The looming shadows from the tall buildings of the city Estyria provided only a little cooling shelter from the hot midday sun. Asfalin was a humid region, though it rarely saw rain, and that meant that the heat was cloying, sticking to the skin and causing clothes to do the same. Those visiting from further south were clearly miserable and moved with a dogged weariness. The locals, for this reason, were easy to pick out. Or, if they weren't local, they were at least from the North. 

One particular northerner was perched atop a public art sculpture that stood about ten feet high--just enough of a vantage point to see where the interesting things were happening. Her thin leather sandals were tossed haphazardly beside her; Ridahne Torzinei avoided shoes when it was comfortable, as she liked the feeling of the ground in her toes. Besides, it kept her callouses hard and tough. Beside her shoes was a plastic cup of a light, citrusy beer that was wonderfully refreshing and still cold, to her delight. She was also a little bit drunk. Not so much that lounging atop a sculpture was a bad idea, but enough that she was a little more free with her conversation, a little more relaxed, a little more loose in her movements. 

She didn't often get drunk, and especially not in public. Not only did it dull her awareness and made her a little too prone to speaking her mind (something that got her in trouble enough as it was when she was sober) but it meant she went unarmed, as Azurei religiously disarmed themselves before heavy drinking. It was considered horrible form to carry even a knife, much less a gun when intoxicated. She had known that by coming to this event, she'd drink--it was a celebration after all--so she left her knife, her sword, and her tiny little pistol with the rest of her things underneath a dimly lit bridge in a seedier part of town. That was currently where she called home, for a given value of the word 'home' anyway. Ridahne was a drifter and never stayed in any place very long, which meant she didn't have a steady income. But she wasn't thinking about that now.

Right now, there were musicians some distance away, there were food vendors hocking wares that she could smell from seemingly across town: aromas of curry and hot spice, of bread and woodsmoke, of hot sugary confections. There were people from all over the place milling around, laughing and chatting and eating and drinking. The event happened yearly at the height of summer and it was all anyone could talk about for a week beforehand. Shops across town were closed down so the employees could attend, and businesses closer to the event itself saw business like they wouldn't get for another year to come. Trading was rampant, food sampling was abundant, and above all else, it was loud and happily crowded. 

Ridahne knew the event by the name [I]Tal'elaisakidh[/I], but outside of Azurei it was more commonly known as the Armistice Festival--a celebration held on the day of the year in which the ten-years-war finally ended. This was the Armistice Festival's tenth year--a notable number--and from what she'd heard, the Chancellor himself would be making an appearance this year. From all the security prowling about the tall stage backed by a massive screen with a video feed of the stage itself, Ridahne guessed this rumor was accurate. 

"Hey! Azurei!" 
Ridahne blinked away her wandering thoughts and looked down to see a young Brahneian man who also appeared to be about thirty summers waving up at her with a stupid grin that made her think of swaggering idiots at bars who tried to buy her drinks or sweet talk her into other activities. 
"Hey, would you give me a tattoo? You could come do it at my place...eh? What do you s--aghpphh!" Before he could finish, Ridahne impatiently dumped the remainder of her beer on the man's head with decent accuracy. If she had a credit for every time some loser asked her for a tattoo...
"Get gone before I drop something heavier on you." When he didn't immediately leave, she made a fierce snarl at him that showed her teeth and lunged slightly like she intended to leap down on top of him like a fictional vigilante. That seemed to work just fine.

Ridahne always got asked about tattoos. If it wasn't someone begging her to give them one, it was someone asking insipid questions about her own. She, like all Azurei, had many in varying patterns of black, blue, and white ink. The most notable and perhaps the most iconic were the facial tattoos worn by the Azurei. If the russet skin and honey-gold eyes weren't enough, the face tattoos were a blazing indication of Azurei heritage. Since the Azurei tended to be culturally withdrawn and tight lipped about their secrets and their ways, people never seemed to have an end to their curiosity about them. But if they knew how personal they were, Ridahne thought, they would not dare ask, as it was like publicly inquiring about the cut of a lady's panties or a man's extensive medical records. 

Ridahne shook her head as if to shake off the encounter, then gathering her shoes, she nimbly climbed down with a slender grace and went off in search of another stand or truck selling drinks. After dumping hers, she needed another beer.