Log Date: 4/3/00 Log Cast: 'Sweet' Fanny Bright (Faanshi), Dr. Indiana Lyre (Lyre) Log Intro: In the world of Aether, Faanshi is a half-Sylvan, half-Varati healer of shudra caste. And Lyre Talespinner, the man she loves, is a rakish Mongrel bard. But who might these two oddly matched lovers be, born into Aether's sister world in a much later time? Picture if you will a young nurse whose dusky complexion comes not from the dark beauty of the Children of Fire, but rather from somewhere south of America's border... and a man just as rakish, just as charming, but whose talents lie in a decidedly different area than music -- but who has just as great a penchant for trouble.... ---------- Sweet Fanny Bright A dainty little thing, isn't she? Even despite the fact that she's relatively tall at 5'9". It's very hard _not_ to look dainty when you're wearing a nurse's uniform, white as sugar and pure as snow, after all. But then again, Fanny Bright would look sweet and dainty in anything she wore. Aside from the white nurse's dress and sensible shoes upon her feet and the white cap sitting upon the black curls pulled back from her pretty young face, she's got a blue sweater on to keep off the cold. From her head to her feet she looks the ideal of the girl next door -- except for the sheen of light gold to her complexion, suggesting something a bit more exotic in her blood than most girls next door. That skin tone makes her big green eyes stand out like jewels against her youthful face, and with those liquid innocent eyes, she meets the world with a mix of naivete and wisdom. Indiana Lyre Eyes as dark as the deep-tilled earth look out of a solidly-hewn face of a man in his late twenties. His sun-streaked brown hair is tied back with a bit of leather decorated with a few silver beads, curling just at the nape of his neck. His build is solid and whipcord lean, with broad shoulders and the tight form of one used to going with little food and much exercise. His skin is almost swarthy, tanned dark by hours in the sun; his teeth are straight, save for one crooked canine that seems more the victim of a fist than nature. His nose also bears the sign of brawls, with the distinctive bump of breakage. He moves with a natural grace, as if counting off the rhythm of a song in his mind and perpetually pacing the dance in his step. This man is dressed for adventure; practical pants, a sturdy cotton shirt and a battered leather jacket are his primary articles of clothing. A sturdy leather bag is slung across his shoulder; on one hip rides a whip, coiled into a loop. Of course, no outfit like this would be complete without a battered brown fedora riding low on his forehead. The public market district isn't exactly the most upscale part of the city -- but then again, when you're on a nurse's income, a girl can't exactly be picky about where she shops. Especially when she's only got so much time in between her shifts at the hospital. Quite distinctive in her snow-white nurse's uniform, that cap of hers setting off her black curls, young Fanny Bright hastens through the market. She's a girl with a mission, and that mission is the purchase of apples, chicken soup, and flour. As it's getting late, she moves swiftly, her big green eyes scanning the open-air booths and the occasional storefront for the first place where she might be able to pick up the items she has to buy. With a screeching of tires, a shiny black car rounds the corner far too quickly and abruptly slows down just long enough to open one of the back doors and push a limp-looking form out onto the street, while still moving at a good clip. Rubber burning in it's wake, the car speeds up and honks it's horn to clear the street, screeching out of sight. The figure pushed out of the car rolls and finally comes to a halt, battered and bruised. His hat rolls a few feet, pushed by the breeze, and stops right in front of Sweet Fanny Bright. Indiana lies prone on the street, eyes shut firmly against the light of the sky, scraped and battered as all get out. Just in time, Fanny manages to keep herself from getting slammed by that fast-passing vehicle, catching herself before trying to cross the street in the growing dark. But she has no time to get a better look at the black car as it roars off down the street. Instead, the man who's fallen practically at her feet seizes her attention. "Madre di Dios," she breathes in horror, throwing herself down to her knees by the prone form. The big basket in which she'd been planning on carrying her purchases tonight lands unheeded beside her, and she cries softly, "Senor? Senor, can you hear me?" Anxiously, she surveys the battered form, trying to size up exactly how he's injured before she tries to rouse and move him. A groan escape's the man's lips as he forces his eyes open. Gruffly he asks, "What hit me? Wait, don't tell me. It's better I don't know." He lifts a hand carefully to his mouth and dabs at the blood oozing from a split lip, wincing at the touch. A moment of this and his eyes focus enough to catch sight of the nurse hovering above him, and he grins rakishly, "Hello, sister. Help me up, will ya?" Indy starts to sit up, wincing a little bit from the working over his ribs took with that last batch of thugs, and looks around for his hat. Spying it, his eyes light up and he gets to his feet, starting toward it. As he bends to retrieve it, though, he lists precipitously to one side and has to put his hand out to catch himself. "Must've hit my head harder than I thought." "My name, senor, is not sister," the girl replies primly, even as she tries and fails to keep the battered fellow from getting up. "Senor, please, you should not --" Then she darts up herself, reaching the hat a beat behind its owner, just in time to try to keep him from falling to his knees again. Taking his hand, though she blushes as she does, the girl scolds, "You are _hurt_, senor, and you should not be moving so quickly! Come away from the street now, please!" The battered stranger seems to decide that sitting down is a good idea, chiefly because he's already on his way down to the street. He lowers himself gingerly onto the curb, dusting at his knees before absently rubbing the back of his head and the knot that is slowly forming there. Muttering something about damn-blasted vases, he slaps his fedora against his leg to get the dust off of it before looking admiringly up at Fanny. "I'll stay put if you will, sister. Have a seat." He dusts at the curb next to him with a hand and pats it invitingly. Somewhere under that layer of dust and scrapes and bruises, Fanny realizes, there's lurking a disturbingly handsome man. Although the coming of dusk and her own near-dusky complexion is making her blush rather difficult to see, the way the girl abruptly shyly ducks her gaze is quite apparent. "O-only if you will permit me to examine your wounds, senor," she blurts out, turning swiftly away just long enough to scoop up her basket. Then she turns back, flustered but still managing to look purposeful. "I am a nurse." Indiana Lyre gives those legs in those cute white stockings a little looking over, white teeth flashing in a tanned face as he says appreciatively, "I bet you're a good one, too. Don't sweat it, sister, I've had worse before." He rubs absently at his jaw, making sure it's still in working order, "But if it'll make you feel better, kid, go ahead." Since she'd planned to do her shopping on her way to the hospital, Fanny's got within that sizeable basket of hers her little nurse's bag, conveniently enough. She plucks this forth, producing a few small squares of gauze and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. This is done confidently enough; less assuredly does she settle down on the curb beside the stranger. Madre di Dios, but he is handsome. Fanny has to force herself to meet his hazel gaze squarely, reminding herself that she can hardly check the senor's eyes for signs of concussion if she is not looking at him. Holding up two fingers, she says, "Thank you, senor; how many fingers am I holding up?" She's trying for a crisp tone, but can't quite manage it; that soft voice of hers is reflecting concern and more than a little nervousness. Indy reaches up and lightly takes Fanny's hand within his own, fingering the two fingers she holds up with calloused hands and smiling lop-sidedly. "Feels like two. Am I close?" Hazel eyes twinkle with amusement, in oddly good humor for someone recently tossed out of a moving vehicle. Now hold _on_ a minute there; isn't that cheating, somehow? A tiny gasp escapes the young nurse, and it is with an effort that she manages to find enough breath to chide the fellow, "Senor... you are supposed to... count with your eyes, and not with your hands!" Flustered, Fanny pulls her hand free and attempts to distract herself by the business of inspecting the behatted stranger's scraped and bruised face with as much care as she can while not meeting those beguiling eyes. Dabbing a bit of alcohol upon a gauze square, she then swipes cautiously at his battered brow and then moves to try to get a look at where he's been struck on the back of his head. "I do not think you have a concussion, senor, but it is difficult to tell in this light. You should go to a hospital at once!" Wince. "Hey, that hurt." Another wince, and Indy gruffly mutters, "That hurt, too. And I'm not going to any hospital, I'm just a little banged up. It's nothing a little aspirin and a hot bath won't fix up." Hah. Maybe ten years ago, Mr. Tough Guy, but you're not the spring chicken you used to be. Goodness, but that lump back there looks worse than the split lip and the scrapes across his brow. Fanny bites her own lip, and then as gently as she can, goes about cleaning the blood away from that risen lump. "This will want a bandage," she points out, the Spanish -- or maybe Mexican -- accent strangely heightened by the lowering of her voice. For a moment or two she's busy fetching more things out of her little bag, cutting a new square of gauze to tape into place, but not tightly enough to put more than the barest pressure necessary upon the broken, swollen skin beneath the tousled sandy hair. And then she ventures timidly, "If you will not go to the hospital, senor, then you should go to the police. Those could not have been good men, the ones who threw you from the car." A rueful grin touches his lips as he looks aside at her, wincing once more no matter how delicate her touch. "Trust me, they weren't. But seeing as how they _were_ the police, I don't think going to the cops would be much help." Indy watches the little nurse tending him for a moment before saying in that same rough voice, "Say, thanks for patching me up." She really is a fetching little thing. Probably wasted in a neighborhood like this, but still...Cute as a button, and that accent's a killer. Coming back into better view, for she intends to try to clean up the stranger's battered face a bit more, Fanny instead goes very still as the unknown miscreants are identified. Oh, she's not _entirely_ naive -- you can't live in a neighborhood like this, after all, without hearing rumors about which of the cops are dirty and which ones can actually be trusted with their badges. But still, part of her continues to believe in the sanctity of the law and those men whose duty it is to uphold it. And to hear this stranger identifying policemen as having abused him sends a little chill of dread down her spine. Her hands pause in the middle of reaching again for his brow, her gaze now resting solidly upon his battered face -- still shy, but now wary and a little afraid. "It is my pleasure, senor, but... who... are you?" Indiana Lyre holds out a brown hand, scraped knuckles and all. "Dr. Indiana Lyre. Call me Indy. And you are?" The only funny thing about this is that he asks the last bit in nearly fluent Spanish, with a faintly European accent to his v's. His hazel eyes flash warmth at his petite rescuer, waiting for her answer, even as gunfire echoes in the distance. Well, that's Chicago in the 30s for you. "Indy," she repeats bemusedly, with more of an accent on the second syllable than the last. But between that offered hand, the easy smile, and the question delivered in Spanish, something suggests to her that perhaps she can trust this man. A hesitant smile blossoms across her face, and she closes her dainty fingers about the proffered hand, willing to shake it. Unthinkingly, almost eagerly, her reply is in Spanish as well. "My name is Fanny Bright. And por favor, Senor Indy... you are sure you're all right?" Anxious green eyes study him, looking for signs of injury aside from the beating his rugged features have suffered. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" "Sweet Fanny Bright...No, I'm all right. They didn't work me over too much. Just the usual, hand over the treasure, yadda yadda." He starts to get up, wincing a bit but relaxing as he straightens and offers his hand to help Fanny up. "Listen, kid, it's pretty late. You want I should walk you home, or wherever you're headed?" Indy settles his fedora onto his head, tugging the brim down until it looks just right, and smiles at the nurse, offering her his arm. She doesn't have the excuse of bruised muscles and aching ribs to explain her hesitance in rising, but still, Fanny's ascent to her feet is almost as slow as Lyre's is. Those big green eyes of hers remain focused upon the man's face even as she gathers up her belongings and allows him to help her up -- though she does peek shyly downward again at being called 'sweet'. Then her gaze comes back up again, brow furrowed beneath her pert white cap. "It _is_ nearly time for my shift at the hospital," she allows, but her pretty features are crinkled in a mix of confusion, curiosity, and lingering anxiety. What kind of doctor gets himself beaten up by thugs -- no, by _policemen_ -- and receives demands like 'hand over the treasure'? Fanny flashes nervous glances to her left and right, as if wondering whether someone else might jump out of the gathering shadows and confront this strange fellow with the hat. "In truth, Senor Indy, I would feel safer... if you are up to the walk... but your head has taken a hard blow. You should rest." "Sweetheart, I could walk with you all the way to Puerta Vallarta, if you said the word." Indy offers his arm to the young nurse and smiles again, that same roguish grin that looks like he's making a joke at something, yet is completely serious at the same time. "The hospital it is." Pulling in a shaky, nervous little breath, Fanny nevertheless shyly smiles, slipping her dainty arm through the one that's offered her while settling her basket into place in the crook of her other elbow. "I do not need to go to Puerta Vallarta," she murmurs, almost amusedly. It might be... nice, to walk to work for once without having to worry so much about what danger might await her on the way. Nicer still, to do it with a rakishly disheveled mysterious stranger -- why, it's the kind of romantic thing that happens in all the best moving pictures. And maybe she could find out what kind of doctor he is...? Thusly shyly smiling, Fanny gestures off down the street in the direction of the hospital where she works, letting Indiana Lyre set the pace, but not too swift a one. It wouldn't do to have him tax his strength, if he's more hurt than he's trying to let on. And, too... a half-dazed, half-determined voice in the back of her head points out that if he _should_ falter, she can help him again. Quite the night this is turning out to be, isn't it, Fanny? "Ah, but Puerta Vallarta is beautiful this time of year, Sweet Fanny Bright. The moon on the sea, the sounds of music playing on the tropical night air..." Indy looks down and winks at his companion, murmuring, "Let me tell you the story of the last time I was in Mexico...This would've been about five years ago, when I was tracking the whereabouts of the Cross of Coronado. I'd heard a rumor it was being smuggled to Panama by a bunch of paid bandits in near the Guatamalan border, and was riding hell-bent for leather to catch up to them..." And so he starts to tell his story, walking on a clear night through the city with only a slight limp and dented pride, a pretty girl on his arm and no notion of the shadows who watch him, waiting for a moment's slip to pounce... [End log!]