Closed [Kelp Bar] Partners in Dysfunction

[Noven]

Summer, Day 21, 515AV

He could almost hear the remaining chimes of Day Two draining away. Trickling through the funnel of this thrice damned curse like some kind of harrowing, morbid preamble. Because, to be certain, the knowledge alone that in a matter of bells your skin would splitting open and bleeding from a dozen different places wasn't plaguing enough on its own.

Noven stared into the murky, fish-smelling depths of his kelp beer. Coming here had been his last resort. Normally, the tried and true method of Vexing someone in some nondescript alleyway would have sufficed. But it hadn't taken long for the locals to catch wind of some nefarious sadist wreaking unimaginable pain on those unfortunate enough to be wandering about on their own. Even the scummiest of scum had begun hitting the streets with a friend or two in tow, and that spelled nothing but trouble for the Sunberthian.

Loosing a frustrated breath through his nostrils, Nov took a swig of the dark green liquid in his mug. It tasted like brackish seawater. The kind that lapped closest to docks, and therefore to the heaving, stinking mass of humanity that hung around bustling harbors as well. In other words, it was petching awful.

But he wasn't here for the quality of the establishment's brew, the fugitive reminded himself. He was here for the quality of its customers. He took another draught, his mood growing blacker with each renewed meeting between beer and tongue. Things were rather quiet today, to his increasing disappointment, the midday heat having driven many Zeltivans of East Street into the dank confines of bars and taverns, where they slumped wearily in their seats, weighed down by the ever present burdens of poverty, and downed whatever piss water passing for booze they could afford.

Nov had always felt more at ease here than any of the other districts. The wealthy viewed East Street as a disease ridden dog to be put down, and those directly below them avoided speaking of it as if it were a cousin long since ostracized from the family. But to the Sunberthian, East Street was the closest thing to home he could find. He was one of them here. Not a disgusting eyesore or mistrusted miscreant, just another bloke with little coin to spare and likely a job to finish somewhere out in the city, escaping the afternoon heat for a drink and a moment of peace.

Except, of course, his idea of peace was going to mean a whole world of pain and misery for someone else. His only problem now was how to go about initiating said world of pain without getting himself dragged into more trouble than he was already in. Day Three was not something he looked forward to, and dying in some Zeltivan cell for getting caught inciting a brawl on Day Four...well, he'd rather cut his own throat than endure that kind of agonizing death.

To make matters worse, it wasn't just shooting pains and headaches he was forced to suffer. There was a terrible ache in his heart, too. The kind that no amount of distraction, drunkenness, or violence could dispel. Every waking moment of his day he had to feel it tugging at him incessantly, telling him he should be somewhere else, with someone else, because that was where he belonged.

But Noven knew as well as any of the former Scars that this was not possible. And there was still his past to consider. Still so much left to unearth with the aid of the harlot, the junior assistant, and the Myrian...

The Sunberthian took another giant, reckless swig from his mug and grimaced as the foul liquid slid greasily down his throat. This pain was different, he'd realized, from the others. Nov suspected it had something to do with the fact that he knew Keene was still alive and well somewhere on that Nuit run island, and not dead in some ditch after having been used as a plaything by mobsters. When the others had disappeared on him, the man experienced what he could only describe as losing his mind. He would interrogate those around him endlessly, going over every little event in the past days for any sign, any clue that there had been unhappiness or unease, before hitting the streets to search for them himself. Night after night, day after day, he went on like this, going as far as knocking in a few heads along the way out of sheer frustration. It ate him from the inside out, not knowing where they'd gone. What might have befallen them. Why they had chosen to leave without so much as a goodbye.

But this...this wasn't the feeling of going crazy. This was the feeling of wanting desperately to be somewhere that wasn't here. To be with the very thing he could not have because of what he--what both of them--refused to give up.

Nov ran an agitated hand through unruly locks. The pain was beginning to grow truly unbearable. His head throbbed, his limbs were lined with fire every few chimes, and his left knee jounced with dwindling patience. He had neither the energy nor luxury to be thinking of anything other than Vexing the shyke out of the first person he could get his hands on.

It's only a matter of time, he tried to reassure himself, only a matter of time before some unlucky bastard gets drunk enough for me to royally piss off...

[Felicity]

Who am I...?

It was a daily thought, a question that never had an answer, and yet it guided and drove this living husk of a woman forward through time like nothing else. Who am I, why am I here, what do I want. Nothing really changed either. Nothing could satisfy, or quench, the hunger deep in her heart and soul. Nothing was ever enough. Nothing even came close. All drinks tasted bitter and the sweetness of any mean quickly turned to dust on her tongue. The flesh never had enough, the mind never was satisfied. An empty, dark void. That was what settled at the center of Felicity's chest. In her stomach, in her loins, in her mind. Emptiness and a perpetual boredom. Nothing was worth living for at all.

The dark liquid swirled at the bottom of her cup which she clasped with two hands, looking deep into its depths as if expecting some answer to come bubbling up to the surface. A loose grip, supportive and on the verge constantly of letting go, much like how she was herself. How did she even know she was alive? If she bleed herself would that confirm she was of the living? If she stole from the man who sat two tables away, would that prove she existed? Maybe if she leaped from the top of this building, then perhaps she would know she was alive.

The irony of that thought made her smile. What kind of a person wondered if dying proved you were alive? Was that who she really was?

In one gulp the last of the disgusting liquid was thrown down her throat and the buzzing in her ears seemed to applaud the additional stimulation even as her limbs tingled with anticipation. An absent flick of her wrist allowed the mug to fall from her grip and drop to the floor, breaking there where it hit with a satisfying CRACK.

Felicity laughed and sat back in her chair, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm before letting her arms fall loosely to her sides. A note of amusement came when she saw the server's less than happy expression at the broken cup, but that only made Felicity smile more. Then she stood wobbly to her feet, using the back of her chair to balance for a moment before adjusting her dirty shirt so that it covered her bare stomach once more. Did men like that? Felicity was not really sure, but then she doubted it really mattered. If you had breasts and a cunt a man would bang you, and that was all she needed to know. Here on East Street seduction was not a requirement. Say you will do anything they want and most of these scum bags will take you, right there on the table if it had been a couple days.

With a wave and a not so sincere apology to the waitress as she came over to clean up the mess Felicity looked around the room, looking for something to fill the void in her chest. Something, or someone knew, and without too much effort she found him, sitting alone in a corner with a sour look in his eyes and a dangerous aura. Someone who looked like he would kill you rather than talk with you... And with a smile still in place Felicity walked up to his table and sat in the chair closest to him, blue eyes dancing up and down his body with an appreciating gaze.

"I don't know about you," Felicity said, her Zeltivan accent thick, "but I am looking for something tonight and it's not a warm hug and good company."

Fingers pushed back a stray blond lock, trailing over her neck where the inverted triangle rested before absently sliding down her chest and over one breast before coming to rest in her lap. She had not yet come up with a character, an identity for herself, but then Felicity was sure it would come soon enough. Who was she tonight? Maybe this man would find out.

[Noven]

He stopped mid-drink, mug just a tip away from pouring more of the foul stuff into his mouth. A few tables and aspiring drunks across from him was the blond haired, blue eyed form of Trouble Incarnate. And she had just dropped her cup onto the floor with a resounding crack.

The laugh the followed was hollow, reckless. It reminded Noven eerily of the goddess who had given him his mark, even more so when the girl got up out of her seat, drawing all of the attention within the bar toward her wayward frame as she sauntered over to his table, and laid out the most blunt offer the Sunberthian had yet to receive since arriving in this city. There was a wicked gleam in her eye, too. One that only enhanced the suggestiveness of her fingers as they trailed from neck to lap, slowing just a hair is they ran over the supple curve of her breast.

He regarded her for a moment, gaze caustic and expression grim. There were plenty of other men to choose from in this miserable pisshole. Ones that were currently growing a bit restless in seeing their prey hand itself over to someone who hadn't appeared overtly interested in the first place. And she was every inch the desirable prey, indeed, from her full lips and pleasing shape to the way she practically oozed vulnerability in her taste for the lethal.

Noven frowned. That could only mean two things: either this girl knew what she was doing, or she was just plain, petching crazy. Because judging from the looks they were getting, he had the distinct impression neither of them would be leaving this building quietly.

There was something about her, though...aside from the curious triangle resting along her neck, which Nov couldn't quite decide was ink or not-ink. She reminded him of another time, another place. The fugitive narrowed his eyes a fraction, mind suddenly invaded by old memories. Strong memories. Images of fire, of icy eyes framed by pale, gold hair, and the feeling of ecstasy as they both lost themselves to the all-consuming force of raw, feverish passion...

Noven blinked, willing the painful thoughts away. This was a poor time to be reminiscing, as the air had grown thick with hostility in the last couple of chimes.

The look on his face just now must have more than passed for agreement, because several of the bar's patrons appeared to be inching toward the edge of their seats, guzzling the last of their kelp beer before engaging in the inevitable. When blondie had first walked in, they had kept their interests mostly private, exchanging a bawdy joke or two but nothing more. Any slumdog knew that a women who waltzed into an establishment this rundown, alone and seemingly unarmed, had nasty surprises up her sleeves for any unwanted interest. Her little show with the broken mug and delirious laughter hadn't exactly helped her case of likely being bat shyke crazy, either. Some men were desperate enough to petch the deranged and the demoralized, but as a general rule, most preferred not to stick their pricks in something that might bite back.

As soon as the blond sat herself at Noven's table, however, the game had begun to change. Whether she was aware of this or not mattered little. The moment her target showed enough interest to accept her offer, she would become a prize. A testament to another man's strength and prowess if he managed to win her from the unworthy likes of a mean-eyed foreigner.

Unfortunately for them, this particular foreigner was more than happy to oblige.

Nov set down his mug, stuffed his gloved hands into his pockets, and eased back in his chair with an indecorous grin of his own. He stared down at the unfinished beer for a few ticks before meeting the blond's gaze once more.

"Well," the man answered, loud enough for those around them to hear, "lucky for you, miss. I happen to be the worst kind of company there is."

He turned to face her completely. One arm leaned against the table while the other rose to casually rest upon the back of her chair, bringing him just a little closer. "But I've got a room to myself and I don't care to wait till tonight." His voice lowered to a murmur, words filled with earnestness that was not entirely feigned. "Not with you."

There was a scoff somewhere amongst the crowd of bitter eavesdroppers. But Noven paid them no mind, maintaining his focus on the blond instead before jerking his chin sideways to suggest they leave. He rose confidently from his chair, going so far as to offer a hand to the newest addition to his plot for Vexing one of these unwitting sods to bloody oblivion. There were about six tables between them and the door, and of those six at least three of them were occupied by folks drunk and belligerent enough to be considering removing that randy little daisy from the lone foreigner's hands.

Should his unintended partner in chaos accept, Nov would pull her to her feet. And then he would do something both blatant and unexpected. He'd draw her nearer to catch the scent of her neck and hair through his nose, lingering just enough so he could practically hear the grinding of teeth around them.

"You smell good," he growled the half-lie. No matter how feminine or alluring she might actually have smelled, Noven could sense the brokenness inside of her, the disjointed abandonment mixed with a desperation to remember what being alive felt like. It leaked from her words, her mirthless laughter, the borderless blue of her eyes that seemed like it would drift for all eternity, searching for meaning, substance, anything to anchor them. All to no avail.

But truth wasn't the point. The point was merely to make the other men want to find out what she smelled like for themselves.

And it worked.

Not ten steps in, a burly figure with more chest than brains rose from his seat to stand between them and the door. "Oy," he leered, beefy arms crossing over his barrel-like torso as a couple of his buddies stood to join him. "Not so fast there."

"Blondie," Nov stated calmly, all airs of lustful flirtations abandoned. Not that it mattered at this point. He'd thrown his bait and it took, and there was no going back. The Sunberthian rolled his shoulders, easing the fabric of the coat as he clenched both of his hands into fists. "You should find somewhere safe until this is over."

The other men snorted in derision. "She can find a safe place to sit right here," their leader jeered, making a lewd gesture centered around his groin. His buddies guffawed as if it was the best one liner they'd ever heard. And for the likes of them, it probably was.

Noven sighed a satisfied little sigh to himself. It warmed the very cockles of his heart, knowing he was going to be able to dish out mind-rending pain and a beating of a lifetime to scum such as this.

Now, for the icing on the cake.

"There won't be a 'here' left if you don't get the fuck out of my way," he spat without so much as flinching. The Sunberthian took a step forward, both to block the blond from their view than and to back his own claims of intimidation. His rivals were of height with him, but their leader was built thicker than a bull, and he needed every advantage he could get. "So you'd best move. Or you and your friends will have one less cock for your whore mothers to sit on tonight."

That tasted almost as foul as the kelp beer in his mouth, even for him. But it did the trick. One moment, Nov was insulting three perfectly formidable looking blokes and their mothers with language his Myrian forebears would frown upon. The next, he was hoping against all hope blondie had moved as he ducked a wild swing aimed straight for his head. All of that pent up tension brewing in the air finally released into one, glorious explosion of violence. The barkeep ran straight to locate help, presumably in the form of the Wave Guard or armed locals, while all hell broke loose within the Kelp Bar.

[Felicity]

And so they game had begun, just as it usually did though tonight it seemed like the players were more eager to begin their bouts than ever. Why was that? Absently Felicity began to pick apart in her mind what she had done. A little scene to draw attention, choosing the roughest person she could find in the bar, and throwing herself at this man in a way that those who were interested could not help but see. That was all really, and on most nights that was enough get a little attention from the rest and a stupidly hearty smile from the targeted person in question. Tonight though it was different. There was a new tension in the air, the cause of which the woman could not quite place.

For a tick Felicity had forgotten where she was and smiled out of habit as the man's arm circled her chair, and she obliged him by moving herself ever closer to the edge so that, had he wanted, he could have taken a bit right out of her neck with little effort. His words were loud, boasting almost but Felicity did not mind. Just as she was supposed to she bit her lip, half lowering her eye lids as if the thought of such a thing were almost too much to bear. She had not quite gotten the expression right of course, but really it did not matter to most. The average drunk in this place could read an expression as well as they could petch, which consequently was not that well either.

When he stood Felicity took his hand without hesitation, pulling herself u and then wrapping her body around that offered arm and clung to him as if he were the last thing that could keep her from slipping totally from this world. Then he did something unexpected. He pulled her closer still, taking her into his arms for just a brief tick to pull from her the scent of her flesh, of her hair in a way that one might sample a fine glass of whine. It was with a short glance around, at the eyes of the men that followed them that the pieces began to click into place. Something WAS different tonight, but it wasn't her. It was HIM.

Her grip tightened on the man's arm as they started toward the door, her eyes now sweeping around in a slight daze as she saw some men beginning to move to intercept them. This had never happened before, at least not like this. She had seen one or two scuffle over rights to her bed before yes, but typically they were so drunk they would have fought over the rights to poke a stump let alone a woman. What happened now, however, was different. It was deliberate, an act put on by this person to bring these men's blood to boil. Though she did not completely understand, it seemed that he was using her... and it was thrilling.

"Blondie"

"Yes?" Felicity looked up, having once more been more distracted by her own thoughts than by the man whom she was now with.

"You should find somewhere safe until this is over."

She blinked and laughed, slowly releasing her grip on Noven's arm, though her fingers trailed long after she had released him, "You are quite the gentleman. Try not to take too long, I do not think I can stand to wait." She said this with a deepening tone to her voice, a bit of a rasp added there to feign a seductive tone, and a quick look at the man before Noven to which she offered a wink before stepping back to sit on the edge of a table.

Just in time it seemed, for as soon as she had moved away the swing had come and chaos let loose. One hand absently trailed the back of her neck as Felicity watched, blue eyes darting over the action, taking in the fighting, the violence, and the blood. Something inside her trembled, her heart began to hammer in her chest as the more she watched the more the sensations spread. For not even a tick did she think to help this man. He wanted this, and had enticed this, and now he would get to sample the fruits of his efforts.

The barkeep ran then, straight for the door and presumably for help to stop the fighting before it got out of hand. But of course, Felicity could not have that. Her smile came again as she squinted one eye, her other hand waving fingers at the door as she brought from her mind an image that stepped into reality around the door just as the barkeeper was getting close. A man, large and muscled taller than the frame itself blocked his way from the outside. Dressed in only a thin strip of cloth at the waist he bent down as the man approached, a sneer on the illusion's lips as dark brown eyes glared at barkeep, daring him to try and get past. That was all it took, and the barkeeper came to a sudden halt, not daring to try his hand at this brute and instead turned around, heading back to the back of the establishment where there was likely a second exit but then that was all Felicity needed. Just to buy a little more time, to enjoy this a little longer.

Lowering her hand Felicity turned her eyes back to the fighting, dismissing the illusion who stepped back out of sight and vanished from existence.

[Noven]

He had about a tick's worth to take in the alarming sight of a towering beast of a man blocking the front door before another fist came flying for his face. Momentarily distracted, Noven only just managed to twist to one side, watching a hand more meaty than any hand had a right to be skim straight past his nose.

Chairs everywhere were scraping against wood as people rose to spectate the fight. Some cheered the burly Zeltivan on, his two lackeys loudest of all behind his considerable bulk. Others had their hands on their weapons and their eyes on the door. And a few of the more still lingered on the fringes, biding their time for a prime opening to strike, ever the opportunists.

Nov glanced around while his opponent shouted a slew of derision at him. Things had escalated fast. Good. There was already a ring of rowdy onlookers forming around them, some going so far as to start pulling tables and chairs out of the way.

The Sunberthian knew this routine better than he did his own name. What the poor lacked in luxury, they made up for as best they could in indulgence. And watching two people beat the shyke out of each other was about as entertaining as entertainment got around these parts. Which was fine by Nov. He wasn't much for showmanship, but he'd been in enough cage fights to know the odds were stacked sky high against him. Superficially, to be sure, but as long as it got the crowd worked up with a hunger to see blood spilled, he might just get away with Vexing the petcher unnoticed.

Any common spectator would bet their money on the big guy. He was nearly twice the other man's size, unleashing all manner of arrogant contempt while he ground one fist into the palm of the other, and was, most importantly of all, not a foreigner. Even without coin the support would be stacked in Big Ugly's favor. Noven and every entrepreneur who monopolized a business in blood sports knew this. But those more experienced--whether in fighting, gambling, or commerce--would think twice. They would see the hard glint in the smaller man's eyes, the way the newcomer showed no signs of backing down even in the face of mountainous odds. And like Nov had judged his blond companion only moments before, they would assume the same of him.

That either this outsider was completely out of his mind, blinded by lust with more than a few loose marbles rolling around in his boozed up head.

Or he knew exactly what he was doing.

Nov had already taken stock of the opponent and surroundings before him when Big Ugly lunged. Apparently, the dock worker had grown tired of waiting around and, having run out of flagrant insults, decided to wrestle his lesser rival to the ground and be done with it. The tan lines just below the hems of his short sleeves, his impressive and often used store of foul language, and the distinct smell of brine trailing his every moment gave away his profession easily enough. As did the violent shift of his right leg his intentions just before he lurched forward to grab Noven in a bodylock.

The fugitive was ready. He stood his ground, and for a tick the onlookers collectively held their breaths, sure that this was it. This was how the foreigner would go down.

And then Nov slipped from underneath his rival's grasping arms, forcing the other man to find his footing again as he stumbled through empty air.

Not a single advantage was wasted. A gloved hand grabbed Big Ugly by the hair and, with a single surge of concentrated strength, slammed his face straight into the edge of a nearby table. There was a sickening crack. When the Zeltivan's face lifted again, it was covered in blood, his features twisted in pain and almost unrecognizable. He howled in both agony and anger, hands torn between clutching his broken nose and wringing the neck of the petcher who'd done this to him. Those around them simply stared in silent shock. The fight was over. They knew it. Their horse had lost.

And then that fleeting peace was shattered as Big Ugly bellowed, "GET HIM!"

His buddies were on the Sunberthian in a matter of ticks. One managed to land a glancing blow along his jaw, but that was far as they got. There was no need for Noven to hold back anymore. Showing no signs he'd even registered the punch, he slugged the first lackey hard in the gut, knocking the wind out of him, and turned around in a low kick to catch the second in mid-strike. The other goon went down arse first and got a swift boot to the face moments later. Nov displayed no hesitation, no mercy. As soon as one was down he went for the other, forcing the remaining friend to straighten so he could slam a fist square against the side of his temple. In less time than it took to piss, both lackeys were out cold.

"U-Useless!" Big Ugly sputtered through the stream of blood dripping down his face. He got up wobbily to his feet.

"Just let it be, lads," one of the patrons, an older looking woman with careworn features, interjected. "Fight's over. Not worth it. Let's just get on with our lives before the Wave Guard comes and punishes us all."

There was a murmur of agreement, but even more of dissent. Shouts of defiance were heard. Something about this scum of an outsider having no right to come in here, stealing their women and beating their men. More words of anger and frustration were exchanged. Someone pushed. Another shoved back. A body backpedaled into one of the tables, sending several mugs crashing to the floor.

And that was when the masses converged. At least half of the bar's patrons swarmed in to take down this ruthless foreigner and each other. The rest were either clambering for a way out, careless as to who they had to step over to escape, or switching targets to something a little less suicidal: blondie.

But Nov wouldn't let them. He hadn't forgotten about her, and as he fought and shoved his way out of the mass of heaving bodies the first thing he did was search for a head full of pale gold hair. The instant he found her he grabbed her and pushed fiercely through the fray. He didn't even stop to register her condition. There wasn't time. A brawl was one thing, signified soundly by the smashing of stools and flying of mugs. But some of the customers had been armed, Nov knew, and that was another matter entirely.

No sooner had he thought this than he found their path blocked by something big, briny, and still dripping with blood.

"You're mine," the man leered. "Both of you."

Nov swore silently to himself. He had no choice. Either he did it now, or risk going home empty handed. And he knew that was not an option, just as leaving blondie here on her own wasn't, as well as fighting this lumbering sod amongst such chaos without giving some other opponent--someone likely armed and far more dangerous--the perfect opening.

He let go of the girl and yanked off his left glove. Big Ugly noticed but showed little interest, until he saw the red veins webbed all across Noven's dark hand and his eyes went wide with realization.

"You're the--"

The man choked. Blood gurgled and poured from his throat as he sank to his knees, revealing the very thing Nov had hoped not to encounter on their way out.

Someone armed. And much, much more dangerous.

He took one look at the man's crimson-lined sword and shoved the blond sideways. "Run!" he managed to roar just before the blade skewered the air where his chest used to be only moments before. The killer swore and stalked after his prey, cutting down anyone unlucky enough to get in his way.

Meanwhile, Nov had one hand around blondie's arm as he burrowed through the brawling throng, keeping as many people between them and their pursuer as possible. The Sunberthian had come here to fight, not to kill innocent people. And he was certainly not here to make a name for himself. He was a fugitive, after all, and there was no doubt in his mind that whoever had been behind the mob uprising during the former Scars' harrowing escape possessed more than enough means to track them down.

But he couldn't die here, either. Even so far from home, it was kill or be killed--an inescapable reality it seemed for the likes of him.

"How the fuck do we get out of here?" he spat in frustration, looking wildly around while doing his best to avoid taking a fist or chair to the face. Some desperate part of him hoped that, if blondie was a local, she might know of a way out. And if she did she'd best make use of that knowledge now, or Noven would be left with no choice but to begin his blood-drenched legacy of murder, mayhem, and infamy right where they stood.

[Felicity]

The fight started faster than Felicity had expected, the other guy was overly eager she assumed. Even so she, like the majority in this bar, felt that she knew who the winner would be. You always bet on the bigger, stronger man, right? There was no real organized fighting down on east street. Most brawls sparked and were over as fast as they began, typically the biggest and ugliest walked away the victor. It was just how it was. Already Felicity was wondering if she really wanted to give herself to that other guy... He looked smellier. She did not care much for the smell of brine or the sea, and he was just a little too hairy for her taste as well. It was a shame really. The other guy was a lot cuter, and there was something hard in his gaze that this other brute lacked. It was that hardness, in fact, that had drawn Felicity in the first place. Oh well.

And then it was over, faster than Felicity even thought it would be, and like the rest of the crowd she merely stared with a slack jaw expression of surprise as the bigger man's head came up from the table, blood pouring from his shattered face. Like a pathetic dog the bigger man howled, but Felicity was not paying him any attention. Her eyes had shifted back to the victor, hand paused half way through brushing a hair behind her ear, not quite sure what to think. Did that really just happen?

A flutter in her chest made the woman suck in a breath, eyes half closing briefly before snapping back into focus as the big one shouted. Two more came at this man, and just as quickly they were dispatched with such ease that it looked like a grown man fighting children, or swatting flies. A hand brushed over the slightly fighter beat of her heart, a breath again caught in her throat as a shiver went up her spine. What was this guy?

Before Felicity had really taken in all that had happened the bar broke out into an all out brawl, bodies beginning to press in and shove and punch at seemingly random. This, too, was unexpected and not something Felicity had counted on. A scuffle or two was perfectly fine, but something like this could quickly turn into quite a bother. She was in very real danger now, and as some of the waring bodies turned their attention toward her the truth of that really began to sank in. It made her heart pound in her chest, as she was eyed as an easy prize and as fists and blood began to spray here and there. This was bad. Very bad, and she loved it.

Sliding down from the table Felicity rolled her head from side to side, setting her hands on her hips as her blue eyes glanced around at the scene unfolding. Violence everywhere, a hint of sweat and blood lust in the air. There was pain on the people's faces as she looked, but on her own there was a sudden pleasure. Would someone try to kidnap her now? Maybe she should let them... and no sooner had she thought that she felt a firm grip upon her arm and away she was taken, nearly falling by the suddenness of it. It was with a mixture of pleasure and mild disappointment that she saw that it was her previous interest who now had her. If he was the one who took her then the rest of this might not be any fun at all. As skilled as he was Felicity felt certain he could have fought his way through all of this easily enough. Where was the fun in that?

As she was lead away Felicity was eagerly looking back the way they had come, watching the conflict unfold, the fights taking place. Nothing this interesting had happened to her in some time, and she was not quite ready to let it go just yet. Luckily they were stopped at the door, an absent glance back revealed it was the same man who had gotten his face smashed in by the foreigner. He had lost before, and Felicity had no reason to believe this time would be any different. Finding herself released Felicity would clasp her hands behind her back, looking around like one might admire a piece of art. Already the excitement of the moment was wearing away, leaving behind just the dull throb as a reminder it had existed.

This time her man had decided to take off his glove. Why was that? Probably to avoid getting any blood on it, or so Felicity figured. Then there was no reason to think about that any longer, for the obstacle blocking their path suddenly dropped and Felicity got to see the cause soon after. A blade, sharp and dripping crimson upon the floor. It was the first time she had seen something like this so blatantly done in the open. There, right before her eyes a life had been and now, in a breath, it was gone. The only reminder that it was there a streak of red on the edge of the weapon that had ended it. It really was dangerous here.

It was all happening too fast for Felicity to process. How did all of this start again? It was just a fight, but now someone was dead, or dying. Their blood painted the floor, and as she was ushered through the crowd others were beginning to follow him, one after another. He cut them down like a farmer would weeds in his garden. Without thought, or care. Was it really that easy?

She had not noticed. Her heart was pounding. Pounding so heard that it felt fit to burst from her chest. Her breath was coming in short gasps, a cold sweat fell down her spine as her eyes, wide and dilated looked around, up and down and back, toward the slashing sword and the flying fists. Was this it? Was this how she was going to die?

She couldn't help it. She laughed. A full, chest aching laugh that made her double over for just a tick before she came back up, one hand grasping firmly on the man's arm for support as she pulled in deep breaths to refill her lungs. A look up and she saw it, in his eyes. Uncertainty. He didn't know what to do either. He wasn't sure if they would live or die, if he could protect her. Would he protect her? Nothing was certain, there was no telling what would happen next. They balanced on a knife's edge and it made Felicity smile fully for the first time.

"Isn't this fun?" whispered, loudly. Eyes wild she giggled again, turning to look back the way they had come and pointing, "He might actually kill us you know."

A way out? Was there one? Between her excited chuckles Felicity looked around. There was always a way out, but it was not always so obvious. It was then she had remembered.

"Now where did that barkeeper go...?" It was not really a question for Noven. Instead her eyes were searching, and without warning she would pull on his arm harder, planing one foot on his thigh and hoisting herself up so that she could look over the crowd from a new height. There, in the corner of the bar, on the other side of the flowing bodies and waving fits and chairs, was a door behind the counter. A door that, no doubt, lead to another way out.

Sliding back down to the floor Felicity pointed toward it, "There. Get us there, behind the counter. There is probably a backdoor the barkeeper uses to take in his supplies."

Thus said she would start forward, pulling on Noven's sleeve until he finally took the lead again. After all she was just a smaller and fragile woman. The bigger man should be the one to push their way through the crowd. All the while the blood soaked blade was getting closer. Hopefully he realized the urgency as much as Felicity did.

She couldn't keep the smile off her face. It was too interesting, too fun. At any moment they could be struck down, tripped, or cut from behind. They could die here, or just be trampled to death. There was no certainty anymore, they just had to get to that door... When they finally reached the counter she would quickly dash around it, passing through the opening and waving for Noven to follow. Once he had passed through felicity would turn to follow him, but not before glancing back at the doorway. Just as her fingers left the edges of the frame she would feel the connection to her gnosis flare to life, and suddenly where there once was a door there was be nothing but a solid wall. A minor illusion, easily ignored, but perhaps enough to buy them a few ticks to escape out the back door that was just a short distance through the shelves and piled boxes of the bars back of house.

There was almost a skip in her step as Felicity went after her new partner in crime, and as she ran she kicked at boxes and pulled on the shelves, making them teeter and fall whenever possible. Anything she could do to make the passage after them as difficult to follow as possible. It was a bar room brawl after all. Stuff like this happened. It was no one's fault really. The barkeeper should have paid better attention to his security.

Then, finally, when they made it outside it would be Felicity's turn to take Noven's arm and pull him along after her, smiling eagerly back at him as her chest heaved with breathless excitement as they ran, turning down the next alley they came to , and then the next, and the next. Putting as much distance between them at the bar as they possibly could. She would keep them going for several chimes, until her lungs burned and her legs ached, but the lightness in her head and her soul made her almost forget these things. Finally, when she felt there was enough distance Felicity would duck down yet another alley behind, pressing both herself and Noven against the wall and slowly sliding down to sit herself.

Sweat dripped from her nose and soaked her already dirty clothing, and one hand pushed back the locks of blonde hair as she struggled to gain enough oxygen to speak, softly, "That... Was exciting." Resting her head back against the wall she looked over at the man next to her, "So should we do it here?"

[Noven]

Nov stumbled as the lass doubled over and dragged against his arm. He thought she'd taken a punch to the gut at first, but her sudden peal of laughter suggested otherwise. Godsdammit. Now was not the time to find out his only ally in this rutting joint was more deranged than all the drunks, murderers, and downtrodden souls currently brawling for their lives combined.

"No," he answered testily, ducking out of the way and pulling blondie down with him as the legs of a bar stool swung over their heads. "This is the exact sort of thing I'd call not fun."

At that exact moment, one of bar's wenches plowed straight into him, her eyes wild with fear. And when she looked back, Noven understood why. Some lusty--and decidedly unsober--looking petcher was stumbling after her, shoving other patrons out of his way.

In a matter of ticks, the two men were face to face. The wench had long since scampered off, no doubt squeezing her way through as many bodies as possible, and her unwanted admirer was eager to follow. But in his way stood the mean-eyed foreigner, who seemed, against all better judgement, unwilling to budge. The drunk threw his fist before he could even form proper threats, as he had been most of the way here. Only to have his expression transform from gloating to confused as his fist was stopped dead, enveloped in calloused fingers, and sent flying right back to sock him squarely in the eyes.

Before his assailant could even register what had happened, Noven shifted his grip with every intention of breaking the man's wrist. But the machete wielding murder was almost upon them and there was no time to spare for a good old fashioned Vexing. So instead, he took a boot to one of the drunkard's shins, breaking it with a swift kick and satisfying snap.

"Alright," Nov admitted, watching the screaming drunk turned cripple go down, "maybe that was a little bit fu--what the hell are you...oy, watch it!"

Blondie was pulling on and stepping all over him, forcing the man to bend and throw out his arms to keep balance as she scaled him like some kind of petching tree. He swore profusely, but the lass paid him no mind, her focus devoted entirely to scouting over a sea of brawling heads. Nov supposed whilst being used as a human foothold that he ought to be grateful she weighed as little as she did.

The Sunberthian's relief was palpable when the girl reported her findings. Batty as she may have appeared to be, at least she had sense enough to give clear, rational directions. He felt his sleeve tugged in a general direction before he was forced to take the lead again. There was no feasible way for the slight blond to clear a path, so it was left up to Noven. For the next immeasurable amount of chimes, he shoved, shouldered, kicked, and fought their way to the backdoor. He threw back several glances along the way, unsettled by the smile plastered across blondie's face, but grateful nonetheless their pursuer had not caught up to them. Yet.

Once they reached the counter, his companion wasted no time. She scurried around to pass through the doorway first, motioning for him to follow once she was inside. Nov obliged, none too eager to stick around, and was so hellbent on not looking back that he failed to notice what the lass had done to the door that was no longer a door.

He did take notice of her handiwork, however, when things began crashing and splintering behind them. But there was no point in telling her to stay quiet when chaos still reigned in the bar proper, and he couldn't deny the trail of broken wares might slow whoever managed to come after them. It was just a trifle off-putting, seeing her wreak all this havoc as if she were a child set loose in a glass room. Nov had spent so many years working one orphanage or another that it required every ounce of restraint not to grab her by the scruff and order her to cease this mindless destruction at once.

Her actions weren't entirely mindless though, he reminded himself. And he doubted at this point that a proper scolding would do anything but further excite the curious creature.

As soon as they made it outside, the two of them broke out into a run. Blondie took the lead this time, breathless with the rush of adrenaline as she pulled him along, their footsteps hitting hard against stone. Noven had no idea where she was leading them, but for the moment he couldn't care less. There was something oddly nostalgic about the last stretch of their escape. Maybe it was because the Sunberthian had spent many an afternoon in his childhood running in this very fashion, away from one source of trouble or another. Or maybe it was because each bounce and sway of her golden hair reminded him of the one night he'd spent as a Sahovan fugitive, and of the similarly fair haired, fair skinned partner he'd fled with...

They stopped without warning as the lass pressed him against the wall before sliding down to sit, utterly exhausted. He joined her moments after, not quite as winded but in deep need of a moment to rest all the same. Krysus...what a day. He never thought his plans would go this awry. Yet here they were, sweaty and dirty and blood singing with the thrill of having barely escaped with their lives.

He didn't respond when blondie confessed her excitement. But at her next question, Noven's eyes squinted, his mind not registering. "Do..." what? He almost asked.

But one look at her expression was answer enough. The man flicked his gaze resolutely elsewhere, fishing out the glove in his pocket and tugging it back on hastily. "You should go," he replied, purposefully choosing to ignore her question. "I didn't get to finish what I'd started in there and I'm short on time. Best get as far from me as you can, if you know what's good for you."

He pushed himself back to his feet, poking his head out from the alleyway to make sure no one had followed them. Then he turned back to look at blondie. It was hard, fighting the impulse to Vex her where she sat. They were secluded after all, alone in an alley with no witnesses around. And he hadn't been kidding when he said he was short on time. Trails of pain that had nothing to do with fighting, running, or being climbed on were beginning to shoot themselves up and down his limbs. If he'd managed to kill someone back there, he'd be free of this escalating mess. But he had been too concerned with getting out alive. With getthing them both out alive.

Noven gave himself a swift, mental kick. Why was he always getting suckered into helping the pretty ones? He ought to have learned by now. Maybe he deserved to endure Day Three if he was stupid enough to repeat this mistake.

"Just go," he muttered, turning to face the street again. "You'll find a good enough petch somewhere else. I'm all out of business today."

[Felicity]

Her heart was still pounding, and when Felicity looked down at her hands she saw that they trembled ever so slightly. A mixture of exhaustion and adrenaline that still pulsed through her brain, setting fire to her nerves and sending waves of pleasure greater than any act of the flesh or drug she had ever encountered. This, moments like what she had just experienced, that was what she lived for. In those times where there was danger, and her very life danced upon the blade of a knife, that was when she felt the most alive.

That was not how most people were, however, and the look in the man's eyes showed that he did not feel the same as her. Curiously she watched him as he slid the glove back onto his hand, and then for a moment she thought she caught a glimpse of something. Lines, red lines on his palms? Tilting her head Felicity tried to see if she could see them again, but by that point the markings were already covered.

Still breathing heavily Felicity looked up at the man as he turned away, curiosity peaking through the slowly fading rush. Shifting slightly so she could sit on her knees, Felicity turned to face the man's back, a playful smile softening her expression as a finger trailed over her lips, "And what exactly did you not get to finish...?" She had used her mark several times today, and if she were honest with herself she was beginning to grow weary of it. It required a certain level of focus, and imagination, to bring forth the illusions with the gnosis' power. After a while it could become exhausting. Still, she had a bit more left in her, enough to continue this game for some time yet.

"If you were not after a good petch," She said, tilting her head down slightly as she focused upon this person, sending him a new sensation, the feeling of fingers trailing over his belt and then inching further down, "Then what was it you were after...?" It was nothing but an illusion of a touch, and there were no fingers or any movement of his clothing as the illusionary sensation crept down lower.

Shifting her focus now to the hand that had just become gloved, the hand that seemed to hide something very interesting, Felicity created another sensation that would slide down his arm, a feeling of a small hand gently grasping his wrist, "Does it have something to do with the markings on your hand?"

The illusions were simple ones, broken as soon as one realized there was not actually anything there, touching him at all. Felicity had not gotten up or moved closer in any way but instead sat with a hungry look in her eyes, a desire to know and understand something that was just out of her grasp. Once more she trailed a finger over her neck and down her front, shifting closer while still on her knees, "Are you sure I can't help you with whatever it is you are after? I will do anything you want."

With the extra emphasis on the 'anything' her eyes would glance to his groin, then to his hand, and finally back up to his head, her eagerness all too apparent as she was filled with the uncertainty of what was about to happen next. This man was violent, and very strong. Had he wanted to start that brawl? If so, maybe the thing he wanted had nothing at all to do with sex. Maybe he just wanted to hurt, or maim, or kill... That could be interesting too.

[Noven]

As the blond spoke, Nov resisted the urge to look back again. Partly because he was worried someone would be coming after them any tick now, and partly because he knew from the suggestive tone in her voice alone that what he'd find would be unsettling at best. The man knew manner of broken birds back in the Berth, but few exhibited the same kind of reckless disregard for boundaries as blondie did. It left him with the distinct impression that it wasn't going to be easy to get rid of her.

Krysus. As if he didn't already have enough on his plate.

He was just about to open his mouth with a curt reply when a strange sensation stopped the words dead in his throat. His reaction was instant, heart lurching in alarm. How the hell had she managed to sneak up on him without him noticing? Noven glanced down, utterly confused. This time, his head shot back without hesitation to find her still sitting against the wall, the sliest of sly looks on her deceptively beguiling features. She hadn't moved a muscle as far as he could tell, but the phantom fingers crept ever lower. They filled him with a conflicting sense of dread and reluctant desire. At once alien and familiar, like a memory of being touched, but all wrong. Completely wrong.

Then the fingers moved areas of interest faster than he could blink. One moment they had been concentrated around his groin, the next they were trailing down his arm until they clasped gently around his wrist. Nov snatched his hand away as if he'd just touched fire, anger in his glare. He didn't know how the girl was doing what she was doing. Only that whatever it was, he didn't like it, and if she thought this was some kind of game she was about to get burned. Badly.

But in the end, it wasn't her black sorcery that solidified his decision. It was the hungrily pliant expression on her too-young face that drove Noven to do what he did next. Something about the way she shifted closer, still on her knees, against a force she had no understanding of and therefore no business entertaining eagerness for.

Mouth set to a grim, silent line, the Sunberthian left his post by the entrance to the alleyway and crouched before her. Then, very slowly and deliberately, he took off his gloves before tucking them in one of his coat pockets.

"Anything I want?" he echoed, splaying his fingers before closing them in a tight fist, his voice hollow. Distant. When he looked up again, there was a darkness in his gaze. One shaded with bitter disdain and cold, hard fury. "It's not about what I want, blondie. It's about what my goddess wants. What my mark demands. Pain, murder, and death. In that order, and as long and bloody between each as any mortal can reasonably stand. Or I die."

He withdrew one of his Tamos and held it before the lass in his left hand. The pain of his symptoms was ever growing, clouding his judgment and making the crimson veins along his hand pulse and throb with a will of their own.

"It wants me to hurt someone," he continued, tilting the blade horizontally before the blond, "so that it can hurt them a thousand times worse. Enough to make that someone wish she were dead." Nov held her gaze for a few moments longer, knuckles white from the effort of keeping the blade from cutting her smooth flesh, jaw clenched as his mind seriously deliberated the merits of killing a girl so lost in the throes of dancing with death.

But the moment passed. And within an instant, the Tamo was resheathed and the man who had brandished it back on his feet.

"That someone isn't going to be you," he stated matter-of-factly. Almost more for his own sake than hers. "So get the petch out of here. Before I throw you back with that brawling lot."

Nov needed for her to leave first. If she didn't, he'd never be able to trust she wasn't following him. He didn't know what he'd do if she refused. Hadn't even really gotten the chance to think that far, to be honest. But whatever the case, Vexing a young woman half his size was not the way he wished to exercise his thrice-damned curse. He was not too far gone yet. He could still fight it.

[Felicity]

"Anything. Felicity repeated.

She was so sure of that. Anything he wanted, she would give it to him. She would do anything... but she had never really stopped to consider what anything meant. Not that that was unusual. She never stopped to consider anything. She just stood, and ran straight toward whatever caught her eye, wherever it was, whatever it might have bee. Toward pleasure, toward fear, toward joy, and toward sadness. It was simple, so very simple she thought. She couldn't feel anything, or felt it so little it might as well not even be there, why would she not run toward something that might spark even the tiniest flame in her chest? What was there to fear, when there was no such thing as fear in her heart. No happiness, no sadness. She regretted nothing, ever. Felicity did whatever she wanted, always. Why would she hesitate now?

Her smile wavered slightly, and she drew back subconsciously as the blade was held before her eyes, right where the empty woman could not ignore its implications nor those that were carried by the words he spoke. Pain was never something she had considered for herself, desired specifically in any way, form or fashion. No one liked pain did they? Of course not. Pain was to warn, to aid fear in keeping a body and soul safe from harm. She did not fully understand fear, but pain, surely, affected her just like anyone else... Right?

Eyes no longer looked so eager, but while the smile faded to only a hint it did not completely leave her face. It was stuck there, barely tilting the corners of her mouth in a slight smirk, frozen as not even Felicity herself realized she was doing so. Not mocking, not sadistic, not sad or taunting was it in any way. Just a habit. What did one do when you had no idea what to do with your face? How to make those expressions that seemed so natural to everyone around you? You just smiled. Good or bad, it was still better than the looks she would get when she wore her face completely devoid of anything at all. This, then, was her real mask. Was it soon to be broken?

In him Felicity could see... no, she could almost feel the desire from the slight waver of his white knuckled fist around the weapon as he struggled to hold back whatever it was that was driving him, suppressing it with a force of will that should have been impressive, and maybe was, to Felicity. She looked at his eyes, but did not understand what she was saw. If he wanted to, he could cut her right now, and release himself just as he said. Why didn't he? Why did he hesitate? Or question? Felicity had never harmed anyone deliberately, or cruelly, but she knew without even the slightest doubt that if their roles were reversed she would have already cut him down and satisfied that desire. It just... didn't make sense.

That left this woman with two questions. What was it she wanted from this man... and what was she going to do? The edge of the blade glinted in the waning afternoon light, strangely mesmerizing for Felicity as she wondered what exactly was to happen next. Did she want him to release himself using her? After all it could be very painful, and surely she was like everyone else and despised being in pain as well. She thought so at least, but then she had never really tried...

"You're so lucky..." Felicity said softly, without realizing how much envy, fake or not, slid into her voice as she said those words. She looked up at him then, no longer trying to wear the mask but still, that smile remained. It was stuck, "You have a reason to do what you do. Good or bad, it still must be nice to know with absolute certainty what it is you want or desire."

Standing to her feet the woman dusted off her knees, all airs of who she was just a few chimes before gone as she let her true, unfeeling nature slip between the cracks. Her eyes, they looked at the man with nothing. No eager or desire or worry or fear. She felt none of those things, but right now something else was guiding her actions as she slowly raised her shirt up with one hand, exposing her mid drift and turning sideways to look at him, "Where do you want to hurt me...? Do you prefer to cut, or do you want to hit and beat me?"

The questions were put out into the open as easily as if she were asking him how he wanted his eggs prepared for a morning breakfast. Raising the shirt higher to show him her back Felicity would again speak softly, "Cut me, fuck me, or kill me. I don't mind... Just make me feel something."

She had never tried this before. Exposing herself, and giving herself up to a man to beat or even kill her. Would that spark something in her? Would her heart pound? Would her chest become filled with something other than emptiness? Over the years Felicity had tried many many things. From drugs and drink, to the pleasures of the flesh, to climbing and perching in the highest places possible. Stealing and conning, lying and telling the truth. Nothing lasted. Nothing penetrated the void of her heart for long. What kind of life was worth living when you could find no pleasure in it? Why avoid danger and death when you could neither fear nor regret? Why make a family when you could never connect with any of them? So many questions, and this wretch had yet to answer any of them.

"Please satisfy yourself." she said, but really what she wished to say was please satisfy me.