thoughts, a smirk was never far from the surface for Paks, "Perhaps, though I'd rather be done with this and at a tavern with some lass sitting on my lap, or me on hers. . .I don't always have to lead." The smirk broadened as she looked from him back to the blade as she continued to sharpen it.

[Andy]

He hadn’t expected the answer, truly he hadn’t even been aware he had been talking so lost in the internal monologue had he been. He didn’t respond immediately for this reason, instead carrying on whisking a razor thin edge to the newest blade in his hand. His gaze flicked sideways, head tilting to take in the other Drin and consider, at the same time the war for what would happen for the rest of the day had begun, destined to be lost to the side of fun but for now even enough to not race out within a fraction of moments. What he saw was a lad talking about a lass upon his knee but what he heard was a lighter voice. Blinking again, seeming the fool no doubt, he appraised them again and saw the truth of it - a lass passing as a lad and doing a damn fine job of it to boot. As the small nattering of the Drin and Ji so risk averse as to be boring started up at the very thought of skipping out he grinned at the other. “That’s as maybe but the leader is the one that takes the blame, no?” he responded evenly, going back to the sharpening rhythm as his eyes looked around and sought out the watchers, the ones he knew were there to make sure they stayed put, “maybe I’ve already been in trouble enough. Maybe I wish to be the picture of a Drin’far’ji. Noble, studious, at tentative…” he let the words fall away, he had spoken the louder than needed for a reason. To get the eyes back on the tasks and ignoring them again he lent sideways slightly then, towards her. “Boring,” he pitched it low, for her alone as best he could. He chuckled at that as he kept sharpening, better to get the current blade finished. He wanted to be a good student, he did. His self-discipline and need for a measure of freedom were strong character traits, however. At least he was questioning himself these days, that was progress wasn’t it? A few months back he’d have run out immediately with the lass. Duty, honour and obedience were good things but even soldiers got to get piss drunk and fall into a wall didn’t they? He saw no reason why he shouldn’t either. He hadn’t had a good mug since weeks before getting to the Tower and the remembered taste was a sweet, sweet intoxication. He shook his head, bells jingling merrily. He ceased his work and went to put the blade back, finished. He didn’t take another but simply sat back down. His feet shifted as the final gate was breached, surrender and parley lost to debauchery and fun. He was game, but getting caught was out of the question. He watched the others and waited for the right time, it was not long coming because they were forever rotating tasks. The next rotation approached and arrived. “One, two, three, follow me!” was all he said and he was off, leaving and disobeying and hopefully living to regret it. He didn’t wait to see if she followed him and were true to her word, he just wanted out of the Yard. Truth be told he didn’t know how to get out easily so he did pause at a corner and wait around it, back to stone, it to see if she was coming. He was the worst kind of leader even at finding a tavern. He knew the general way, which is what he had started out towards but that didn’t stop him being an idiot and admitting he’d have to defer to her. If she followed he'd laugh at her arrival, relief that he had found a fun Drin for once before telling her. “Hope you know your way out of this place” he said aloud.

[Roan]

Paks Liard

The other Drin sharpening weapons next to her was an odd one. The bells in his hair marked him as Arafellin, and his attitude marked him as a potential kindred spirit. Paks smirked when he all but whispered ‘boring’ to her in reference to the model Drin. She certainly didn’t disagree, but then she hadn’t come here the way most had, so perhaps their ‘boring’ nature was what it took to become the Gaidin they all seemed to strive to be.

Plans to find her way to a tavern that night were already on Paks’ agenda, and despite her spending most of her evenings out to the wee hours of the morning and in a pleasant state of intoxication, she did try and make sure all of her chores were done first. It gave the Master of Training and Gaidin Captain fewer reasons to come down on her.

Of course, Paks failed to say as much to the newer Drin, and watched confused as he left his station and the armory. With an amused laugh, Paks placed the weapon she’d been working on back on the rack and gave a nod to the quartermaster as she took her leave. She didn’t run to catch up. . .that wasn’t her style, though she did come along side the man and cast him a sidelong glance.

“For what it is worth, I do usually finish my chores before heading into town. No need to give the Master of Training any reason to badger me. . .or any more reasons to badger me,” Paks said as she flashed him her characteristic smirk. She looked where they were going and took a turn, “As for ways out, well, I usually walk out the front gate, but that’s after I’ve done my work for the day. This time? We need the back way.”

Paks didn’t explain more than that as she took the Drin on a circuitous path through the Tower Grounds to a gate manned by a female guard. “Let me do the talking,” Paks replied and took a couple of strides ahead, her characteristic smirk turning into a grin. “Jacelyn. . .what did you do to get the side gate?”

The woman’s eyes lit up when she saw Paks, “Oh. . .you know very well what I did. I reported late for duty last week, thanks to you.”

Leaning against the wall next to the guard, Paks gave her most disarming smile, “I hope there are no regrets?”

“Light no, Paks Liard, no regrets at all,” she replied.

The weaponized smirk was back, “We could do it again, you and I. . .perhaps tomorrow night?”

The woman gave a knowing look, “So long as I look the other way and let you and your friend on your way?”

Paks let a finger move a stray bit of hair out of Jacelyn’s eyes, “Well, I’d be appreciative of that, but even if you didn’t or couldn’t let us pass, the offer would stand.”

Jacelyn smirked, “You are a rogue, but I cannot say no to that smile. Go on, the both of you. I know nothing.”

Paks beamed and pulled Jacelyn into a kiss that bordered on inappropriate, though the woman simply responded in kind. A moment or so later, she and the Drin were through the gate, and on their way.

“There’s a tavern on the other end of Hama Valon. . .doesn’t see to many people from the Tower,” Paks replied. She looked over to him, “As you no doubt hear, I’m Paks. Who might you be? I prefer to know the names of my drinking companions.”

[Andy]

“Probably for the best,” he agreed with a jingling nod at the finishing of chores whilst, at the same time, not being able to summon up much shame for running off, that would come later, “guess I don’t think things through. It’s just so…routine” he shrugged. “I’d make a terrible Gaidin” he snorted as he followed the lass and rolling his shoulders, positively eager to get out of the restrictive atmosphere of the Tower, “if we get into trouble it’s my fault this time” he grinned as he scratched the side of his face. He was quite happy to let her guide them both, he hardly had the mental map of the grounds in his mind yet. If you had asked him to sneak around he’d probably turn a corner into a tapestry niche and pull it down in surprise for good measure. Besides which it gave him time to review both her and his poor decision making trends. In terms of the latter he knew it would bring him up short but if he was going to die some day he was bloody well going to make sure he had fun between then and now. Perhaps he didn’t do what he aught as often as he should but he wasn’t a Warder yet so until he had that responsibility - something he associated with the death of random mischief - he would bend rules where he could. For the former he was genuinely happy to meet someone who might be a kindred spirit, even if she chided him for being reckless. She was slightly shorter than he but she carried herself well enough for that to not be apparent. Quick to smirk and a sly tinkle in her eye she was pretty enough though clearly she preferred the soft curves of female flesh. That raised an eyebrow but only because it was a rare sight not because he judged. Playful, that was the word he had been looking for to describe her, playfulness incarnate. “Thanks” he did a quick, rough tap of the temple to Jacelyn as he passed, a salute to roguish rank rather than true rank. “Well well, you give a good show and there isn’t even any ale yet,” he scanned his mind for her name, “Paks…Paks…I’ve heard some stories though I reckon’ they’re nothing compared to reality. You’ll have to set the record right. What have a let myself in for?” he chuckled. “Alrim, the layabout Arafellin and personal fly in the ear of the well meaning mentor,” he nodded back at her as they walked, “and as long as there’s a hay bale to dive into when the Tower comes knocking I’m happy” Hama Valon her knew his way through, enough to know roughly where Paks had suggested. He had come through it after all, had even sent a few days getting drunk and deciding whether he actually upheld his promise and joined the Tower. That had been a terrible few days and not just because of the mornings. They weaved their way towards the location, so far there had been no real notice from any semblance of authority and that was fine for him. “How long you been here Paks? And where oh where can I get myself partners like yours?” he winked, “they were stone dead quiet about the sheet service when I signed up. Light preserve me I‘d think they were trying to discipline us!” He peered around a corner and there it was, a hunched but by the sound of it lively tavern towards the very outskirts of the city. There were perhaps a stone’s throw length of further buildings before the wall loomed large. He nodded to the place and made his way to the door. Pushing it open the warmth bloomed his skin as he held the door open for Paks and a sparkle came to his eyes. There were a few patrons but it wasn’t packed yet, a dice game rattled away to the far left and the heavy oaken benches begged for a patron to use them. “My kind of place, nice choice. Come here often?” he asked her.

[Roan]

Paks Liard

Paks avoided answering the question about how long she’d been at the Tower. That Terric, who came in within a week of her own arriva, was a Gaidin did little for her self-motivation. Instead, she looked to him with her smirk and gave a shrug, “I find partners wherever I go. I don’t think the Tower exactly encourages such things given the age of most who come to the Tower gates, but I am not like most, and I am not about to give up the pleasures in life just because I signed the roster to the Yards.”

Truth be told, she sounded more defiant than she was. Despite being a bit of a misfit, the Tower was her home, and she’d miss it if she were turned out. Of course, being turned out would mean jail, but she would miss those who’d become her friend since she joined their ranks. Pushing the deep thoughts aside, she looked around the tavern and gave a casual shrug, “It is one of many I frequent, truth be told. The barkeep knows me, knows what I like. . .and from time to time, he lets me tell tales or sing for ale, which is a relief on my very inadequate pouch of coins.”

Paks looked around, and did her best not to take a deep breath. The place smelled of stale ale and pipe smoke, something the woman was more than used to, but still knew better to breath too deeply. When her eyes met those of the barkeep, she held up two fingers and then nodded to a table near the hearth. The fire was going and kept the chill out of the air. She looked to Alrim and motioned for him to follow, “Tell me. . .if you find the ranks of our fellow Drin so boring, why did you sign the books?”

As the pair took their seats at the table, the barkeep came over and set two mugs full of ale down on the table, “In a bit early, ain’t ye, Paks?” His question meant Alrim would have to wait to answer hers.

Flashing the man a smirk, Paks answered easily, “What can I say, I missed yer ugly mug, Briar. Couldna keep myself away.” The accent wasn’t her own, but one she’d take on when telling stories, and one she knew Briar felt comfortable with.

The bear of a man laughed and gave a solid pat to Paks’ back, “Ah lass. Ye still on to entertain at week’s end?”

“So long as I can get away from the Tower, as always,” she replied. “Though, given we left without finishing our work, there’s a chance I might be muckin’ stalls instead of singin’ ballads and tellin’ stories.”

Briar laughed, then added, “An’ drinkin’ my ale! Fair enough. Have fun ye two. . .oh an Paks? Ye might want to avoid Aliah. She knows ye were with her twin, and she is havin’ none of it.”

Paks laughed as the man turned away, then looked back to Alrim, “Ah...I may be pushing my luck a bit far these days.” She held up her mug, “Anyway. . .your story, Alrim!”

[Andy]

It was strange, Paks clearly liked to enjoy life but in his experience that usually meant many parties but few relationships, as if to forge connection would tug you one way. Too many and you were tugged every which-way. He was a classic example. Amiable and a decent drinking partner but no true friends he could think of, or not many. There might still be one or two but he didn’t know if they still lived or now looked upon him differently. Paks seemed the opposite, as if her drive for life came from those connections. He wondered if he had being doing things wrong or if Paks was not as carefree as she seemed. Could be wrong of course, only just met the lass. Probably wrong. Still, she seems to have so many friends. Perhaps she is doing it right. Work hard, do the chores then blaze with glory of an eve he told himself. It might even have been why he never managed to stay in his homeland, he hadn’t really had many roots to stop the winds of change ripping him away. He noticed she didn’t answer all of his questions but she had a right to privacy, she didn’t know him. Hr own question fired back and he forgot about it for the most part, gaze distant momentarily as, drink in hand, thy mad their way to the warmth of the hearth. It prickled his skin delightfully as he took his first sip of ale for a while, the sigh of satisfaction forcing its way out afterwards. A rich, woody flavour was worth pausing for. He wondered if he should lie but fancied she call him out on it so opted for truth. “You’re a regular daughter, lover and friend to half of the city it seems. A better choice than I made. Few friends, few people to watch my back come to think of it,” he shrugged and leant back in his chair slightly, stretching out and running his hand back through his hair with a sad sort of smile. “It’s a long story really, not so much boring as pointlessly dramatic. You’ve heard that Arafellin’s have a strange sense of honour?” he asked, most had and it was true too, “well let us just say that I dishonoured my family a little too much. Too old and not enough positives to my life. Too much dithering, not enough Trolloc heads for the pyre” it was true but an over-simplification. Not sure it’s wise to say that I was a borderline - Light no I was a criminal layabout who was told it was either a Tower, the Blight or never having a life again. The only people who mourned my departure were those I owed money to he noted privately. “So, when my father had had enough he took me aside, looked me in the eye and picked apart my life in a matter of moments. didn’t know what to say and the disappointment in his eyes stayed my tongue. Wasn’t the worst though, worst was knowing that I wasn’t welcome anymore, wasn’t loved. My mother couldn’t even turn up to kick me out” he looked into the flames and pushed back the resurgence of still bloody wounds. “Weeeell, burn that and drown the ashes with drink,” he fit the words with a large gulp of what was before him, looking Paks in the eye then to finish t off, “I was given a choice, not much of a choice, but least he gave it to me. SO I cam here. Black’s got a bad reputation and the White wouldn’t take me. Guess you could say I’m a reject in need of a home, the Grey Tower needs sword arms. The chair legs tapped the ground as he leant against the table. There was the need for distraction. “What about you? And who is Aliah and what does she look like?” he raised and eyebrow and smirked at her, “just in case I need to dive behind the table. She Isn’t behind me is she?” he whipped his head around theatrically, bells jangling and slapping him in the nose with an accompanied wince. He chuckled then as he rubbed his nose, his humour slightly restored. He had become very adept at ignoring what he wished, so much so in such a short time that he was probably deluding himself. Yet he didn’t feel like digging it all up in front of someone he had just met, he had few friends as it was.

[Roan]

Paks Liard

Paks listened to Alrim tell his story, and while his wasn’t exactly like hers, there were similarities. So many of the other Drin she met came with the intent of becoming Gaidin and wearing the Fancloak. Some of her peers spoke freely about bonding an Aes Sedai or Asha’man and heroics of saving them from a Darkfriend, Whitecloak or some other deadly enemy. The talk seemed so. . .pretentious to Paks, not that she didn’t respect the desire to be honorable.

Alrim would have done well with her friends and group of traveling bards. He had a flair for the dramatic, but with a twist to get a laugh, and the timing to match. She laughed softly, “Aliah is not here, no. She’s blond, stands a hand shorter than me, and has a fire that would drive any man insane. She also has a twin sister, and they look the same except their hair. Where Aliah’s is blonde, her sister’s is red.”

Pausing to take a sip of her ale, Paks shrugged, “As for me and how I came to wear Drin grey? Short story, I took a fancy to a Magistrate’s wife, and she to me. He was offended I could please her in ways his little mind couldn’t, and thought to get his revenge. My friends and I were a group of traveling bards, and thus had swift fingers, which meant he had enough to toss me to a jailor, but offered me a choice. Jail or the Grey Tower. The catch?

“I have to finish at the Tower, or if I fail, or leave, still serve out my sentence,” she finished the story, not giving it the flare she’d been known to give it in the past. She flashed her smirk, “I have a roof over my head, and three square meals a day. I’m doing well compared to that troupe of mine. Too many times, we’d sneak into a barn and sleep with the cows or horses and get chased out by the farmer well before a respectable waking time.”

After another sip of ale, she set her mug down, “The hardest thing for me to adjust to is the fighting. Before coming to the Tower, the closest I got into a fight was avoiding town guards. The idea of engaging in combat? Well, it took some getting used to.” It was a big admission from her, though she didn’t add to it that part of her was still haunted by the sound of cartilage and bone crunching beneath fist and foot. Instead, she turned to the one constant since the Seanchan attack, her ale, and took another sip.

[Andy]

There was a slight cough into his cup and raised eyebrows when she mentioned the magistrate’s wife, followed by a deep swallow and the jingling as he shook his head wryly. He had to hand it to her she knew just who to pick when it came to enemies. He was far from innocent but he’d never had the courage to get tangled up with rank and what that led to. Common, petty things were more his forte. Occasional larceny, scuffles, drunkenness and the like. “You’ve got guts Paks, I’ll give you that. Burn me I’d not have had it in me pretty face or not,” he told her, “that was pretty much my problem, still is. Slowly being hit out of me though” Her story was reflective of his own circumstance, perhaps more than he initially saw. It wasn’t that they were there against their will that was so bad, he mused, but that the lives they had been forced to leave were enjoyable. Enjoyment was often more than food, warmth and walls. If it weren’t then people would never go outside, or travel. He found himself nodding slowly as his mind twisted, turned. He didn’t say it aloud, he wished no offence if it were taken the wrong way. Something to consider though, you oaf. Using your brain for the first time in years. Hurts doesn’t it? he acknowledged privately. “So, you can’t leave and I don’t want to because…reasons of honour, what little there is. Together we got all the angles covered” he chuckled, it was a dark sound, he knew ho to laugh at himself, he was the only one who did these days. What she said about the fighting though, that seemed odd to him. Pacifists didn’t make good warriors but then some people just didn’t like hurting others. He could accept that but didn’t understand it. Maybe it was being from the Borderlands, where war with the Shadow was practically what whelped you into adolescence. Harsh conditions built harsh people. He was an exception, not the rule, and even he knew how to fight and saw it as a necessity. He tilted his head as he wondered how to respond, draining the rest of his cup slowly. “I’d wager there’s a story there somewhere? You’ve seen combat? Here?” he asked, “still…I can see that would be hard, never thought about it. We just fight in the Borderlands, like breathing. I suppose some don’t take to it as much as others but generally you have to, else wise Trollocs would be down south all the time,” he shuddered slightly at the thought of that, it seemed an ill omen so he said no more, “still being a bard has its own uses, right? Don’t have to go looking for the steel, song and music can do big things too” he stated, there was honesty in what he said he truly believed that spirit and morale were all important. “If it helps I’ll get in the way first,” he flashed a smile, “always told I was thick as a keep wall, might as well make use of that and pretty ladies are much more important, everyone knows this” he leaned back in his chair again, keeping himself balance by hooking to toes around the table leg. “I thought I was trapped but you’ve got me beat, I concede to the rightful winner,” he bowed his head across the table and raised his mug in a salute, cheerfulness was why they had come after all, strange how it always seemed elusive, “to Paks, the damsel Drin of the tower, may her shining knight whisk her to adventures most wondrous!” “The real question is, I suppose, what to do when we get to the end,” he looked into the fire, “seems so far off. Maybe you’re right, food and routine and the rest. I can’t be like the young ones, all moon eyed over getting Bonded and lifting an Aes Sedai’s skirts between fighting heroic battles to save the lands” he snorted at the very idea. “Or…is that what Drin Paks has in mind?” he raised his eyebrows suggestively in amusement.

[Roan]

Paks Liard

Her fellow Drin seemed to fire comment and question after comment and question, though it provided Paks with a bit of a buffer from those things she might not want to delve into. She snorted, “Paks Liard does not need a shining knight to carry her off anywhere, thank you very much.” Her smirk and tone suggested amusement at the very thought more than anything. It took a great deal to irk the wayward Drin.

Taking a gulp from her mug as she listened to Alrim discuss what happens once they become full rank, part of her wondered if she’d ever actually earn the Fancloak? She was such a misfit, was it even possible? Would they even trust her to guard the Aes Sedai and Asha’man of the Tower?

Not one to let a conversation go too serious for too long, Paks smirked, “I certainly don’t mind the lifting skirts aspect of life after the Fancloak. In truth, I haven’t given the future much thought. Perhaps I should, but to what end? Why worry about the future when you can enjoy yourself today?” With this she raised her mug and took another long pull of her ale.