Closed Red Dust (Kalesse)

[Gideon]

He’d never felt so helpless in his entire life, a sliver of unchecked fear crawling beneath his flesh as beryl eyes rolled around alertly within their sockets. The paralysis stretched all the way from his toes to fingers, every attempt to will his body to move cut short by a deprecating hopelessness. His thoughts on life and death all became summarized, a sense of dread overcoming him as he felt these final moments might be the accumulation of a life’s effort. It was depressing to think he had such little control over his fate, his experiences with the Chaktawe well versed in how they treated his ilk. And given that by all appearances Gideon looked to have been willing to take her life not chimes ago, there was no doubt in his mind that had the situation been reversed as it was now, her decision hinged on her own level of sympathy. He did not favor the odds. What his eyes captured lent more merit to his anxiety, her feet planting in the soil as she seemed to be evaluating what the next step was. The wait was more agonizing than the end result to him now, only allowed to stare at her coldly while every abstract fiber of his soul wished to turn on her. But then words he did not expect to hear were spoken, contradictory to what he had surmised about the woman. If she thought this a ruse of his own doing, then how the blazes was he in this state? Chimes passed without the breath of a word, though Gideon could feel the numbing sensation in his fingers and toes slowly begin to subside. Hope, at least, was his to hold on to once more. But what surprised him most perhaps was that the woman did not take the opportunity to end his miserable existence, where every chance had been presented like a festively wrapped gift. Perhaps there was some shred of humanity within the beast after all. With bated breath he watched her approach closely this time, leaning down upon bended knee with a tone that had not yet forgiven him, though still showed a certain level of guarded concern. Finally given a sincere chance to look upon her this time, with neither sand nor malice to cloud his vision, Gideon could not help but feel a primitive sense of attraction towards her. She was indeed beautiful by Chaktawe standards, but it was always the eyes which troubled him. They were unlike his own… Long had he fought with the simple fact that he was not one of them, a scar upon his conscience that would not be dissuaded. Even looking into her eyes now he could feel the stitches slowly becoming undone, a deep sigh heaving his chest as his lips quivered to speak. Gideon had yet to gain full faculty of his voice, but it seemed some words were easier than others to speak. “Why. This?”

[Kalesse]

Kalesse watched the emotions chase each other through the man’s eyes, remnants of the stronger ones manifesting for mere ticks upon his face; a narrow of his eyes one second, the twitch of his lip the next. As interesting as it was to catch glimpses of the veiled emotions running rampant, it meant nothing to the young woman. She had no idea which emotions she was witnessing, but she nevertheless felt intrigued, found herself wanting to sit down into the sand next to him, take his hand and ask him to share with her.

Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Kalesse shook the compassion away and rocked herself into motion. Taking the dagger from her belt and intentionally dropping it out of reach, Kalesse held out her hands to him and cocked a brow, her wordless offer to help him up left hanging for a few moments. Though it pained her to admit, if she were left stranded helplessly on the sand, she hoped that someone else would help her as well.

Moving slowly so that he could guess her intentions, Kalesse hooked her hands under his arms, clasping them around his back. A soft grunt was all the sound she made as she pulled him upright, propping him against the truck of the tree next to which he fell. It wasn’t until she had straightened his legs, retrieved her dagger and sat down against a tree opposite him that Kalesse answered his pained question.

“Overgiving.” Twirling the hilt of the dagger between her fingers, spinning the point against the top of her nail, Kalesse looked down as she spoke. Wielding the knowledge he lacked against him seemed cruel at this point, his weakened state taking all the fun out of knowing something someone else didn’t. “It means you put too much of yourself into your magic.” Thinking back to their tussle, Kalesse couldn’t help but smile. “The geyser might have been overkill.”

Flipping the blade so that she could draw patterns in the sand, the young woman considered her words before she continued. “The effect of your overgiving depends on how badly you do it. I’m guessing this is your first time?” It was more of a courtesy question than anything, Kalesse continuing without waiting for an answer. “It’s usually the worst the first time. Don’t know your limits and all that. I only have a mild headache.” Indeed, the sun seemed to stab at her eyes a bit more intensely than before, the resulting wince ruining the note of pride that had been in her voice.

“We’re going to have to wait it out. Everybody recovers differently.” Having run out of things to look at, Kalesse felt forced to finally look upon the man, her gaze trickling over his stilled form as she attempted avoid his gaze. He had, for all intents and purposes, swept her feet out from under her, leaving the Chaktawe floundering in the sand after her shattered pride. And she couldn’t even take joy in his weakness. Resentment made her cheeks flare a dusky red color.

“You’re stuck with me until you’re back on your feet it seems.” The thought of leaving him there alone hadn’t even crossed the woman’s mind. Argument, misunderstanding, or whatever it was, a Chaktawe doesn’t leave another stranded. Plus, he hadn’t answered any of his questions… and he knew her language.

As much as she hated to admit it, Kalesse was intrigued.

[Gideon]

There were conceivably worse places to be, stranded in the desert and completely paralyzed from the top of your scalp down. Gideon could have been at the mercy of a tsana perhaps, or worse, his mother. But being handled like a limp sack of three month old barley and leaned up against the sturdy pillar of a tree had effectively silenced his ego, the luster in his blue eyes diminished by the absolute helplessness he felt. At least she possessed the strength of character to refrain from rubbing salt in the gaping wound of his pride, a trait he doubted would have been offered had the roles been reversed. The thought allowed a mild sensation of guilt to crawl into his conscience. Overgiving was a term that stirred the banks of relegated memory, words of wisdom brushed of their quiet decay like dust upon ancient text, until what remained was nothing more than a fragment he’d neglected to heed fully as a child. So this is what the crone had meant, he mused, remembering back to the days of his initiation into the art. Childhood had a way of stealing the solemnity out of life and making things more exciting than they ever were dangerous. Back then reimancy had seemed more like a toy than the vital link to his prosperity. If he knew then what he knew now… Gideon stared feebly into the fathomless eyes of his adversary turned humanitarian in contemplative silence, allowing a few moments to pass while he wet his tongue to facilitate a curious desire for conversation. If this woman wasn’t here to kill him, as ironic as that might have been for someone saved by the Chaktawe, then perhaps this had begun as little more than a misunderstanding that had simply escalated beyond the grasp of either one‘s measure. Each adrenaline fueled moment replayed itself ad nauseum to grasp at nothing more than strings. ”Gideon,” he slowly began, because delving into a discussion on the finer points of overgiving seemed moot at this point given his current state. ”I’d offer my ‘and, but as you can see…” He paused as the flicker of movement from his fingers caught within his peripheral. ”Well then. That’s promising,” he muttered placidly, more relieved than surprised to see that he was regaining some faculty. He just hoped it wouldn’t send another ripple into the agitated waters that seemed to be finally settling down between them. But before the newest development could register any more contention between them, Gideon looked back up with what was a hopeful glimmer in his eye. ”I suppose…you have my thanks for not taking that dagger and opening my throat from end to end.” Perhaps it was a trick to appease her good nature so that he might have a better chance of coming out of this altercation alive. Survival for the desert traveler meant doing whatever was within one’s power to see the light of another day. She, of course, still had the option of gutting him should her sentimentality corrode for any of the number of reasons he might have given her. But the impression he received was one of genuine concern, for what little he knew of how to read into a woman’s character. It could have easily been a ploy on her own part, though Gideon did not see what she hoped to gain from allowing him a few more chimes of breath.

[Kalesse]

Gideon.

The name rang sharply on the young Chaktawe woman’s mind, though she had never heard it such before. Neither had she met this man. A frown threatened to curl the corners of her lips as this anomaly spun round her head when a flicker from the corner of her eye drew her gaze to the copse of trees beside them.

A dark, vague outline of a stallion could be seen against the clear sky, just as the sand and trees behind it could be seen through where the rest of it’s mass should have been. Rather than starting at the sight, the frown that danced around Kalesse’s mouth turned instead into a smile. The ebony stallion tossed his head and pawed at the stand, a wind that neither of the human’s could feel tossing his star studded mane.

But before either Kalesse or Gideon could call out to the magnificent beast, he was gone. Heartened by her guardian, Kalesse was able to push the uncomfortable ring of the man’s name to the back of her mind as she turned a rare smile upon him. “Kalesse.” Saying her name in the accent of her people, it rolled off her tongue rather than stumbling over the awkward syllables of Common.

“It’s a pleasure, Gideon…. Though I think we did it all backwards. From what I’ve seen of my parents and the rest of the tribe over the years, we don’t start stabbing each other until many, many seasons have passed.” Her laugh was light and snatched up by the breeze that ruffled past them, showering them with the fine sand that Kalesse instinctively turned her face away from. With flushed cheeks, the upturned curl of her full lips, and the sand that sparkled in her lustrous black hair now like bits of precious gem, it was hard to imagine her as the same woman who had lunged at him only a bell before.

“Plus,” Some of the life that had leapt into her face at the appearance of Sunajiah dwindled, leaving only curve of her delicate cheekbones lightly flushed. “it’s not ladylike to kill your foe when he is unable to fight back.” She hadn’t missed the flicker of his fingers, her own twisting in a fast motion that sent the dagger spinning in the sand between them to bump against his hip and within his reach.“So, basically, you owe me. Gideon.” Trying out his name, Kalesse rolled it off her tongue as if she were tasting each syllable.

This went on for a chime or two before the young Chaktawe woman remembered her obligated guest and shot him a smirk. Not embarrassed in the slightest, Kalesse nodded to the dagger, waving her fingers in the rippling motion she had been using earlier to send the hilt spinning between her fingers. “It’s about the only thing I know how to properly do with it, but I always found movement helped me recover faster.”

[Gideon]

Laughter bubbled up from his throat, gritted with sand and punctuated by remnants of anguish. It had been a long time since he’d cared to laugh, and the result was almost necrotic. Memories from years of ignominy at the hands of her people had struck a nerve untouched by time, rekindling some of the more lamentable ones his mind had dutifully suppressed. It left irony as a sharp taste upon his lips and tongue, with a rueful smile he hoped was gentler than the scars etched across his skin. If only she knew just how close to home her statement had struck--a master marksman of words. Caught in throes that sounded more vilifying than vivacious, the desert traveler did not notice that his hands had regained their faculty somewhere between the jarring heaves of his chest and rattling undulations of his abdomen. Intuitively grabbing at fistfuls of sand beneath them, it was only its nettling warmth braced against his palm that made him realize something had changed. Still unable to crane his neck in a manner more natural, Gideon’s eyes fled down to his side and watched intently as he turned the pile of dust over in his hand. Wind licked away at the crumbled depths, gaze transfixed by the ebbing until what remained was a star map of granules spattered across his skin. These he squeezed into a fist several times, relieving a stiffness that felt much akin to a grueling day’s workout. If it was any indication as to what the rest of his body could expect, the traveler would likely need a day’s worth of rest before he was able to move on--a thought that allowed a knot to crawl into his stomach. Eyes flashed towards her, and none for the dagger being tossed to his hip, when the mention of debt crossed her lips. They narrowed in apprehension, though he managed to accompany it with a wry smile that eased its tautness. There truly wasn’t much choice for him if she thought sparing his life was a redeemable courtesy, but by the tone in her voice, it could have just as easily been no more than a blithe quip to stoke a reaction from him. “I am in your debt, then…my lady,” his voice creaking with just enough heartache to give his words character. Gideon was no stranger to how the business worked, his professional life revolving around the collection of such things. And with the nature of it skirting the boundaries of legality, he was met again with something unsavory biting his tongue. His hand reached out for the dagger, though his feelings were presently mixed on how to go about utilizing it. Lunging with it was, of course, ill advised. Instead he followed her instruction with constrained interest, fumbling the dagger through his fingers as it dropped several times into the sand. He could feel the soreness in his hands crawl up the length of his arms, and burrow into his shoulder--a heat rising deep within the limb that was not a result of the climate. It hurt in such a way that was easily manageable, though he knew if he attempted any grand motion it would be paid for in full. With gaze flickering between her and the quiet threading of his digits, Gideon’s voice was caught in a humbling quiet that was as gentle as the winds themselves. “You wouldn’t happen to be from the Red Crow, would you?” He found himself feeling leery of the answer before she even spoke, logic indicating that if she was here among the keerdash, then the most obvious answer would be the one that heightened his mistrust without so much as batting an eyelash. So cautious, in fact, that it became impossible for him to share even the briefest bit of eye contact.

[Kalesse]

Content to sit and watch the man recover the use of his limbs, Kalesse settled herself into a more comfortable position; the suspicious set of her shoulders relaxed as she leaned back against the Keerdash tree, her legs crossing at the ankles while her fingers set to picking at the clumps of sand that had lodged in the intricate beading of her top. A small, self satisfied smile curled the corners of her lips as the young Chaktawe took note of the concentration it took for Gideon to simply twirl the dagger. She might not have come out on top of their little scuffle, but she knew it was by the stay of her hand that he was indeed alive now.

“I am.” The response to his inquiry was quick, belaying her surprise more than the dark curve of her brows as they swooping downwards into a scowl. Few outsiders knew the difference of the Chaktawe tribes, let alone voicing their name with a casual familiarity. ‘Red Crow’ was a designation normally reserved for those belonging to the tribe itself.

Continuing to glare, suspicion taking up residence in every line of her body, turning formally languid curves into hard lines, Kalesse reached up under the beaded flap of her skit, lifting the light canvas only enough to snatch a small pouch that had been tied at the waist band and kept tucked against her hip. The draw was loosened and two fingers dipped quickly inside before being held out before her, presenting the tips of both smeared with a dark red looking paste. “How do you know of the Red Crow?” Not explaining what the paste was for, Kalesse cinched the pouch back up tight and dug the soiled digits into the sand, scrubbing some of the grit against her skin to remove the red stain.

“Who are you really Gideon?” Taking note of the shift in his posture as well as the inability to meet her eye, Kalesse rocked herself forward onto the balls of her feet, sitting in a crouch that left her hovering slightly over the man, if still out of arms reach. The shadow that she cast over him was enough to tell the man of her shift, even if he hadn’t found the nerve to look at her. Shock mingled with a slight sense of dread as she waited, the pads of her fingers anxiously drumming at the taut skin of her thigh.

[Gideon]

The moment her dreaded affirmation fled from plush lips, Gideon’s face hardened into a disparaging scowl that was but a stepping stone apart from revulsion. The dagger in his hand ceased its idle twirling, stagnant as a poniard of tall grass on a windless plane. His gaze fell towards it, and for a moment became lost in thought, as the reflective edge caught a petal of light from the sun and spilled it across his lap. It was hardly fair to judge a person by the family they came from, but it did not make the reality of the past any less difficult to bear. She was part of a legacy of his persecution from their lands, and the wounds were too fresh to be forgotten. His eyes quickly traded the weight in his hand for the weight of her gaze--his, cold and intemperate. They narrowed ruthlessly upon her looming silhouette above him. The glossed metal of the blade slid easily into the palm of his hand, offered with the worn grip facing towards her, though he remained mulish in his antipathy. Gideon wanted nothing to do with her, and felt poised to toss the weapon at her that his fingers tightened around its razor edge enough to draw a sinuous ribbon of waxy scarlet from between his knuckles. The pain it willingly imparted snapped his teeth together. “I am a traveler of these wretched wastes, and I have grown tired of your company.” A cursory glance was given to the red paste between her fingers who use he knew well, though its presence only ignited him further. “As soon as I am able, I will rid myself from your lands.” Suddenly nothing about Gideon’s disposition seemed inviting, his desire to push the envelope receding until it became entirely focused on his will to move. His jaw fixed itself in stiff repose, teeth grinding the way ice floes shifted. A shiver coursed up through his calves and along his thighs, muscles meekly straining to the point where they slowly began to move along the sands. It was agony, but that hardly insinuated any form of concern.

[Kalesse]

It was his tone that cut her, though the words it bore were the ones to dig deep. Kalesse froze, her own defensive curiosity shattered by the venom that he spit at her. Rigid lines and angles made up the young Chaktawes limbs as she remained poised above the Overgiven fool, her onyx eyes narrowed until they were barely slits beneath a dark lash line. “Tired of my company?” Incredulous as she sounded and despite the haughty flip of her hair, Gideon’s words slapped at her pride, the slight, uncomfortable affection she had just begun to feel twisting in her chest like an angry snake.

“I think you are mistaken, Azmashe.” Of course, the swears would be the only thing that Kalesse took from her annual migration to Ahnatep. “These wretched wastes grow tired of yours.” Though she wasn’t all that quick, Kalesse fell from the precarious position she had held above Gideon, her hand darting for and connecting with the dagger she had put into his hand; the blade sliced savagely at his exposed palm as she tore the weapon from his grasp. Thick, ruby drops splattered against the sand in rapid thumps.

Pushing herself to her feet, Kalesse pointed the stained tip of the weapon down at Gideon, indecision playing its wearing game across her face; her eyes flashed one moment, when her lips twisted downward into a frown the next. Her brows gathered on her brow as the scowl settled naturally onto her features, toes digging into the sand as Kalesse turned and left the man to whither away in the sands. He wouldn’t be able to withstand the intense embrace of the desert beyond. It served him right.

Managing only a few steps before Kalesse paused, the tension that held her shoulders rigid seemed to slacken, the preemptive glance over her shoulder belaying her actions before she made any movement. She wasn’t fast, but it was enough to catch Gideon off guard. Taking the support of the trunk from him, Kalesse was able to pin his shoulders into the sands as she straddled his waist, the dagger held clumsily against the underside of his chin. “I cannot just walk away and forgive such a slight.” It was true. Those black eyes burned with an anger that she had not yet revealed to him.

“These sands deserve respect. My people deserve respect. I can tolerate you having a go at me, but you will not talk about them so and expect to leave and freely reap what the sands offer.” The dagger pressed harder, a long cut appearing against his jaw as Kalesse refused to give in. Though it was foolish to confront someone much larger and stronger than she, it was her only chance. Now. While he was weak. Having survived for as long as she had in the unforgiving sands, the young Chaktawe knew when she had at least a slight advantage.

“Apologize and thank me for what I have given you. ”

[Gideon]

A guttural hiss snapped from Gideon’s throat as he bared pearled teeth against her, rich life spilling into his palm from where the blade cleaved hungrily across his skin. The red stream cascaded down from his hand and engulfed the underside of his forearm, spattering florid drops to the dull earth beneath. The impression it left was surreal by contrasting color, and had taken a little more from him than he cared to lose. Before the dagger’s bite could slice greedily through muscle, however, Gideon’s grip unwound, surrendering the weapon to her care while his arm fell limply back to the sands. Pain scratched its markings from end to end across his face, though the clever eye might have caught the flash of a smile that was fed between the lines. It was no more than a nuance, hardly worth noticing, though its implications were profound. His eyes followed her slow retreat as Kalesse turned her back, holding on to a sliver of hope that it would be the last time he‘d need to deal with her. Yet Gideon knew better than to put faith in high expectations, and the woman had proven herself obstinate beyond measure already. He gave himself no more than a few ticks of reprieve, a small pool of blood forming beneath his wounded hand. Taking the moment to breathe a deep sigh, Gideon slowly adjusted his entire body against the trunk of the keerdash, rolling his shoulders back and flexing each arm all the way down to his fingers. His ankles turned carefully and his knees began to bend, each muscle tensing as soreness rippled through them. It would hurt to move, but he was fairly certain he could stand if required. Pain was a very useful tool, indeed. Impassivity washed away the grimacing pain when she turned on him, though the man’s eyes were caught by a glimmer of amusement. Perhaps a poor choice for the anger he saw boiling to the surface of hers, but her predictability had become difficult for him to contain. Forced violently from the support of the tree, his back collided roughly with the ground, eliciting a grunt that rolled through his chest, and caused sable locks of hair to fall haphazardly across his tanned skin. Feeling the weight of her upon him in a manner that felt compromising, it might have goaded a lecherous smile from his lips if not for the dagger poised beneath his chin. Instinctively keeping his skin away from its edge as far as his neck would allow, Gideon’s dark pupils fled to the corners of his eyes and gazed down along the stained surface of metal--a visual reminder of its lethal purpose. The flesh along his jaw was noticeably more sensitive than his hand when he felt the bite of the blade a second time, his expression turning savage as unbidden tears filled the corners of his eyes. A stifled cry became nothing more than a heated gasp of air that fled between grinding teeth, turning his sparkling gaze up to the gravity of her eyes. What he saw was no more than an animal gone mad. It needed to be put down. “Apologize and thank me for what I have given you.” A single tear ran incongruously down the side of his cheek in tandem with his features turning mutinously cold at her words, dissension filling each facet as rage swelled from his chest. Once hopelessly infirm, Gideon moved with an unexpected mechanical efficiency, distemper pushing aside each thread of pain as his right arm ripped free from her tremulous grasp and shot across his chest towards her hand occupied by the dagger. His convulsions had forced the blade inescapably deeper into the flesh beneath his chin in the brief tick of their scuffle, rich blood dancing down its razor edge as more drops fell to the earth beneath them. Slapping his diced hand viciously into her wrist before the blade could cause mortal wound, he used the newfound freedom of his left hand to snap up and wrap around her forearm to keep any more incidents with the weapon’s sharp edge from unstitching him. “Make me bleed? After I spared your life with the arrow? How dare you.” Gideon’s voice shook with anger, though his expression had become an intemperate static. Only the intensity of his eyes showed the weight of his disquiet, having drained every speck from the rest of him. Snapping his right hand up towards the slender curve of her neck, it seemed almost a pity to smear its pristine surface red with his blood, fingers coiling around her wind pipe as they began to squeeze slowly. The wounds seeped out from the pressure, coating her skin and drooling down past her clavicle like rainwater on glass. “You know nothing of this world, Kalesse...and nothing of me.” His voice had become detached from the strings of sanity.

[Kalesse]

Completely aware of the fact that she was tangled with someone far, far stronger than she, Kalesse did the best she could to brace herself for the returning swings that the man beneath her would inevitably make. The hand that collided with her forearm jarred her, though she held steady lest his strength won over hers and pried the dagger from his through. For the moment, the blade stayed, though it’s tip now barely held contact with his skin.

Snarling in frustration, Kalesse held his gaze and leaned forward so that her body no longer balanced over his prostrate form but rather leaned fully onto the arm held the dagger so close to his neck. Her only hope was to tire him again before he got the upper hand. The quiet, intense anger in his eyes told her what would happen then.

“I make my decisions. You have to live with your own. They are of no consequence to me. I have to-“ Spitting the words and putting as much venom as she could behind them, Kalesse didn’t see the hand that fell towards her, cutting off her words and her breath in the same crushing grip, if only for a moment. The blood made his hold slick, and not as firm as it could have been, allowing little gasps of air to slip by before Gideon managed to securely fasten his fingers around her throat.

Seeming to think better of her decision, Kalesse tried to surrender, moving her hand just as much as Gideon's grip would allow and dropping the dagger beside them both; it was a risk she was going to have to take, leaving it within easy grasp for either of them now, since the grip he had on her left little option. Her left hand attacked the one that clamped like a vice around her throat in hopes of winning a bit of freedom. As slick as his blood was making her skin, it was really her best chance; a twist of her hips rearranging her weight so that she could lean backwards and out of the man’s reach, limiting his choices to either following her or letting go. Her left leg shifted, a sacrifice to her own balance as she tried to aim her knee down towards the very unprotected instruments between his legs.

“Petch you, you weak, pathetic excuse for a man.” Res pooled in her mouth, just enough gathering on her tongue so that when she spit the contents down at his face, just enough concentration turned it into a clod of sand. A tired trick to be sure but aimed for his eyes, Kalesse hoped that it would do something. “I would rather die by your hands than let you walk away unscathed.” Hard words spit in childish fury, but the fire that ignited behind those onyx eyes added weight to Kalesse’s tone that spoke of much more than she was able to portray.

“I know you. You’re a weak man who would succumb to the hardships of this land rather than bend to accept what they could offer. You would rather make this world conform to your footsteps than follow someone elses.” As riled as she was, Kalesse hardly noticed that the accusations she spit at Gideon probably more accurately described her own personality than anything she suspected of his. Her words were spit between tired gasps and pants, the energy expended to draw the res blackening the edges of her vision. “You find justice in walking away a winner, but the Chaktawe know that real strength is found elsewhere.”