Weight of the Crown | Shifting Sands

She smiled dryly, a sense of amusement in her eyes as she shook her head, "Oh, Hama... Darling Hama. You see a pretty mask. I've no idea what I'm doing, here. Decisions like this? I've never had to make them... And I'm horrified that I might just go down the wrong road entirely..."

His hand graced her shoulder and she looked over at him, but Etzla interrupted and her gaze shot forward again, "When this is over... We'll talk more, Hama."
 
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Hama felt a strange shiver down his spine at that ominous, though soft, assurance. Ros, with her newfound taste for making her own decisions, was certainly taking the matter to heart, and there was almost something exhilarating about that, as if he were watching a bird learn how to fly. He had the feeling the girl was slowly learning what her idhab was, her calling in life, and that was both a terrifying and anticipatory discovery. With a slight limp, he followed Ros, answering her.

"I have no doubt we shall, Princess," Hama stated.

After about a half hour, all four found themselves sneaking into the hospital, dodging night attendants. Hama led them to a room that was unoccupied, and Etzla lit the lamps in the examination room near the door to give them some light. Perhaps in a hilarious turn of events, Etzla had given the scimitar to Ros of all people, telling her to 'make sure he knows you'll poke him if he moves too much.' The man looked at her sullenly, though there was a spark of fear in his eyes as he shifted on the stool, his gaze on the scimitar.
 
It wasn't what she expected, any more than their captor, and it was with a nonplussed glance that she looked from the viciously curved blade to the man who had handed it over, but one look seemed to be enough. She was reminded, of course, that Etzla was, if nothing else, exceedingly cunning.

Gripping the blade, swallowing her uncertainty, she nodded, "It would do you well to move little more than your mouth, I think." She warned, coolly.
 
Hama did his best not to laugh at the visual of waifish Ros holding a man at swordpoint. In the meantime, he had Etzla help him to put a compress to his side and bind it.

"You should consider joining the Interrogation Corps, Lady," Etzla joked as he wrapped bandages around Hama's chest, the young man wincing as he pulled tight.

"Gentle, gentle... I agree. You've got the nerve," Hama chuckled as he finished off the bandage with a complex, braided knot. "Now, what to do with this man..."

"I have a few ideas," Etzla said, cracking his knuckles, and the man blanched beneath his nut brown skin.

"Etzla," Hama warned softly, glancing at Ros. He didn't want her to be drawn into this kind of world, one where the worst of man showed its face proudly. He had the feeling that this was a turning point, a time when Ros would decide what sort of person she was, and he could see her being convinced that hurting others would be worthwhile if it meant getting ahead - and out of bondage to a political juggernaut.

"What? I wouldn't leave bruises," Etzla muttered.

"I have a better idea," Hama said. "Ros, could you help me?"

He extended a hand to her from his low stool, gesturing for Etzla to grab the scimitar from her.
 
Rosleigh handed the blade over almost as soon as Hama has called her over. Whatever Hama thought, he need not fear too greatly. She had no real intention of harming anyone, and the idea, quite frankly, had been unnerving from the start. But sometimes just the pretense was enough to spark cooperation...

Still, she was only too glad when Hama suggested a better plan and she turned to take his hand as soon as the scimitar was passed off.
 
The man watched as Hama took hold of Ros' proffered hand gently, Etzla reclaiming his sword. The man said something as Etzla hauled him out of the chair, and Hama gestured for all to walk behind him. Into the hall they went, through several different corridors, until at last they reached a room that was, not only full of glass, but also had an open ceiling with vents overhead. The glassware was of a variety of confusing shapes and sizes, in corkscrews and in beakers and vials and bulbs. There was a room with a glass door, and Hama gestured for Etzla to put the man in the room and stand guard at the door.

Meanwhlle, Hama put on a set of white clothes that covered him from head to toe.

"This should not take very long. If Ismaeli put the thing where I think he did, we can be out of here soon, but you will perhaps find my presence much less pleasing..." Hama said with a light chuckle as he went through his colleague's things. "Are you alright, Lady? I know this is a lot to take in. I apologize if we seem... cavalier. This is not exactly a new occurrence."
 
Rosleigh laughed, a soft twitter with an edge of nerves as she shook her head, "There is very little you could do that would make you unappealing to me..." Her cheeks flushed as she lowered her eyes, "Oh.. You know what I mean."

Her smile faded slightly as he continued and she reached out, a hand resting on his forearm, "I don't like this, Hama... Any more for you than for me. But we must do what's necessary..."
 
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"No worries, Lady. We shall not harm a hair on the man's head, though he may perhaps wish we had," Hama said with the slightest of smirks. He finally found what he wanted - a vial that was stoppered, the stopper painted a lurid warning red. Hama held it out at arm's length, and he navigated around Ros a wide berth.

"This is an essence which a friend of mine has been working on. It is...potent smelling," Hama warned as he walked towards the door where the man was imprisoned.

"Etzla, Ros, cover your noses and breath only through your mouth," Hama said as he walked into the room. He began to speak to the man before him, his words muffled. The man adamantly shook his head and spit on the floor. Hama uncorked the bottle.

An awful stench leached from under the door. It was the reek of a dead pig left to fester in an open sewer on a hot day. It made the eyes water and the throat close with gagging. And they were blocked from it! How much worse it must be inside!
 
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She hadn't quite realized what Hama meant until the scent had flooded out into the room. Hand cupped over her face, Rosleigh choked back the urge to gag and turned away, shaking her head.

She could see now what he meant about not being pleasing... And it was almost enough to make her laugh...

Almost.
 
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Hama spoke quickly and fervently to the man curled into the corner of the room screaming at him. He approached and the man put his hands in front of him, shaking his head and spilling words and words and more words. After what seemed an eternity of stench, Hama corked the bottle, and while the sheer raw stink was gone, it still seemed to leave a bad taste in the mouth.

Etzla stared speechless as Hama stepped out, and the big man covered his nose.

"Did he...?"

"Yes, but what is true and what is desperation will be hard to pick apart. Still - I am inclined to believe he is truthful," Hama said, lunging at the door with the bottle to front the man attempting to leave, and the man threw himself back in. He glanced at Ros and winced hard.

"My apologies princess, I...I figured this was better than a sword to the neck. Or worse."
 
Rosleigh, for all her daintiness, her feminine sensitivities, her strength of heart could not help the small quirk of a smile that flickered to her lips, even as she kept a hand before her nose to block out the remnant of the horrible odor. She had never had to worry about witnessing any sort of torture or executions back home, and for that she was glad, but it wasn't difficult to imagine it all happening... and she was only too glad that Hama had found an alternative to the gruesome nature of interrogations.

But to hear him apologize somehow made him all the more precious to her, "...My father would be quite interested in that concoction there. To pull honesty from a man's mouth without laying a hand on him... Brilliant, truly. What did he say?"
 
Hama carefully weighed his words. He needed to get this right, the first time around. He didn't want to waste time.

"All he says he knows is that his Master wanted to ensure that we were still here in the city and that we have not made an attempt to leave. He works for a man named Alistar, a local fixer," Hama said.

"A middleman. Your grandfather is good at keeping his hands clean. He wants to make sure you don't vanish on him," Etzla said. An idea seemed to strike him then.

"Which I have thoughts on. But we must rid ourselves of the rat. How do we do this quietly? Ros?" Etzla looked to the younger woman, eyes flickering between the two. "I am not opposed to bloodier means but I understand that sometimes this is not prudent."
 
Frowning, Ros looked to the room, to the man inside, "...What if getting rid of him is not the only option we might pursue. If his master was hired by one man, one might surmise he is able to be bought by another. I've won a rather handsome sum on Hama tonight. What if we sent our rat back to this Alistar with a proposal? We might disenchant him to your grandfather, and in turn, win ourselves a spy?"
 
Hama and Etzla stared, dumbstruck, before turning to each other.

"That's actually a fabulous plan. What have you been teaching this girl, Mohamid? Ruining this sweet woman's innocence!"

"Etzla, I have done no such thing. She gets it from hanging around you far too much...."

Nevertheless Hama was grinning secretly. She truly was a smart girl, and she caught onto the Azawi game so quickly. He was surprised by the quickness of her wits. She would have made a fine politician.

"I agree with this. A man like him would be easily persuaded with coin," Hama said, stepping back into the chamber to speak with the rat.

A short conversation ensued, and Hama argued fervently to haggle the price down as was traditional in procuring a spy. They always asked for too high a price to start, to work their way to something halfway manageable.

The two parted ways, and Hama said, "He will do it. I stipulated his pay would be retracted should he be discovered and that we would pay him in increments. We shall have to see what he comes up with."
 
Her cheeks colored at the praise, and Rosleigh lowered her gaze a little, her smile broadening just so. She hadn't ever intended, really, to go down the road she had with Hama and Etzli, but their circumstances being what they were, it seemed only inevitable and she was glad, at least, that she wasn't something of a disappointment to either man.

When Hama disappeared into the room again, she looked up and shook her head. If she could salvage nothing else from the mess that had been made, she could only hope that Hama came out of it all, alright...

He rejoined them shortly thereafter and Rosleigh grinned, "...Then it would seem, gentlemen, that we've stolen a spy. This has been quite an exhilarating day..."
 
"It has! I think it deserves some celebration. This has been some fine politicking, and i think it has sparked a fire in our bellies," Etzla boasted, patting his stomach appreciatively. "Dessert is in order, when we return to my residence."

Hama smiled secretly at Ros' shy acceptance of the praise given, eyes soft, before turning to Etzla.

"I am not opposed. I'm still a bit hungry. Let me just grab a few things and we can be back at the house shortly."

Hama disappeared for a small amount of time, disrobing from his odd outfit as well as coming back with a bag full of odd looking leaves and twigs, carefully stowed in a pocket. He limped back towards the two and featured that they ought to leave.

The ride took them to Etzla's place and by that point it was far, far too late. Nevertheless Etzla scrounged up his cook and sat both Hama and Ros down at a table to await dessert.

Hama yawned wide and sighed. "Today has been....very productive."
 
Running her hands over her face, fighting off a yawn, Rosleigh nodded to Hama's commentary. Productive was certainly one way to put it...

And long. Immensely long.

But not so long that she had forgotten all that had happened. The adrenaline from the excitement of the Climb and their bit of spy craft was wearing thin and all that remained was a quiet blanket of warm, hazy thoughts.

"...Very." Her eyes filtered to the young doctor and her smile warmed, "How are you feeling?"
 
"If I can be honest with you, Esteemed Lady... I feel like a manure cart has run me over," Hama said truthfully with a wince, trying to find a way to sit comfortably. He reached into the bag he had brought with him for a leaf, and he stuck it in his mouth pensively.

"I have had better climbs, ones that did not end in broken ribs, but I have had worse climbs as well. Have you ever broken the end of your spine?"

Hama grimaced with a slight smile, leaning against the table.

"It is extremely unpleasant. Pillows become your constant companion."
 
Her smile ebbed ever so slightly at his confession, "I feel terrible to have placed you in so treacherous a position in the first place..."

Biting her lip, she shrugged, "I can't say I've broken anything, though I did go backwards off a horse once. Horribly unpleasant. You will be alright, though?"

Reaching out, gingerly, she took his hand and gave it a squeeze.
 
He fought the panic that came with her touch. Azawi life had ingrained a deep fear of a woman's skin, as if they were holy objects so easily profaned by his mere presence. Even with women he knew, he would never dream of brushing against them.

But her ways were not his ways.

"It is no worry of yours. I am used to such abuses," he chuckled, tentatively squeezing her hand back. "There is a certain exhilaration in the danger, though of course I regret the decision soon after, even without the broken ribs. But it is an amazing feeling, a compulsion. I was always good at it."

Hama smiled at her reassuringly, noting her wan visage. She had lived such a sheltered life, and here she was, politicking with the best. It both made him nervous and excited to see her grow.
 
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