12.22.3013: Mr. No-Name
Summary: Klaudea runs into the huge man again, but still doesn't know who he is.
Date: 27 October, 2013
Related: None
Jor Klaudea 

Commercial District Volkan, The Crescent
High above the stories of industry and industrial marketplace is a more commercial marketplace. This secondary tower is directly connected to the Blackspyre more than a mile away by an elevated roadway running high above the factories below. From this vantage point, shops and eateries overlook the city below, the spiderweb of glowing lava in its transparent tubes standing out starkly against the dark gray stone of the factories and towers. Above the multi-tier mall, another fifty stories of residential units rise into the haze-darkened skies.
22 December, 3013

He'd been putting some time in on personal maintenance, a not unreasonable thing given that matters are progressing more… aggressively in terms of the war effort. That, plus a few other revelations and events, have made it such that Jor Aeldan found himself forced to kick his own ass at exercise, to the point that anyone looking at him can see he's visible tired. Arms, legs, shoulders, chest, virtually every major muscle category in his person aches from the strain that was put on them over the past two hours. Some might even be wondering how he can walk, after such a session of heavy exercise, but if there's one thing that people don't know, it's that being in such a state was nearly his m.o. for fifteen years.

To that end, clutching his gym bag, being freshly cleaned up and changed in the backup set he had brought, the ex-Sir Aeldan is fully intent on getting back to his pad to recuperate, taking the quickest route from that place of exercise to the Waygate that will take him back home, threading through pedestrians and putting on a good show of not staggering.

Not yet to put herself through a workout, Klaudea had done some errands first thing, and procured a pre-exercise drink, although it was more for hydration than the fancy additives. After having to dodge a couple of elbows and the bustle of impatient walkers, she settled cross legged on a bench, so that even her legs are drawn ouf ot the way. Her duffle next to her, she sips her drink through the straw, and then gives a shrug. Reaching into her duffle, she pulls out her tablet, settles it on her lap, and pulls up a holo.
For anyone who has the knowledge, the holo is of a basic detonator, labeling the wires and components and purposes. As Klaudea's finger move along the holo, different parts separate and reattach, with ano occasional flashing of light (red, which can't be good) at times.

In truth, what Jor wanted right now was to be sitting at home, digesting the past twenty-four hours - and more importantly, figuring out how he felt about all of it to the point of acting upon it. He was planning on passing by the bench without a word or even a glance, but it was the sudden realization, after he had passed by, that he did see who he thought he saw. Worse, what she was looking at caught his attention.

Now, granted Jor is by no means savvy in the ways of gadgetry and electronics, but he /has/ worked with the Watch for well over five years. Some of it has fuzzed due to the fifteen year intermission, but he can recall enough to the point he should wonder why. But first and foremost, there's one thing he has in his mind: observation. Rather than confront you on the subject, he changes course, keeping an eye on that holo and its owner, as the crowd permits, while detouring to grab something of his own to drink.

From the looks of it, and the different ones she brings up, the squire is trying to learn how to disconnect the timers without the red light coming on. After scrolling through a few, she pops the 3D out of existence, and then begins to read, shifting so that she can prop her tablet on her knees. The cup gives a gurgling sound, distracting her attention from reading. She looks into it, after a momentary frown she shrugs, and puts it aside. It seems for the moment workout is forgotten as she continues to read.

It's when that clear distraction to your attention comes that he makes his move. More precisely, after your eyes divert to your gurgling cup. Fairly certain that you won't be interrupted again, the tired man, drink held firmly in his own hand, opts for making himself known. His preference would naturally be to manifest behind you, watching over your shoulder in silence, his eyes as intent on what you're studying as they are on you yourself. There's a stern silence in the features of Jor Aeldan as he endeavors to effectively sneak up on you from behind, using the crowd partly to his advantage in masking his approach. He doesn't speak to introduce himself, merely… waits, when he reaches that bench. Not a word escapes his lips, only a frown, internally counting just how long before you notice he's there.

One hand covers the tablet, and pulls it up to her chest as Klaudea looks behind her. The title before she covered it had something to do with identifying kinds of bombs. Setting a hand on the bench beside her so she can lean to look up, her face's friendly expression seems to freeze slightly. She looks over the man who frowns down at her, "you look like all Six used you for a punching bag. Have you heard of sleeping?" she asks, keeping her voice conversational before she turns back to her tablet, settling it down in her lap again. A flick of the finger moves it to the next page.

"I've heard of worse things than not sleeping," that bass voice replies, still frowning at you and making no apology whatsoever about reading over your shoulder. Exactly what Jor means by those words, though, he doesn't clarify, eyes flicking from tablet to you, but his tone carries a hint of censure all the same. There is some fatigue in his speech, it's true, but despite the fact he's got an obvious, weary air, his gaze still manages a degree of sharpness as he studies you and your tablet intently. A moment of relative silence commences as he ingests more liquid, still not really deviating his attention.

"Somehow, I do no doubt that statement," Klaudea says. She doesn't make any real effort to cover up what she's reading, now. Nor does she do anything to make it easier for the man to 'spy' on her. She does shift once to make herself more comfortable as she reads. The stiffness that came to her shoulders when she first acknowledged the man's presence slumps to a more comfortable posture, though it's not exactly relaxed. She's not ignoring that he's there, and she's not letting her guard down, she's just not staying tense about it.

"I would think that rather than sitting around with a tablet studying electronics -" there's a distinct pause there as he studies you meaningfully - "you would be better served demonstrating something approaching contrition to Sir Thalo. Like shackling yourself to his armor, for example. At least that way he can be sure you'll be exactly where you should be when he needs to come find you, and his gear will be well maintained at the same time."

"You would think that, I'm sure," Klaudea replies. "Because you don't know where Sir Thalo is, or, frankly, what Sir Thalo is expecting in the way of 'contrition'." She shifts to the next page. "If Sir Thalo needs me, he can find me with minimal effort. That I have taken steps to be sure of." This time she does not pull up the diagram in 3D to study it, but she twirls it on the page in front of her. "No… " she gives a frown, and then skims to the next page, the next diagram, and the next diagram, going until she finds one that shows more than one bomb linked to a central timing system. She stops, then zooms in on the central hub of wires and the labels.

"No," he admits, "I don't. But I do know that a knight who's made some name for himself would doubtless want to make sure that his squire doesn't damage his reputation, both in what she does, and in what she learns under him. Discharging you would be quite a blow to you both, but more to you I imagine; you weren't suitable for him, but at the same time it looks bad on him for not making sure you were fulfilling your own duties. Have you given any thought about what effect it's had on him, in everyone else's eyes?"

A distinct pause fills the air after that silence, but he doesn't give an opportunity to get more than a word or two in, before: "Put the fucking tablet away, squire," he says in a more clipped tone. "It's fucking rude. If I was him, you wouldn't have even that to dry your fucking tears on. Your days would be a constant exercise in boredom and frustration, not sitting around studying anything other than how long it will take for your arms to stop hurting, from carrying my gear everywhere I went, even if I didn't need it."

The tablet doesn't get put away. "Mr. No-Name," Klaudea replies without even looking up. "The key word in your statements is 'if'. You are /not/ Sir Thalo. As you have not had the courtesy to ever give me your name, you leave me with the distinct impression that you don't have the rank to demand an accounting from me, and are relying on harsh words and an overt show of strength to get your way. I requested that Sir Urik take me on and train me to become a knight because I wished to protect others from just such treatment." She doesn't sound angry so much as matter of fact as she spins the diagram around excitedly, "I found it," she mutters, her attention returning inwards. If any rumors to the type of bomb that destroyed a factory have hit the underground, that diagram would be similar to the descriptions. A few quick taps and she marks the page before turning her tablet off. Her face is glowing with excitement as she tucks the tablet away in her duffle and picks it up, rising from the bench. "So good day, Mr. No-name, I have to be going. I have something of importance to report to Sir Thalo." Whatever it is about the diagram, it's galvanized the squire to forget about her workout.

An enigmatic… something appears on those disapproving lips. It may be a smile, but the warmth in it could freeze and shatter that tablet to nothing more than flecks of ice. His eyes make no pretense about their interest in it, even if he can't quite put the connection together of exactly what relevance there is in the matter, or why it has your attention so deeply. "There's a grain of truth in that, squire," he replies dryly, "but you still haven't asked yourself the obvious questions yet. Until you do, you get nothing from me about me, because it's obvious your mind's on something more important anyway. Plus, you could have found out anything you wanted on me, if you so much as bothered to look. But you didn't. Enjoy your attempts at restitution, squire, I'll be interested to find out if they work."

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