[ Scalvoris Town ] In the Wake

[Amaris]

Ashan 23rd, 8th Break

Amaris had thought it through, truly. While they were not of great strength or aptitude for physical labor, the recent tornado had prompted them to take part in the clean up. They could at least carry small pieces of debris to clear the way for the more skilled and fortified. Though, there was a slim chance that they would even be of help. Getting injured was also a possibility that loomed over them.

They strode through the streets nervously, unsure of whom to approach about helping. Though it was early, there were plenty of people and about, doing their part. They had been fortunate in receiving a minimal amount of damage to their small apartment, nothing they couldn’t rearrange things over to fix. They’d rolled up their sleeves and done just that before setting out for the trial.

The tattoos upon their skin were hit by the light in a way that turned them silvery against their skin. On most trials, they would have covered them with their sleeves, but it would be a hinderance with their work. The same could be said of their hair, plaited simply. The braid swung as they moved, though not much. It would suffice to keep the metallic gray strands from interrupting their work. They scanned the crowd once more, dark eyes looking for someone who might be in charge of some sort of organized effort to inquire about helping.

[Pash Raj'oriq]

The advantage of calling a boat your home was that when things were bad—regardless of how you chose to define that in the moment you found yourself in—you could leave. Or, at the very least, you could sleep somewhere for free. Pash had seen waterspouts and hurricanes on the open sea and heard talk of tornadoes in his lifetime, but had, miraculously enough, never experienced a tornado personally. This time as well (U’frek be praised for his favor), though the shipwright’s son was moored close enough to town that he had the unfortunate position as audience to the terrible sight.

Once it was safe enough to make it to shore, he did. Sure, he could have just sailed elsewhere, but Scalvoris was his muse for now, his current creative landscape, and there was no questioning that he was needed to help. Growing up around cut timbers, hammers, and nails meant he could actually (well, possibly) be useful, and if that wasn’t needed, he at least had two hands and some muscle to lug around debris.

The complication in the mess boiled down to Pash’s recent arrival and his unfamiliarity with the city and it’s layout. Sure, he’d learned a few things in the past several trials and definitely knew his way to the docks to his sloop, but the streets were still a bit new to the musician who felt more familiar with the sea and stars than with land. Finding somewhere to offer his voluntary support was not at all obvious in the chaos of people without homes and townsfolk without businesses. While the local military seemed well-organized, the Biqaj was often mistaken for mere salty riff raff instead of genuine assistance, and he realized that if his efforts were to not be in vain, he’d need to find someone not in uniform to relate to.

While on his way to the town center (which to his early morning logic seemed like a good place to set up a volunteer center of sorts), he found himself in a crowd of people who were, it seemed, somewhat searching for the same avenue of service he was. Only in the mess and the tragedy, no one had appointed themselves quite in charge of the gathering. That, and for a handful of bits, he'd begun to wonder if he was lost.

“‘S’cuse me,” Pash’s heavily-accented Common was projected above the din of the other voices with the well-practiced ease of someone who performed for crowds on a regular basis. Pale hair had caught his attention, and his lagoon blue eyes fell first on silvery tattoos before traveling upwards and settling on a face that bore an expression just as eager as his own, “Is this th’road to th’Central Square? I'm lookin’ to help. Er. Maybe there's elsewhere I should be headin’?”

Not that the other seemed any more sure than himself, really, but Pash at least hoped that someone who called Scalvoris Town their actual home would have a clue of how to get involved without being mistaken for a looter or a squatter.

[Amaris]

There were a bevy of voice surrounding them, ranging from those of children to the elderly that were of the state to move about. They had expected as much, but there was one voice that rose up above the din. Amaris, as well as a few others, had looked towards the speaker with interest. Wasn't it said that if you wanted attention, you had to be loud? They, however, were not of the mind to do so. The purpose for the day was to assist, not call attention to themselves more than they already had with their impressive height. Their musings, however, were interrupted by someone speaking to them.

Said someone was the speaker from earlier. The man's rough appearance, and apparent confusion, called him out to be a stranger to the island-country. The mixed blood blinked down at him, then nodded. The changes to the landscape had not touched the villages, as it were, but had been enough to disorient life-long citizens for a bit. They were not different, perhaps more impaired considering that they had not called Scalvoris Town their true home for much of their childhood. A friendly smile lit up their features.

"I could lead you there," they offered, "I assume you've come to help with the clearing, yes?" They paused, as if considering what next to say. It would only be right for them to introduce themselves. There was a likelihood that they would be working together and it would be a whole lot easier to call him by name than rudely referring to him as hey, you! the whole time. There were other polite alternatives, but their voice would likely be lost in the crowd.

Holding out their hand, their smile remained. Should he take it, he would be met with a light grip and a loose shake by way of greeting. If not, well, it would do no more than make them feel a bit awkward and the hand would retreat into their pocket. "My name's Amaris. May I ask for yours?"

[Pash Raj'oriq]

"Well, thank y’much, my name’s Pash." His taking of Amaris’ hand was firm and warm, and it would be obvious that the shipwright son’s palm was well-worn, weathered, and even calloused from the labor of his youth, from sailing, and from his musical attachments. The inked patterns that ran upwards from his wrist toward his elbow were dark and opaque against the salty tan of his skin, visible because the sleeves to his half-buttoned white shirt were rolled up in preparedness for actually doing something.

He offered a broad, amused sort of smile, too, for it wasn't often he had to glance upward in greeting anyone, being tall for even his own seafaring race. A simple introduction felt almost normal, bordering on the relaxing for a moment in the chaos of a damaged town around them.

”An’ aye, I’d appreciate a guide. I've been a’sea for most o’Cylus, so I’m still gettin’ m’bearin’s here in Scalvoris. Never been out this far—” Pash was happy to talk as the pair walked, matching whatever stride was set for them and unconcerned about who chose to follow them both toward the Central Square, for he hoped there’d be direction for everyone once they got there, “—is this sort’a weather common?”

Truth be told, the seafaring musician had just wanted to test his limits. The sea was cold this far out, much too cold for his liking, but the island had fascinated him and the sail had been worth it. Though he’d left his lute on The Muse and looked more like just another Biqaj sailor than an entertainer, he’d simply assumed Amaris was a resident, forgetting that they could have been a student or even a traveler like himself.

[Amaris]

A person's grip said a lot about them, according to something Amaris thought they might have read. Or had someone said that to them? Some information just wasn't properly sourced for them, and they decided that either could have been the case. Pash's hands and grip reflected confidence and work experience. He'd surely be of more use than they could ever be here. And, much like with others, there were some inches that they held over the man.

They could, though, appreciate the shared interest in inked body art. Perhaps it would be a good mode of conversation while they worked. Amaris proceeded to lead on, listening as the man spoke. They'd long since learned that their stride was much longer than others' and made sure to take into account his own height. On the subject of the weather, though, they found that they could be a minimal help.

"I'm not entirely sure," they responded, "I've only recently situated myself here in town, but I don't ever recall having to deal with such weather." They shrugged, brows furrowing. There could be records on the matter, but that might as well have thrown out the window; much was changing on the island.

"You were out at sea in Cylus?" Cylus wasn't a particularly kind season on land, and they wondered what that must be like out at sea. The pair drew close to a landmark that Amaris remembered, and the hybrid steered them in the direction they could recall to lead to the square. "That must have been something else."

[Pash Raj'oriq]

“Well, I’m rather fond o’stars.”

Pash’s reply about sailing during Cylus was wistful, the expression his smile faded into was somewhat distant. Days without the suns’ light, out in the wilds of the sea, far from anyone, was actually as inspiring for the Biqaj as it was foolhardy, probably one of the more unsafe decisions he made too often, “It was a good time o’quiet an’ peace for someone like me, who's usually better at sound an’ trouble.”

The Biqaj’s expression was wry, but humorous in a self-deprecating sort of way. He was honest, for the stars were practically in his blood, intimately connected with his vision, and an inspiration all wrapped into the singular expanse of the night sky. He was also honest that sound—music, rhythm, and song, specifically—were a constant part of his life. Trouble was mostly by accident, but not always. He’d needed the chilled silence for once. It had been a challenge and an opportunity all at once. The time spent looking inward had planted seeds for new growth come the warmth of Ashan. Cylus at sea was cold, dark, and lonely, sure, but the shipwright’s son had slowly come to appreciate solitude as a meaningful balance to his insatiable need to be seen and heard,

“So you’re no’ from here, either, eh?” Pash had picked up that Scalvoris Town was one brimming with students and teachers, learning and researchers and mysterious explorations that were both interesting and sometimes over his head. The seafaring minstrel also had to admit that he had no idea what Amaris was—a halfbreed? Something else entirely? He certainly hadn’t met all the races in Idalos, only heard stories of some, but their unique features seemed to be a collection of stories instead of just a singular one. Travel always had a way of allowing Pash to have unique new experiences and to make strangers friends, after all,

“Are you a student? A teacher?”

His lagoon blue eyes traveled first over his impromptu guide’s face, briefly traveling back downward to their tattoos, and finally drifted away from both of them to look for landmarks to memorize along the way. Surely, they weren’t too much further from the town square. A few more people were traveling in their direction, having sort of joined their walk with a similar purpose, and so it seemed as though all of the organization was indeed concentrated in one place.

It was encouraging to see so many actually willing to help, but it also made the Biqaj wonder about the extent of the damage to the town.

[Amaris]

The stars. Hmmm. Amaris had never quite developed an interest in astral bodies aside from wondering where they all went as a small child. The canopies had a way of both shielding and obscuring, as did the clouds, and most nights they saw nothing but darkness when they followed the flicker of ashes drift into the sky. They blinked at his next words, seeing both the humor and the not so humorous side of his remark. Amaris was well versed in self-deprecation, though didn't often find that kind of wit to be particularly funny. "Everyone could use a bit of sound and trouble," they stated, shrugging half-heartedly.

The hybrid smiled at Pash's question. "Yes and no. My family did not live in town. It was not exactly the best place to raise children then." Another shrug. It was common knowledge that Scalvoris had not always been run by a council, and the implication was clear in their choice of words. If not, well...that would be a discussion for when they worked. "I'm a student. I'm by no means knowledgeable enough to be teaching others. Quite some time before I can be doing that."

A small group had begun to cluster around the pair as they walked, holding their own conversations or remaining silent and solemn. Amaris had not seen the entirety of the damage, but what they had seen had varied. They supposed the effects of the tornado were much more widespread than they initially thought. It would definitely be useful to have a centralized area of command for them all to report back to and have a good record of the damage to the town.

"And, here we are: Central Square."

[Pash Raj'oriq]

Instead of vendor stands in the square, simple tables had been set up. There were four tables, each with a little canopy and a somewhat stressed or tired looking official standing behind them. They were organizing those who’d come to volunteer, and apparently they hadn’t expected the turnout. There was a table for those who wanted to clear away rubble; a table for those who wanted to help look for townsfolk who were lost, trapped, or separated; there was a table for those who wanted to help build shelters to serve as temporary housing until buildings could be repaired; and there was a table for those who could offer money or supplies.

Each one had a queue, though admittedly the one offering actual supplies was the shortest. Every other line had a few people standing in it, waiting to be given a few supplies and sent off in a specific direction.

Pash had smiled at Amaris’ comment about being a student, “I think it best folks make a point t’ always be learnin’, but I also think that teachin’ doesn’t have t’ be put on a pedistal. I’m sure you’ve already got a bit o’ knowledge ‘bout important things, no’ just words on a page that someone says has to be read to know somethin’. Don’ undersell y’self.”

The seafaring minstrel liked to observe and study, but not in a scientific or even academic sort of way. He didn’t feel that such things made him at all less than, and he possessed a somewhat different sort of confidence when it came to what he knew and whether or not he could share it with others. Open-minded and open-ended, the Biqaj had considered teaching music once or twice like his grandfather had taught him, but he still felt the need to practice more and experience more and … well, more … even though he knew that it didn’t matter, that often one could learn just as much in a lesson taught than a lesson learned. In that respect, he understood exactly what Amaris said, and while he sometimes struggled with the same thoughts, he also felt strongly about their futility.

“Thank’ee for bein’ my guide, Amaris. I’ve met some good people here’n Scalvoris,” Pash offered a grateful smile before letting his tidepool gaze explore his options,

“I think I’ll help build some shelters, m’self. I grew up buildin’ boats, so maybe I can make that work for me.” He laughed, reaching up to run a calloused hand through his sun-kissed hair, “What ‘bout yourself? Care t’ stick t’gether?”

[Amaris]

The bevy of ways one could be of assistance were well presented, and seemingly popular. Such a turnout was not what Amaris had expected and the hybrid found that they attempted to shrink down a bit more. Not of much use to them in the moment, it would seem, they soon had confused individuals approaching with what looked like confusion and a sense that the hybrid could somehow unconfuse them. This was promptly dashed away as Amaris shook their head and avoided eye contact.

Pash’s philosophy on learning and teaching was only partially digested by the mixed blood as they considered their options. It was only when Pash spoke once more about what he intended to do that they responded.

"I’m not much use with building things, but maybe I could as a spotter of some sort?" Did anyone ever need spotters for anything? Or was that just climbing? Either way, they would likely end up injuring themselves and those around them if they’d actually participated in doing any sort of lifting. As athletic as their figure might seem, they were certainly the opposite.

[Pash Raj'oriq]

“Spotter, eh? Sure.” Pash chuckled, not bothering to offer an alternative suggestion, not sure if that was at all useful for construction. Instead, he remembered his childhood in the shipyard spent fetching tools and nails, running errands, and making marks for measurement. Those things, indeed, had been useful. So, if Amaris wasn’t one for physical pursuits or enduring strength, the seafaring minstrel was confident she could still make herself useful when it came to assisting with the repair of buildings.

The tired looking man at the table looked Pash over with a somewhat ambivalent sort of gaze, noting the Biqaj at least looked well built, muscles shaped by his youth and by necessity as a sailor, if not maintained by a hint of personal vanity. He shrugged and picked up a book and a pencil with which to record volunteers with—there were very few names on the page—before he asked Pash his name, his residence, and reminded him that he was a volunteer. He asked if the salty bard had experience at all in building things, and he indicated that, yes, he’d grown up in Ne’Haer and was the son of a shipwright, having apprenticed until he was eighteen. Now, it’d been more than a handful of arcs since he’d been a shipwright, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten all the hard work and sweat he’d put into that type of job.

There was no coin in this, the other man insisted, perhaps because he’d had so many show up expecting to be paid. The Biqaj indicated he was aware and that it wasn’t an issue, attempting to gloss over that he lived on a boat and not in Scalvoris Town proper through conversation. The volunteer coordinator was so thrilled that Pash didn’t beg for coin that he cared little for the man’s heritage or where he slept, handing him a map and circling in red chalk where he was to be working,

“Oh, an’ m’ friend here an’ I’d like to stick t’gether if y’ don’ mind.” Pash hooked a calloused thumb in the direction of his taller guide. The man looked Amaris up and down and rolled his shoulders,

“Sure. Don’t see why not. I still gotta write you down, though, okay? Name? Residence? Skills?” He may have sounded a little excited, given their appearance, eager to have some real muscle involved. While he didn’t quite deflate when Amaris finally did answer his questions of skill, he didn’t look thrilled, either. He handed them a map anyway, pointing them both in the general direction they were to exit the square,

“You’ll see your repair site that way. There’ll be a foreman who’ll give you tools and instructions. Thank you for serving Scalvoris Town today!”