07.16.3013: Not All That Different
Summary: Following a disagreement, Rieke and Demos meet and discuss philosophy
Date: 16th July 2013
Related: None
Rieke Demos 

The Bazaar
Stepping off the lift and into the Blue District is almost like stepping into another world. The senses are assaulted with a complexity of scents, sights, and sounds. Light that abscribes to the same hours as the rest of the Ring glows from insets in the dark metal ceilings. The Bazaar is one of the central hubs of the Blue District — also known as the Entertainment District. There are dozens of shops and emporiums that clutter around the outer edge of the bazaar with stands and kiosks making organized chaos of its center. There are some shops that have been there for generations, including the famous — if not a little infamous — Gregor's Strange Meats. This is the place to find the weird and the bizarre. It is known that the Blue District hosts the impoverish and underworldly inhabitants of the Ring, making it not only the most mystifying but also the most dangerous district on the space station. There are several corridor-like thoroughfares that branch off from the Bazaar, leading deeper into the District.

The Bazaar is as ever, always active. Time of day being towards irrelevant on the Ring simply due to its own rotations and those individuals that tend to keep their own time in relation to the Moons. Thus, its never uncommon to find someone out and about in most areas of the Bazaar, good or ill. In a common area betwixt a synth-textile carpet merchant and a bauble/gem dealer with fine crystal wear that has small holo-displays, there is a pub and grill sort of affair. Closer to mead and something food like on a stick that people can buy and eat quickly, tossing the sticks away. Though, in this small establishment, there is a portion of seats set up cafe style that spill out into the bazaar itself.

At this odd hour, one might notice there is something like rowing on one of the screen. Only like as it is more somewhere between a gondola and a river-raft like course. There are only two people watching it, the other sparse patrons not paying any attention. One being Demos, the other being a shifted-eyed squirrel of a man. As it happens, nothing stands out until the race finishes and the two enter an exchange. Finally their voices raise. "Just watch, it was an infraction, the judges will review the race and it will be rerun," says Demos loudly. The other man says, "Our bet wasn't on who will win the race, it was on who will cross the line first. The cheater did that, pay up." The squirrely-man, of slick, light colored hair, uses two hands to push his hair down while he looks about to see what sort of attention this might be drawing and it seems he hopes none.

Rieke's ear perks up at the mention of a bet as she happens to be passing through. In reality, she wants nothing to do with the pub-and-grub scene to begin with, but she makes a B-line for the two nonetheless, sidling up and raising her eyebrows at the two of them, "Is there some trouble, gentlemen?" She looks between the two, doing her best to make sure she doesn't look partial to one or the other. She's not making any attempt to be intimidating, though she does make to sound as formal as she might, as if to imply nonexistent authority.

Demos clearly doesn't care who he tells, thinking he has the right of way in this matter. "Yes, there is, my lady " he says, favoring towards caution but using denomination as he might to any citizen he doesn't recognize rather, "We had a friendly wager on who would win the race, there has been an infraction and its under review. His punter will be disqualified and mine shall win."

The other man gives a more measuring gaze of the woman, rubs his slightly stubbled chin with his hand, then looks to see who else is about. Making his own determination in the moment he says, "Look her, Missy, doesn't concern you, but we bet on who would cross the finish line first. This dolt assumed that meant win the race, I could care less who wins, wasn't the bet. He just needs to pay up and I'll be on my way." He holds his hands up, palms out, like he doesn't want trouble, just what he is owed.

Rieke pauses a moment to think about this, then glances up at the screen to make sure she's on the same page as to what sport the lot of them are talking about, then raises a finger, "I suppose you mean that you were betting on who would cross the finish line first in this particular race, else we'd need some history. If that's the case, if your bet is on a disqualified…punter, his participation in the race is nullified, is it not? And if he did not participate in the race, then your bet is quite ill-placed…is it not?" She furrows her brow and looks down for a moment after she gets all that out, as if double-checking her own logic, then nods once, firmly, to herself.

Feeling justified Demos, smiles warmly to the woman, "My thanks, yes, that is precisely the point." He relaxes slightly where he had stood up from his vantage of the race.

The slick little man shrugs at the interpretation. "It was stated, whoever crosses the finish line. No history needed, I have no idea what this nerd is even watching, some foppish twits with fancy hats and long boats. They're probably singing love songs to each other for all I know while they paddle through that city," he points to the screen, its showing some scenic view of the canal that they raced in against the city, commentators explaining the rules, talking about season stats for the punters, boring stuff to anyone not a fan of punting. "Like, I see two guys fighting in the street, I bet on who's gonna buckle first, doesn't matter if one guy kicks the other in the giblets or not and the two agreed to a fair fight, the other one buckled first. The way I see it, I won." Spoken like a man arguing implied technicality over winning and loosing of an even. "I don't want no trouble, I'll be watching for you Scholar, keep your money you little cheat." He starts to back away from all this, least it draw the attention he doesn't want, not realizing it might already have perhaps.

Rieke just raises her eyebrows for the duration of the little squirrelly man's tirade and follows him with her eyes as he walks away. Eventually, she turns her attention back to Demos and keeps her eyebrows up, "Now what were you doing betting with a man like that? A Scholar should know better, I would think. My mother might have been the more moraled one of the family, but my father, a Scholar himself, I might add, would have known better than -that-. Why would a Scholar be wanting for money?"

Smiling at first, Demos finds the smile fading as the woman returns to him to ponder his wagers. "I … what … no," he says, trying to place words to the thoughts quickly forming and passing in his own mind. "No need for money, simple principle. I've been watching the tournament here, only place to find it really, everyone else is showing the bigger sports. The man came up, started asking about it, friendly wager. I was taken up by the idea of the wager and wondering how much the other man knew. I thought he might be a fellow fan, there might be some rousing debate, some shared drinks. Not everyone knows what punting is, let alone cares to watch it. Just, he did ask a lot of questions about …" His eyes sink a little, perhaps now only realizing how easy of a target he might of been, especially with the technical spin the little man tried to put on the bet. As his eyes come up to the tall woman, he says, "But it was just that right, simple bet, he won't know where to find me?" Spoken as someone who has no clue about that sort of stuff.

Rieke purses her lips for a moment in thought, then flicks a couple of fingers in dismissal, "Eh, just tell him I'm Sir-such-and-such with a keen interest in law enforcement and any number of cameras have seen the interaction, so his best interest would be in leaving you alone. Failing that, I'll just keep an ear out for any mysterious disappearances of people named…what was it again?" She lifts her eyebrows momentarily, then looks back to the screen, "I can't say I know much about punting…it's a far cry from my sport, but ultimately every sport comes down to pretty well the same basic characteristics, I suppose? You're lucky I care about sports, else his cleaving to technicalities might not have bothered me so."

"Of course," he says turning it all over, trying to keep it in line. "Demos … Osteros, of Detritus. That is who has the pleasure of your interest in sports. That was, I tell him I'm a knight, or you are a knight … my lady? I mean, I think he must have known me somehow, knowing I'm a Scholar." Then again, with all the tool bits on his belt that are definitely not designed to make repairs on the Ring itself, and a few technical bits for analysis and such tucked around his person, he probably paints himself close to a Scholar for anyone with a keen eye. "Perhaps it is a lesson learned, insistence on the literal meaning of what is said is probably a lawyer or a gambler. I owe you my thanks good lady, thank you for being in the right place and the right time, and thank you for caring so much about sports. Might I ask what sport it is that is yours?"

"I run. Or rather, I ran. Track of any sort, I took well to it, and I find that it seems to be to be the simplest and the purest of sporting pursuits. Of course, I dabble elsewhere; martial arts, mostly, but that is only partially for sport." She dips into a slight, perfunctory bow, despite a higher station, and smiles politely, "I am Sir Rieke Castillo, and I would ask that you pretend not that I am a knight, as that much is true, but that my calling is less military and more directed toward justice and peacekeeping. I'm sure it won't be too hard a guise to sell. I suspect it would be easier than putting on intimidating airs of your own—no offense intended, Mr. Osteros."

Affording a grin, Demos returns, "None taking good lady." As if sticking to the title he started with, not adopting a sir on there in any such context as she requested he pretend she is no knight. "I have about as much interest in being intimidating as a fish would in flying I suppose." Despite some fish being capable of, well, sort of flying/gliding/etc. He inclines his head though, as if her reference to being a knight sort of dictates it from him. Though he doesn't do it because he 'has' to, in a way, it is a humble thanks just the same. "As a knight you are no longer allowed to compete in your chosen sport, or is it that other sports would be required of you, should you wish to compete? Only a curiosity, I am only interested in watching punting, and a few other sports, I have no desire to be competitive, but find it interesting, bordering captivating, that others do sometimes have such drive, such passion."

Rieke quirks up one eyebrow and laughs at the man in front of her, albeit only briefly, "Oh no, nothing like that. It's more that there are more important things to be concerned with, both as a knight and in this particular point in time. Needs be I focus on my training…and on addressing the Hostile problem. And I suppose by the time it's done with, I'll be dead or too old to consider going back into the sport." She puts on a cheerful little grin for a moment, then shrugs, "It's not a bad thing, though. I'm quite happy to be in the position I'm in; where I can truly help with the military effort."

"A similarly fascinating pursuit, Si…" begins Demos, almost affording the title she has earned, catching himself between her laughing at him and affording a cheerful grin to him, neither of which seem to put him out in the least. "Rieke … I have sometimes thought if I could give such service. Some of us recall old stories, or think of our friends and family we would like to protect and it seems valiant enough. That is just, and yet, I look at what all I would give up should I have chosen to follow that pursuit. From working with stone, to the study of the moons, to simply having opportunity to meet individuals, interesting, shady, even those that are good. Not to mention the chance of failure in such a pursuit and what price that means to pay." Pausing, his own smile fading as he looks to the ground a moment, then a warmer smile as he returns to look at her, "I guess, what I'm saying is, I am glad there are those like you, happy in your position who truly wish to help us all."

Rieke smirks a bit lopsidedly, seemingly uncertain of what to say for a moment before glancing off to the side and wrinkling up her nose, "Well, don't make it sound like it's the best thing in the world. I am no paragon of virtue like we knights are meant to be, and my father, like I said, was a Scholar himself, I simply decided to follow my mother rather than him. A small adjustment and I'd be writing and lecturing a great deal more than fighting and training. There are certainly wrong choices and wrong paths in life, but don't go and make mine sound too glorious. It's just who I am. What brought you to work with stone? I'm sure it's something close to your heart, no?"

"My apologies, good Rieke," says Demos softly, "I did not mean to imply by guilt as a knight, you are therefor good. There are many such knights to which that would not apply. I meant by virtue of helping me, to me you are good." Then he might be digging a deeper whole, best to switch over to the question he turned at him. A pause then quickly, he begins talking about himself. "As for stone, it was my parents, they were stone masons in Detritus. It was the relationship I formed with stone at a young age, working the natural mines, digging in quarries, shaping stone. And the Light. If not for both, I imagine my path wouldn't have lead all the way to the Academ and beyond. I am yet unsure if the cause of the love I have for terra is my own, or simply random, genetic predisposition, or if that even implies some greater concept such as religion. Something of an enigmatic struggle, but I am at ease with that idea so long as I may continue to express myself through stone."

Rieke puts on that brief grin once more and spreads her hands, palms-up, "See? You followed your parent just as I did. Take no shame in your place in the world, my friend. There are plenty of Scholars who would rather think than work with their hands, and plenty more who would do neither." She takes a glance around, then, and asks Demos, "Do you sculpt, or are you a more practical man?"

There is a nod of his head, both at the idea of those scholars who simply think rather than use their hands, who those that do neither, as well as the idea that he is a sculptor. More like nodding proceeds throughout her choice of words. Demos responds in confirm the same, "I do sculpt as well. At best, I would say amateur. I've a few public works, a few small pieces in private collections, but I do not regularly show or seek out showings. Someplace in sculpting, it is that it ties into the works I'm commissioned to do as a practicing journeymen. I have a stone garden that I'm finishing near one of the Light Temples of Detritus, then I will be moving into something more serious, an inspection, detailing, and upgrade of the walls of Detritus itself. I don't imagine that will proceed without the inclusion of some sculpting. Stonework would not be complete without some signature of the mason himself, mine being included towards light sculptures." Simply by way of explaining. "Perhaps you would like to see this some day. Detritus is also a good place to simply run."

Rieke raises her eyebrows all over again and shakes her head a couple of times, "You have all that and you call yourself an amateur? -I- am an amateur—I at least pay lip service to the idea of writing something some day, mostly at the wish of my father, but likely none of it shall ever see the light of day, nor would anyone wish to publish it, were it to. Having your work on public display and having a great many people put their lives in your hands hardly qualifies you to use the word 'amateur,' my friend." That said, she sticks her hands in her pockets and puts on a sheepish smile, "Anyway, congratulations on all of that. Maybe one day I'll swing by, but I'm a bit busy around the Ring most of the time. Quite busy, actually. I have a bit of tension with some of those training the Orelle troops here; it seems they prefer brute strength over all else."

"Oh no, there are a few better by far, many more practiced, than myself," defends Demos, bordering towards humble. Just that he felt is must be said, he shifts his weight from right foot to left a moment, folding his hands over his chest. "I am sorry to hear of this tension, but if what you've shown me today is anything like you bring to the training of troops, then I am glad there is some balance in their training." He cannot say for certain the differences between brute strength versus finesse versus tactics and intelligence and the like, but he can appreciate a rhetoric of opinions as beneficial to a discussion. Thus, he can stretch it to imagine there is no one good focus for training of troops. "I'll not venture to lay praise over such diversity, however." A slight pause, "I think perhaps you were meant to show me this in myself just now. Much as I would not call myself anything beyond an amateur artist or a journeyman stone mason, I cannot stretch anyone elses imagination the same. Perhaps I could give enough praise to say thinks for the awakening of enlightenment within me, good Rieke?"

Rieke raises her hands a bit, as if to pronounce herself innocent and puts back on that polite smile she started with, "You can say whatever you wish. There's a complexity in the way you speak that gives me the idea that there's a reason I'm focused more in body and you more in mind, so I'll take your words as you offer them, Scholar." That being said, she dips her head a bit, "Now, if you'll pardon me, I need to be taking my leave before I have you rethink too much else. You should trust in your convictions, mason, else your conviction fail at a key time in favor of weighing all possibilities." If she's not stopped, she'll turn heel and head off the way she was going before.

Chuckling at that thought, Demos returns, "I put my trust in stone, it rarely fails and only when it is flawed, as for this man …" He leaves it up to philosophical debate, which is far from his real work and merely pursuant interests at best. "Good day to you Rieke, thank you for the pleasure." Of the acquaintance, it is left open, she is turning heel and heading away, he's not stopping her other than to offer a polite nod of his head, followed by a more friendly wave of his hand.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License