Chat of the Gypsy

Player:

Pietro

Pietro zips his jacket up a little further against the cold as he trudges along; his right arm still moves a bit stiffly courtesy of the bruising that's healing up under his collarbone. Though he's technically here on business -- perhaps even what some might consider a mission -- he has left his uniform at home. Instead, he's actually dressed a little nicer than usual -- or at least a little less 'gadje' -- with a clean white shirt under his dark jacket and black Dickies that look reasonably new over his modified combat boots (the sole element of his formal uniform present). He's not exactly at his stealthiest right now though one might get the sense that it's due more to the fact that he's paying more attention to other things than any actual incapability for stealth. That doesn't mean, however, that his guard is down -- he might not be worried about who he's seeking out but he isn't stupid either. An eye is kept to his surroundings and his ears are open to warning sounds.

This part of the state isn't quite the same as Central Park for the gypsy camp. This time around, they are set up in an allocated area in a park for people to do this type of thing and they are -not- offering the sort of services that they might when entertaining. Oddly enough though, they do maintain a sense of their tradition here. The tents aren't all modern; the dress isn't modern; the food is cooked over open fires and lord knows where they got it specifically. Music is different too, it's darker and more haunting. They chat quietly almost speaking hushed tones to not disturb anyone, not that there are people camped out here at this time of year. In fact, the people that do come around tend to be walking dogs and do their best to not pay attention or stare shamelessly. It's getting on to late afternoon; the sun's still out but it's dark enough to warrant those fires. Sentries, for there really isn't another word for the guys standing on the edge of the camp, watch out casually, making sure that people are acknowledged with friendly smiles or nods.

The unmistakable familiarity of the tents, of the smells... of the music -- it's all just a little much for Pietro at first. There's just the briefest flicker of... something, something that's difficult to pin down -- perhaps a sort of longing -- as he approaches the encampment but he forces it back down. Only when he's sure he has his game-face securely in place does he start toward one of the sentries, offering a nod of greeting. "<Good evening,>," he starts in Romany, hoping that his particular dialect is understood. If not? Well, there's always English, but he figures he'll try the native tongue first. He gives pause to judge any reactions he receives before moving on to his actual business.

Pietro earns himself an odd look before the man exchanges glances with his comrade. His responses is a deep breath, lips pursed and then... <"Good evening, sir,"> The reply in the same dialect. <"What can we do for you today? I trust you're not out here for the weather."> And this earns a smirk from his friend. Indeed, it's cold out there and these guys are dressed in firs that smell... well, they smell far more 'real' than the ones you might pick up at Macy's.

It's not often that Pietro is a 'sir' but the young man gives no sarcastic reply to the greeting. If anything, there's an uncharacteristic -- perhaps even respectful -- silence as the other man speaks. <"Not for the weather, no,"> he replies with a wry snort of amusement. <"I think there's something that I think you -- or someone here -- can help me with."> He glances shrewdly between the two sentries, shifting his hands within the warmth of his jacket pockets. <"I need to know about The Light. And if what I've heard is right, you know a lot about her."> He lets that hang there, unsure of just what to expect now that his cards are on the table.

That certainly gets them a bit more alert. They stiffen, looking between one another gravely. <"Yes, we know of her... and she was to speak to one of our elders but never showed up,"> the other interjects, clearing his throat first. <"In her defense, I doubt she knew what the hell he was talking about... he came off kind of brusque."> They turn their attention back to Pietro and the first guy speaks up again. <"What do you care about the Light? What's it to you I mean?"> there's no rudeness in his tone; just blunt curiosity.

The mention of the Light not showing definitely doesn't escape Pietro's notice. He raises an eyebrow just slightly but before he can ask about it, he finds himself on the receiving end of a couple questions. <"I'm still trying to figure out what it is to me,"> he replies with equal bluntness. A moment later he elaborates, <"Chances are it means a lot... My friends and I, we've had a lot of problems lately with people looking for the Light. Now that we're in danger,"> He hates to say it but there's no real way around the facts, <"I need to know just what we're up against -- why they want to find her so bad. You understand?"> Not that he's figuring they don't, of course.

<"I see,"> The guy nods and gestures. <"Come with me,"> He offers and starts away, expecting Pietro to follow as he heads back towards the camp. He clasps his hands behind his back, quiet. Whether he follows or not...

Pietro definitely follows, though he doesn't hold himself in nearly as stately a manner as the man who's leading him. He just does his best to look self-assured and professional as he keeps pace at the guy's side.

People stop at what they're doing and stare at Pietro with guarded expressions. The place doesn't feel overly welcome but it's not hostile either. They move over to a tent and call in, a man peeks out; much younger than one might believe. He looks to be in his early thirties; long black hair, dark eyes, pale... he looks at Pietro and gestures for him to enter. <"You are here about the Light,"> He moves over and kneels on the ground, back to Pietro. <"She did not speak to me as I expected her to...">

There's no way that Pietro misses the reactions he's getting. He glances at a few of the wondering faces, considering each in turn, but mostly remains focused on wherever it is he's being led. It's been quite a while since he's felt quite so out of place with his stark white hair; the City of Weird has spoiled him. As he's gestured inside the tent he gives one last look to his surroundings and ducks inside. <"When was she supposed to speak with you?"> He isn't sure quite how much he should push his luck with questions at this point but he's never one for too much caution so he adds, <"And what was it you needed to talk with her about?">

<"That was one of the evenings in the city,"> The man glances over his shoulder. <"She was to speak to me about what it means to be the Light. She needed to learn about herself. There is someone after the power... and if she doesn't know how to defend herself, it'll be hard to deal with. We had to depart... but I hoped she would come around. I would hope that she will look us up when she's ready.">

Pietro keeps his eyes on the man and listens intently. <"So she hasn't always been the Light,"> he murmurs, half stating and half questioning. His brow furrows a bit as he considers. <"How... When did she get the power? And how can something like that be taken away by... whoever-this-is?"> He pauses for a moment to collect himself, giving a fleeting glance to the tent opening. <"This... 'someone' who's looking for her... I think he's responsible for putting my friends and I in danger..."> Just to reassert his personal interest in all of this.

<"No, she had to waken to it,"> The gypsy pushes back to his feet. <"The power from the one looking for her involves domination... he can take people over. He can drive them to do his will. If he gets the Light, he can dominate her... and learn... and absorb. And I'm sure he's responsible for the dangers you're contending with."> He pauses a moment. <"Don't you have some of this... power? Something like it at least?">

That last bit stops Pietro short. He blinks, then replies with a shake of his head. <"Not like his -- not exactly... But yes. I have a power. How did you...?"> He trails off, pursing his lips a bit as he studies the (not-so-elder) elder. After all, it's not as though he isn't a bit of a give-away in some ways, particularly when he subconsciously speeds through a phrase or two. <"How does did the other one -- the one looking for her... How did he find out about her?"> After all, if she caught the other guy's attention maybe he'll have a better idea of how to spot her.

<"The only people who would have a vested interest in this have something in common with the parties involved,"> Comes the response. He gestures vaguely about him. <"He can dominate minds. He accidentally came in contact with the woman and in return, learned her secrets; before she came upon them herself as a matter of fact. That's the only way that he should have known.">

Pietro gives a little nod as if to say 'Fair enough'. It's a few moments before he actually speaks again, however, as he gives consideration to the man's explanation. <"I see. I'll need to find her -- before he does. But I have a feeling I'm going to come into contact with him first."> And, of course, he doesn't sound too thrilled about that. Perhaps the way he leaves that hanging for a moment or two suggests he's hoping for some advice on that score, since it seems the man knows more about both of the involved parties than he does. He's not asking outright, though. <"... What /is/ the Light's power, anyway? A man that had been taken over by... that other one said that she can... control lights?"> He's fairly sure he's getting what little information he has a little wrong here.

This warrants a bit of a laugh. <"Control of the light... that's far too overt. No, the light's power is to -see- the light in things. The feelings of people and places. To understand their emotions even before they do. It's intrinsic to completing this mad man's ability because he will be capable of not only controlling thoughts and actions but more subtly; emotion as well. She can't make you feel something, only see it and help understand it."> He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. <"One might think that it's pointless or not dangerous but it is and can be. Contending with him... it will be hard except for the fact that those with power cannot be touched by his. Even the most minute adjustment in the physical body...">

The laugh gets a little frown from Pietro, though it's born more of mild embarrassment than annoyance. <"Oh. That's definitely different than what I'd imagined. And much more useful."> And /that's/ a massive understatement. He's busy mulling over that rather chilling notion of controlling someone right down to their emotions when the last bit sinks in. He raises a pale eyebrow. <"That must be why a few of us weren't affected at that riot! /Great/."> He's definitely more hopeful now, though it takes him a moment before he lends an explanation. <"My friends and I, we all have power; that should make things much easier when we meet with him."> Apparently he missed the part about it being hard to contend with the guy. Either that or he's just being blindingly -- perhaps /foolishly/ -- confident about it all now that he has that little assurance.

<"The problem is that he uses normal people as his fodder... they do his bidding and in return, if you retaliate with deadly force, an innocent dies,"> Now the man frowns. <"There was recently a riot where many people were killed. I know that he was responsible and all of those people were thrown away. If you have the sort of callousness that doesn't care, I can't help you any further.">

Pietro sobers a bit now, clears his throat and looks squarely over at the man. It takes him a moment of debate before he swallows his pride and replies with a shake of his head, <"I'm a lot of things... but no, I'm not so callous. I was at that riot; that's not something that I'm hoping to repeat anytime soon..."> Tough guy attitude aside, that was quite a lot of bloodshed to take in -- and very different from watching it in a movie.

<"There were two riots if I'm not mistaken,"> Replies the man. <"And I can tell that you have no interest in that sort of carnage. If you want to stop that person as much as he must be stopped then I can give you information. Dangerous information. /I/ was going to visit the Light but decided that spooking her would not be beneficial. She already thought we were freaks... and no wonder considering how 'strong' we came on about her needing to speak with us. Undoubtedly, she does a good job of trying to remain anonymous."> He turns away and opens a little music box, fishing through it. <"Here,"> He offers over a slip of paper. <"Her address. She's an artist; fitting role considering her talents... and here also,"> Another slip of paper is offered. <"A description of what we believe the enemy looks like.">

<"Er. Right,"> Pietro admits with a nod. <"I was at one of them..."> But that's not important, really. What /is/, however, is what the man goes on to relay. The young man is all ears now as he watches the elder turn toward the music box and when he's offered the scraps of paper he takes them readily, wasting no time in looking them over. <"Thank you. Very much,"> he finally manages, breaking his business tone with a hint of warmth in his gratitude. <"I'll put these to good use."> That said, he slips the papers deep into his pocket. <"And I'll do my best not to spook her... So. You found her, she didn't find you. How did you know?">

<"It was hard -not- to notice her,"> Says the gypsy. <"She was radiant... even though she didn't realize just how obvious it was. I looked upon her during the dance and thought I recognized something about her. As I drew closer, I was literally torn from the reverie and had to stare. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. To those who can see the aura, hers in particular was pure... it was like viewing the sunrise over a light blue horizon; the sea providing a fractured mirror to gaze at the heavens by. I would know her in my sleep or in my darkest step into death. There have always been people like her. They are simply more rare now than ever before.">

That seems to click with something in Pietro's memory -- or, more specifically, something he was told. All the same, the realization washes over his features, leaving him looking particularly thoughtful in the wake of the explanation. <"That... Wow. That definitely sounds hard to ignore,"> he replies in a somewhat distracted tone, as if trying to envision the sight himself. <"I'm surprised there's any 'pure' in that city,"> he adds wryly. 'Gajikane' society aside, it's the Big Apple, after all. <"But I'll find her -- as soon as I can. I have places I can hide her. Places that the other one doesn't know about."> Or at least he /hopes/ they're still unknown. Chances are that the Darwinians know of the catacombs and Miriam's boat isn't exactly fool-proof.

<"I trust you,"> The man says and he turns back to the table, throwing back a bit of velvet to reveal another box; this one black and old. Possibly hundreds of years even but well cared for nevertheless. <"This particular camp; this particular tribe of people are not usually so generous as to allow people in. Even when they belong. I'm going to give you this and with it, I hope that you will treat it with respect. Whenever you need help--ours or others like us--you have but to show this item. And use it as it was meant to. I suspect you'll understand it when you see it.">

It's not often that Pietro is told that he has someone's trust and he seems to take it seriously -- after he gets over the initial second of shock. Still, he's uncharacteristically silent as the man unveils the dark little box, just watching with his face drawn in an inscrutable -- but inescapably touched -- expression. <"... Thank you,"> he finally manages, clearing his throat. <"It'll... It'll be safe with me. You have my word on that..."> He's still not sure just what's being passed over to him, though, and he cranes his neck a little in an attempt to better discern what this latest gift could be.

The box itself is somewhat weighty; a good 3 pounds at least. Whatever's inside is of sturdy construction. As if answering the question, the Gypsy speaks. <"It's a Txial Knife; a sacred order that has been followed since time immemorial. What you're being handed is a weapon used for great good even when the issue was not cut and dry. By the fact that you've come here looking for answers I believe that you'll find the proper path to be worthy of it."> And with that he turns away, clasping his hands behind his back.

Pietro accepts the box carefully -- all the more when its contents are explained to him -- though he's a little surprised by its weight. <"I..."> Whatever he was going to say escapes him as the Gypsy turns his back to him. The young man looks down at the box in his hands, running a thumb over its surface as he sinks into thought. Predictably, however, said moment of thought doesn't last for long. "You're... sure-about-giving-this-to-me? This is an honor..." He's not backing down but there's an inescapable uncertainty in his expression, no matter how he tries to hide it. "And I'll do my best to prove myself worthy." He draws himself up a little where he stands.

"Let me ask you a question instead," The Gypsy says in flawless English. "Do you feel sure about me giving it to you? And more importantly... what sort of growth do you expect to experience if people don't offer you the opportunity to seek it? To be fair, my answer to you is that I've never been more certain. But I'm curious as to what you have to say about it."

It shouldn't surprise Pietro to hear the man speak English but nevertheless it seems to disorient him slightly. There's a pause of a few seconds -- a sizable amount of time when it comes to the young man -- and when he gives his answer, he uses the English tongue as well. "I do feel sure. I... You have a point: there's no way I can... grow," He's still pondering the possible impact of this gift he's been given in that regard, "or prove myself if no one gives me a chance. It's, er, just not every day that somebody offers me somethin' like this... But I'm willing to take the opportunity you're offering."

"And here we are," The gypsy replies. "Today... not every day. Your day. I suspect that this is one of those moments than an opportunity arrives that we have the choice to hide from or grab. You've grabbed. Now... well, now you've got precious little time to catch up to events. I should tell you that the madman knows the Light by sight now. The dangers have increased ten fold."

The words of encouragement seem to bolster Pietro now. A bit of that armor he so constantly wears has been shed somewhere in the course of this encounter and, whether he realizes just how much of himself is showing through now, his one-track mind is too focused on the information being relayed to him now to build it up just yet. He tightens his grip on the box in a slightly protective way. "I don't need much time," he says honestly, though even with his speed, he doesn't want to push his luck /too/ far. "Just as long as I have /some/ time... So he's moving for her," he concludes grimly. "So I'm gonna have to find her as soon as possible... Is there anything else I should know?"

"I think," Says the gypsy with a bit of a grin. "I've told you quite enough already. There are some things that a man must still have to be a man. The rest you'll figure out on your own. I should wish you good luck but I suspect you're a man that makes luck rather than hoping it comes your way."

Pietro purses his lips and gives a single nod. <"Thank you -- for all your help,"> he murmurs, switching back to Romany either out of comfort or respect as he turns to leave the tent. He pauses to glance back over his shoulder, though, and gives the man a sharp grin in return. <"I appreciate it, but yes. I have my ways of turning things in my favor."> He gives a respectful nod, pausing thoughtfully before he turns back once again. And already he's starting to replace that armor that he'd let slip.