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The secondboy of the Kavensei merchant family strolled along plank-bridge streets, winding his way down with a headful of rumor. Tall and lean, his long legs set a pace that ate distance. Especially here in his home city of Yera. One's home ground gave a certain ease of movement, and Viltre knew his town almost literally top-to-bottom. With friends low and high, there was always someone to visit, have a chat on the way to finish an errand. When he couldn't spend some time with his adorable lil' siblings, of course. Alas, three were off elsewhere, which left him with more time in his pockets than he was used to. Good opportunity to expand his knowledge. What little he didn't know of Yera, he was in the process of learning.

A couple names, for instance. Inaza and Kamal, respectively contact and infamous smuggler. And odd mentions of more minor details. Viltre had made it known amongst his friends that he could be generous for information. By that same token, little details fetched more than sketchy recollections, especially once they began matching up. Despite what some few thought of his lifestyle choices, the tall redhead ran the books for his family. One number wrong in the neat little rows that kept his clan afloat could easily spring a series of cascating screwups. And that meant details were important, even just for context. That Inaza was a rough-and-ready sort, often with shortblades. That he favored his ankles after too much rich mead. That he often turned up around shifter fortune-tellers, but never as a lover.

Nothing solid. Nothing but disparate rumor and antecodes. Just little observations of the man, collected and written down one at a time to make a clearer one. Today Viltre had heard the name in town, so he was going down to the ground to pay Inaza's caravan a visit. Perhaps to find the man, perhaps to listen for his name personally, perhaps to meet a shifter mystic and have his fortune told. Who knew? The wagons, merry green eyes noted, bore thieves' marks in innocuous spots, as many did.
Gotta start somewhere...

Cynical as the young man had good reason to be, he at least paid lip.service to the spirits of the earth. To him, the arrangement wasn't so different from his own network of friends. The spirits had helped him, so he took the time to help them, where possible. Not that it was often possible beyond showing respect for the trees and what creatures shared them with his folk. Hearing a forigner ply their favors was at once gratifying and confusing. ...Then again, Viltre's was not a theologian's education. What did he know?

A good deal more than he'd feared about his prospective friend, at least.The inner humility lasted right up until nearing the tent itself. A hundred details flashed through the redhead's brain, far too many matching up with the rumours of this Inaza fellow. From the way he held himself to the shifting movement of his eyes, never locking on any one thing for long, down to keeping his weight moving from ankle to ankle and the wineskin nearby. From his own movement in the crowd, young Kavensei let elements of curiosity creep into his mask, the better to excuse his assessing of the fortune-teller. Neither she nor the older man missed much, it seemed. And part of her show was magic. Magic wasn't trustworthy, even on your side. Just a little bit alove, a little too wild to be reliable.

Care was wise here, especially around their caravan. So after checking a couple trinkets and chatting a merchant up the going rate of woolens, Viltre finally ambled towards the draped table. A warm smile dancing across eyes and mouth, he stopped by the chair, the picture of a credulous merchant's son.
"Y'know, I've never heard someone offer to tell that sort of thing. Normally I like the surprise, but what's a little peeking at the future gonna hurt?"

A nod, a flash of good teeth in gratitude, and the leaf man sat. He was here for curiosity, and little pranks often proved surprisingly good at showing him things about people. ...Even if sometimes those things had him take to his heels for a bit. Thus, the twinkle of mischief around the edges vanished while Sarnai plied her craft. The mask allowed some worry and a measure of Viltre's genuine concern to slip in. "Actually, yeah. There's something that's been buggin' me a little. My sisters are getting matched up, and I'm not sure about the guys chosen. Mother says they'd be well-off, sure, but my gut says one or two won't keep 'em smilin'. Could the spirits tell me if I'm wrong?" He'd done his research once their names had crossed Merle's desk. She'd selected unanimously unpleasant suitors for his full sisters, all unique in their own special brands of offputting. Everything he was showing was in some measure true.

Also, for all he knew, the fortune teller shtick was genuine, instead of the grift one so often found. Couldn't hurt to be sure, of talents or of intentions. "Ain't the sorta surprise I'd wanna wait for, you're right. Ain't the cleverest guy around, y'know? I might've missed somethin'." A bare few years back, young Kavensei might have failed before they began to play. But he'd only got better at his masks with experience. Better to drape himself in earnestness, drawing from his real concerns these days. Even if she was a fake, this girl had sharp eyes.

Listening. Weighing. Watching. Things that any cold-reader learned as a mainstay in their trade. Viltre was not an arrogant man. In some measure proud, yes, as any craftsman might be in a honed skill or use of a tool. But simple probability told him that his betters roamed abroad, in every skill he'd learned. For example, the grizzled gent leaning nearly against the tentpole was quite likely his superior at violence. The Shifter man, probably Inaza, always had one hand close to a blade-hilt, no matter what he was doing. Wasn't as good at keeping innocuous, if you knew what to look for. Presence or barely-veiled intent, either; not with all that greed about the eyes and mouth.

Keeping the texture of a listening silence to mind, he did as he was bid. "Yes, Miss." The cards cut smoothly, no fumbling. Gave her a chance to note his fingers, as well. Ink-stained and careful with the stiff parchment deck. It was something very like a game, Viltre supposed. How much would she see, were she not really looking into the future as advertised? The smuggler would make for a nice friend, but perhaps a fortune teller could make a better. If he figured out how the thug it into her business, especially.

Warm, if anxious eyes met her own. Peripheral vision was enough to catch the easy movement to the seer's back, even if the dark of her tent's interior masked most of it. Rather than get into a staring contest, Viltre let his gaze drift back to the cards and movement of her fingers. Concentrated scrutiny left him little room to do much else at the moment. Besides, staring into someone's eyes was an intimate thing, after a while, and he was merely a worried scribe, wasn't he? Some gullible brother from money.

A deep breath, as one might before something new, and out smoothly. The low voice trembled near the middle. "Will my sister's marriages be happy ones, or should I beg Mother find them better matches?" Here was the test. Or one of them, anyway. Was the Shifter really a spirit-talker? Or a fairly skilled grifter? Even the correct answer didn't prove it, but it left room to consider. Once the words were in the air, he brought green eyes back up, earnest and open.

Something Viltre had come to appreciate was artistry, which came in many different forms. Music, tall tales, playing a crowd with oratory, or even simple salesmanship, all of these counted. This particular service had that same grace to it, and that, more than the ill-fit of sentiment to known fact, tipped the balance into charade.A show, then. Pity. A little disappointing, but not unexpected. And more importantly, reliably useful. Folk that looked too far ahead forgot the details.

If Sarnai had been expecting relief, she didn't find it. Anxiousess had given way to discomfort, brow furrowed and a hand rubbing at the back of the neck. "...Yeah, that's a loophole in the question, I guess. I probably shouldn't tie the the question so tight; I hear spirits ain't much for being bound at all." In the crowd, someone got up from his snack and meandered around to the side. Inaza's side. Coincidentally, the large fellow wound up around him, so it was to Inaza he directed his query. Something about directions, as the swordsman clearly wasn't busy.
"Okay. And... the other card?"

While he waited for conversation outside, however forced, Viltre kept up his game. Here, for example, felt a good time to let something unedited through the mask. Bafflement at the notion of deliberately wasted value. "...What, really? But they're payin' for advice. Why wouldn't they wanna hear all of it, even if it ain't what they hoped to hear?" A low, disbelieving chuckle rolled forth. "Sorry. Guess that's Dad talkin'. He'd box my ears for even thinkin' of wastin' money."

Luck? Or good at recasting her hand? No, truth might be somewhere between. Course corrected to land close to the mark, possibly due to continued worry-display. Either way... A whoosh of air gusted from the tall man's chest, putting his back to the chair. His whole posture sagged with relief. "You've got no idea how much of a relief that is. Not just for my sisters (tho' that's welcome news), but for me: dealing with Mother can be like rolling around in razorgrass if she thinks you want somethin'.

It might've taken longer, but- ...Ah. The casual conversation outside had turned into a more involved matter, something about blade comparison. It had the hallmarks of one of those cheerfully heated debates, from what the leaf secondboy could catch. "Guess the question's what I owe ya. That's some serious craft at reading, cards or people. Don't suppose it extends to transportation, does it?" Better to ask now. There might not be another chance...

Learning to blush had been among the more difficult tricks. You had to think of something embarrassing very clearly, and that required a moment's spacing out. Perfect for this situation, as it happened. When she turned away to examine her home (or her engaged partner, one of those), the scribe zoned out, thought back. He'd made a mistake on a job about a year back, caught him a caning from Merle. The punishment didn't matter, only hammered in that he'd neglected to check the book's contents. Right place and right name did not mean it was the real deal. Red crept up from his neck and into his cheeks just dwelling on it, and came to full force as Sarnai looked back. She'd returned to an eyeful of flustered merchant. "Wha- travel in your-! I-I think you've got the wrong idea Miss."

Again, relief as she continued, the blood draining away from his cheeks by degrees. A broad grin filled familiar creases on the redhead's lean face. It was a chirpy one, one that had long had a place on Viltre's mask. "Oh no, not me. I'm a city boy, sad to say. Might come out second-best arguin' with a poscuta that happens to tag along! No no, just little things. Messages, trinkets, like to that." Two fingers slapped his forehead as something appeared to occur in his head. A card of his own flicked from his sash, between two fingers. This and a few silver coins were laid on the table. "But where're my manners? Viltre, at your service. Didn't catch your name?"