Khun

Fifteen

Male

Gekkō

With below average height, pale white complexion, and a scrawny physique, Khun was quite the specimen and the envy of every male in the slums. His erratic, onyx-colored hair often is wrapped around and partially hidden by whatever piece of cloth he gets his hands on. However, what makes him a cut above the rest is his impeccable taste in fashion. Nothing said style like tattered, baggy mustard-colored pants that he wore for days on end. He usually paired this with stained, white sleeveless shirts or blouses. Khun's footwear of choice came in the form of his bare feet; nothing felt more comfortable, or at least that's what Khun keeps telling himself. Also, he only has one arm; no one really cares though.

Khun is a selfish guy, no need to hide it. Anyone growing up on the streets will tell you that the first lesson you learn is to trust no one and to look out only for yourself. Khun learned this the hard way and his curiosity didn't make it any easier. Let's just say that most of the life-threatening situations Khun gets himself into stems from his natural inquisitiveness. He enjoy the usual vices - drinking, gambling, women, and the rest. You only get one life, and the chance of it ending or turning for the worst the next minute is more likely than you think. However, this doesn't mean he's not a likable person. Especially if you bought him a meal or drink. Just don't expect him to go out of my way to have your back. Being realistic about these things is what he does best. Always trust a drunkard to drink, a murderer to kill, and a coward like Khun to run away with his tail between his legs.

For a child who was abandoned at birth, life in Gekkō wasn't all that bad. Experiencing the struggle it took to survive, in what was known to be the criminal capital of the Ichiren Dysnasty, definitely built character. As soon as Khun learned how to walk, the harsh reality of how cruel the world actually was, made its presence known him. Unfortunately for him, he just didn't know it yet. Cruelty had a name and it was to Khun's displeasure to have met him. Head of one of the many major syndicates in Gekkō, was a man who went by the name Shen. Who he exactly was and where he was from were of little value to a lowly slum rat like Khun. At the time, the only thing that mattered was that Shen, in exchange for Khun's services, provided him with what he needed to live; food, clothing, and a bed to sleep in. The relationship the two shared was strictly professional, but it only took a single mistake to make Khun realize how dangerous Shen actually was.

A figurine shattered on the floor, mishandled due to Khun's carelessness. What Shen asked for return, was an arm. He gave Khun the option of choosing which one he was going to give up. As expected, Khun chose neither and made a break for it. He woke up beaten, bruised, and bandaged up, with his left arm missing. He was lucky enough to have been saved by some good samaritans who had found him passed out in an alley, in a pool of his own blood. Khun had cheated death, but after that night, he was never the same again. Melancholy had settled as he spent most of his days aimlessly wandering the streets of Gekkō.

How he recovered from this slump in his life? Let's just say that it only took one night to make him want to live again. Actually, it took more than that. I believe there were several pints of ale and countless stories from a local from Taureau.



The morning was humid as usual in Gekkō. Khun took a sip from his gourd, some foul concoction brewed by the local boys that helped ease the numbing pain of their daily routines, and let out a heavy sigh. Though he took odd jobs all around the city in order to support his day by day lifestyle, cleaning Lord Hazad's manor was the one he found he took most often and hated the most. He often thought about stealing something from the Lord's lavish collection of foreign arts, but he knew getting caught would mean certain death for him. First and foremost, he was a coward, so he kept content with a sigh and a fit silent swearing, relegating the idea of stealing something and leaving the godforsaken town forever to his fantasies.

Even if he did muster up the courage and manage to accomplish it, where could he actually go? He had few friends, none outside of the city, and certainly none that dealt with the buying and selling of stolen art. He would be on the run for a day? A week? A month? Some uncertain but probably brief amount of time living in fear of being caught before actually being caught and punished horribly. It was a fool's dream.

"Feh. Can't believe this stupid painting could feed a someone for a lifetime..." Khun began his daily ritual of complaints before dusting the area around Lord Hazad's greatest treasure, an original work of the painter Giradelli. It took him about three heartbeats to realize that the painting was, in fact, missing and another three heartbeats to realized that he was truly and thoroughly fucked.

"Oh god. What do I do? The Lord will think I stole his stupid fucking shit painting. I'm so fucking dead, I am. Of course this would happen to me!" Khun frantically paced around the room trying to decided what to do next, because what was next was probably a painful death. He panicked further when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Was Hazad home already?

No, it wasn't him. The whispering voices that Kun was hearing were unfamiliar. These were probably the thieves that stole Hazad's treasure. Should he try to capture them to prove that he didn't steal the painting? No...they sounded dangerous and armed, and even if he could somehow subdue them, Hazad was likely to just execute him for good measure for even being involved. That left one option...

Through the tightest of corridors, trash-filled alleyways, and collapsing rooftops, Khun hastily made his way to the only person that he could seek out help from. Out of breath and panting, he found himself inside one of the most infamous taverns within the confines of Gekkō. The lack of rowdy cheers, lifeless bodies, and broken stools confirmed his assumptions. Surrounded by a drunken crowd, sharing another one of his grandeur tales of adventure, was an acquaintance of Khun.

Squirming through the sweat and ale doused patrons, Khun made his way towards his old friend. Stumbling in front of him while catching his breath, Khun flashed a smile and spoke before passing out. "Hey there, Zeph..."

To escape Lord Hazad's wrath; so basically avoiding death. What happens after that? Khun hasn't really gave it much thought yet. He'll worry about that when the time comes.

Tarybris Brun

Twenty-Seven

Female

Luciole

Despite somewhat gaunt features - violet-colored circles and a slightly ashy complexion - Tarybris’ demeanor betrays a self-assured and rather cheerful personality. Her posture and body language are of someone who is commanding and confident, yet poised and non-threatening; back erect, hips fluid, and a big ol’ grin slapped across her face. She is no Luciolean beauty - not a specimen of refined grace or allure, but there is something very calming and reassuring about the way she carries herself, and this in itself is charming. Tarybris’ clothing of choice reflects her attitude, as she prefers loose-fitting and relaxed, flowing clothing where allowed (the royal vessels of Baleine would never allow a head chef to be so informal). Her fascination with the cultures of the Archipelago’s isles as well as those of the Ichiren Dominion extends to her clothing choices, as when possible she enjoys donning brightly-colored garments of those places. This is either fun, or looks somewhat goofy and misplaced (Ruched silk, for instance, is easily stained by hot water. Oops.). Her appearance, however, is always kept to a strict-level of cleanliness, and she is well-put together, particularly when the situation calls for it. Anything less would be unacceptable.

Nimble and skilled as Tarybris is, her forearms sport scattered scars and her hands are calloused from years of working in hot kitchens, or outside harvesting plants. Her frame - tall and hardy - has allowed her to stand up to a bit of wear-and-tear, though, and ship life has been kind to her. Physically, her hair is the color of flax and set in her oat-colored skin are pale green eyes that hint towards a more humble background.

Nice I guess.

● Fan of Knives
● Robust
● Trivia Expert

Cute boys/girls, rare desserts, kind of annoying at times.

Tarybris was born to a Luciolean shopkeeper, and a Leannán farmgirl, the latter having escaped to Luciolean with her mother ten years prior to Tarybris’ birth. Her family was large - three sons and two daughters besides Tarybris - and her father was the proprietor of a baking supply shop that had been around for many generations. They were not too wealthy, but very comfortable in the cobbled streets of San Michel, living in an apartment behind and above the shop. Tarybris spent her childhood tidying the delicate aluminum pastry moulds, and transporting some of the goods from their manufacturer, a man who lived a few towns over. Many times they had too much inventory for their shop, which was nestled in a fashionable street of San Michel, and she slept with the towering crates of steel-cast bowls and spoons next to her bed.

Somewhat surprisingly, her fascination with food did not come from her father (though it was certainly amazing to look into the window fronts of neighboring Luciolean boulangeries). It was the neighboring Ichiren tea shop (such exotic concepts were quite popular) that had first awakened her palate. From birth, she had been fast friends with the shop owner’s son (of similar age, though he was much shyer), and one spring day they had been eating lunch together, when he’d shared a sweet given to him by his aunt, for one of the unfamiliar Ichiren holidays. Wrapped delicately in translucent paper that shuddered in the spring air, the small cake was dusted in a slightly nutty, sweet powder. There was a thin, crunchy shell that tasted of woodsmoke, blending with the cloying nuttiness, and the inside of the cake was filled with a sticky paste that clung to Tarybris’ mouth. It was, at one moment, too sweet - some sort of bright legume - but gave way to a bright sourness that sent a shudder up her spine. After a moment, her mouth was filled with the taste of flowers. It was intrigue and exoticism wrapped in a slip of paper.

When she’d learned as a teenager that cuisine was exceedingly popular in Baleine, and that there were sky-vessels that served all matter of foods from around the Floating World, and that this was something she could do as work, Tarybris was hooked. When not working, she spent her free time nibbling weird ingredients she bought with pocket-change from San Michel’s open-air market: funky-smelling curdled yolks from some island under the Ichiren, some sort of healthy lichen drink from Bridesend, a sliver of dried ham from Calor. She read about the grey-feathered pheasants that flocked to some island off of Baleine, which supposedly tasted like saffron. Upon completing some small amount of education mandated by her father, and becoming an adult in the eyes of the state, she applied for a scholarship in a well-regarded culinary institute in Baleine. After two years, she was accepted, and studied under the nose of Archipelagan chef instructors, graduating after two years. She then found work as a saucier upon a lesser-known cruise vessel, The Mourneau.

The fashionable pastries of The Archipelago and especially Baleine and Luciole were generally made using whipped egg whites, which created an airy base that was otherwise impossible to create in the high altitudes of the Floating World. As such, making fresh pastries or bread was impossible on an airship, lest it had a coop of birds aboard. Tarybris’s claim-to-fame, so to speak, was discovering that the juice from an incredibly protein-dense would form a strong foam when whipped. And this could be used to make all sorts of pastries and breads and cakes with no need for fresh ingredients. After replicating a Luciolean pastry - topped with glazed fruit and caramel, as was the fashion - aboard The Lilliene, Chef Brun became the talk of the Baleinese socialite culinary circle for all of a few weeks (which made her very uncomfortable). After all, what self-respecting patron of the culinary arts could really bear to be on a cruise vessel for very long, without access to a boulangerie? It was truly, truly a revelation. After this incident, and perhaps one involving pickled yuzu, Tarybris became somewhat well-known among fashionable socialites as a chef of haute couture and her career similarly oriented towards serving the elite.

It became less of a struggle to find a good position on any vessel of her choosing after this incident, because she was not only able-bodied and skilled, but also because Chaleuran and Baleienese socialites lived off of feeling special, catered to. Indeed, Tarybris’ scant stint under the limelight catered to this, though it was nothing more than a flash of light in an unending reel of upper-class gossip. Though admittedly, no one could make food quite like she did - warm bread that was not hard or stale (as par the course for vessels), but tempered to be soft with the addition of citrus juice, airy and light from a base of root-foam. Luxurious and comforting, studded with crisp nuts and small dried fruits. While cooking aboard a vessel was light years more interesting than being stuck in Baleine or Calor, Tarybris found it terribly uninspiring. Chaleurean nobles only ever wanted to eat fatty beast-meat in pools of overly decadent butter, and too-sugary pastries served on tiny plates. No one was interested in her pickled fruits, or the breads she made from root-flour, or the small slivers of fish she’d dried with herbs, to make them salty and fragrant and wonderful. And the chefs she worked alongside weren’t too keen on the weird Ichiren vegetables she’s tried to grow alongside the fruit trees, either.

It was incredibly frustrating, not what she’d imagined. And by this point, she was far too experienced to work on a dingier vessel, one of those trade vessels permeated with a rousing mix of sex and excess - though she was leading towards trying to, anyways. Maybe she would go back to Luciole and work with one of her brothers or sisters at the baking supply shop. But that wasn’t a real alternative, and with any luck, Luciole would turn to Calor’s caste system and they’d all be screwed, anyhow. She would sooner try and move to Gekkō and start a tea shop, or make pies there which were actually bombs. The hint of an opportunity came when news of Madame Le Fèvre’s search for a crew arrived. It was intriguing, to say the least. Tarybris had actually met the Madame before, and her name said nothing about how spry she actually was - adventurous and interesting. Affable, even. The prospect of working on a vessel charted by her - a living legend - was too good to pass up.

Heading into her late twenties, Tarybris feels as if she’s done nothing of real interest or value, and this scares her. The years after graduating from school have afforded her the ability to gain practical job experience, but all feels very constrained and stodgy to her. While respectable, her latest position upon a royal Baleinese vessel has left her feeling mentally and physically unfulfilled - without the heady blend of excitement and intrigue that had made airship life appealing in the first place. And hardly any room for her unwavering creativity, curiosity. The North Wind seems like a truly once-in-a-lifetime experience for a civilian like Tarybris; to escape the rigidity of The Archipelago and explore the unknown is an exciting prospect. Perhaps she could grow interesting plants and herbs, fruits on the ship, prepare something other than exquisitely fatty beef or river-fish to Beauchene-wannabe nobility. There were so many places beyond Baleine and Luciole and Calor that seemed unbelievable, exotic, of legend. A patron of The Feuille had once given her an orange fruit from Migiwa he insisted upon having with his fish. The dull, unassuming kaki turned out to have a wonderfully woodlike, slightly spicy yet muted flavor. In one of her old books on Ichiren cuisine, there were a scant few illustrations of the ornamental wagashi made in Tennō - supposedly made from fruits and starch, carefully carved into flowers. An old mentor of hers had once spoken of gold-speckled moss that grew along the rim of The Cauldron, which supposedly tasted like lava smelled, with a dash of citrus. The sulphurous teas of Tijan were rumored to make one spread one’s arms out in benediction. Cumulus had written about horned, multicolored frogs around Kujira that tasted like the wind, and springtime. And so on.

● Roll of Knives - A canvas-bound roll of knives - one for paring, one serrated, and a large one, with general heft - for everything else.
● Codex of Tastes - Rather beat-up and seriously worn, this book chronicles different ingredients in the known world. The margins and negative space are heavily marked up with notes.
● DIY Spore and Herb Kit - Tarybris enjoys growing mushrooms, and is a veritable living encyclopedia on some of their unique medicinal qualities. They grow well in dark, well-ventilated depths underneath her bed.
● Sachet of Dried Ichiren Plums - A great comfort to suck on.