DECOY : WARRIOR LOST

          He sat at a table in the corner, a mug before him, from which he would occasionally drink.  When he had arrived some two centars ago, the pub had been busy, so much so, you had to weave your way past bodies to get anywhere.  

          Upon entering, he had immediately spotted the Cylon, standing behind the seat of a somewhat portly man, rings on nearly every finger, surrounded by several men who were obviously guards.  So...this was Leserta.  A slight frown twisting his lips, he found himself thinking of Tom Riddle.   

          Threading his way through the room toward the bar, he stopped to occasionally draw someone into a conversation, carefully asking certain questions.  Finally reaching the bar, he ordered a drink and looked around to spot a surprisingly empty table, and moved to take a seat, his eyes moving around the room, taking in everything.

          Over the next centar, he watched as men, and a few women approached the table LeSerta sat at, a book open on the table before him, a small ink pot, and a quill beside it.  Each of the men and women handed over a leather purse, of which one of the men sitting beside Leserta took, opened, counted the coins, and then nodded.  LeSerta would pick up the quill and write in the book, dismissing them.

          He was just setting his mug back on the table, the pub having emptied a bit as the night wore on, when he saw LeSerta motion to one of the men off to the side, glancing his way.  Ah...so he was finally to be 'sent' for.  He turned his head as the man reached his table.  "Evening," he said.

          "Leserta would like a word with you, stranger."

          "Would he?" getting slowly to his feet, he left his mug where it was and followed the man back across the room.  "Your man says you want to see me."

          "I've never seen you around here.  You were observed asking questions of several just after you arrived.  Who are you, and what do you want here?"

         "Roark," he answered, slipping into a chair, eyes shifting briefly to the Cylon, then back, "Roark Lestrange-Rosier, and I'm not from around here.  I'm from a town a few kilometers away, as for what I want here, nothing in particular.  I was asking about crop values, if extra seeds were available, and so forth."

          "You are a farmer then?"

          "My husband and I own a small farm, yes.  We suffered a blight last season and nearly all of our seed crops were damaged beyond repair.  I've come looking for new seeds."

          "Sorry, I am to hear of your difficulty.  Perhaps I can help as we seem to have a surplus of seeds.  If you can pay, that is."

          "If the seeds are in excellent condition, then yes...I can pay." 

          A smile.  "Then let's talk."

          Oddly...or maybe not so oddly, Roark found himself wanting to punch the man...to wipe that smirking smile from his lips.