Soft Hands. [Sama'el]

[Issima]

Date: 10 Fall, 511 AV The walk back to the Inn where they had stayed together, where her things were still stowed, was a quiet one. The rain continued to fall, determined and relentless, and the darkness of the night only deepened. Riverfall felt more foreign to Issima than it had at any point on this journey, even with Sama'el so close, just beside her on the cobbled street. Aponi was well and calm again, if a bit shaken from his own ordeal. The Akalak was on his own way, and Sam? Sam had bloody hands and had probably not expected this was his welcome. Issima felt comfortable with the watchman, especially fond of him, but moments like these had a way of illuminating all the things you didn't know about another person. Would he be angry? Disappointed? She had absolutely no way of knowing. Hell, Issima didn't even know what she hoped for. She had no other choice in what she had done, but she had still directly disobeyed him and now caused an inconvenient mess. It would certainly be understandable if he was perturbed. And, it was easier to walk along the shadowed streets and wonder over Sam's disposition than it was to remember the Cerulean; his cruel hands, his hot breath, the way her flesh had given and bruised so easily beneath his hands. She'd never felt more fragile, more feminine, more helpless than in that moment. She hated it. When, at last, they climbed the steps and closed the door to the outside world, Issima slumped onto the edge of the bed. Her clothes were torn, revealing the long slope of one shoulder, the upper portion of her chest, the swell of one breast. Bruises peppered the fair skin already. Her lower lip was fuller than it ought to be, cracked and crimson. She was dripping wet, with long hair clinging to the elegant boning of her face as she stared at her own dirty fingers, which lay in her lap. "I'm sorry, Sam," she said at last. "I couldn't ignore him." She wouldn't have to explain to her fellow Drykas that she was referring to Aponi, nor the sentiment held within such simple words.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

He was quiet as they trudged back to their lodgings, actively trying to relax his muscles and his mind from their sudden vigilance. But when they were inside and he took a look at the mess the dead Cerulean had made of her clothes, the marks of his hands, shame flashed over his face and he looked down at his feet. Her words barely registered as he reciprocated them. "I'm sorry, Issima. I should not have left you here. It was a poor choice." Since he could not reverse his mistake, he attempted to make up for it by packing things up. They would sleep in their tents tonight, with strength in numbers. "There's some liniment in my saddlebags," he told her. "For the bruises."

[Issima]

Issima watched him move. Useful, efficient. Ready to carry her off towards a routine she was more familiar with, a world that would seem safer, even if it was still the same place. She curled her fingers against the blanket beneath her, and cast a glance around the strange room. She might miss it. "Were your travels easy?" she intoned when the silence was too much, too heavy. "And your friends? Are they well?" Issima felt as if she should help him, but her body was made of lead. She couldn't bring herself to move. She didn't want to be weak, or fragile, or damaged. She wanted to be a strong Drykas, as she had been struggling to be since the loss of her family, and stand up. Pack her own petching things, and follow Sam off to the world as she better understood it. But, she felt as if she had drawn in a deep breath when that blue man had touched her, and she had yet to let it out. She wasn't sure how to purge it, really, except that she would do anything for her mother in that moment. For the comfort of touch, for a hug. Issima glanced to Sam, who was busy with his hands. "Sam..." When he passed directly in front of her, she reached out to take his hand and stall his progress. "You won't look at me," she observed quietly, her warm fingers tightening. "Have I upset you so?"

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"No," he said, glancing down at her hand on his when she stopped him finally. When he looked up and tentatively met her gaze, his dark eyes were threatening tears, both to release the pent up energy of his worry and agitation and because he felt guilty for the damage done her Strider and almost done her. "I've upset me. Riverfall isn't safe for women, even strong Drykas women. I should not have left you here alone, or I should have had you stay at the Sanctuary where you could have been better protected. I'm sorry. I'm angry with myself for poor judgment, which is unbecoming a man of the Watch and... hells, I'll never make a good Ankal." Before she could protest, he gently loosed her grip upon him and continued packing their things. It was quick work, and he wanted them to find that strength in numbers, a little Drykas tent ghetto on the outskirts of the city of blue men. But he answered her questions... "Travels were strange, getting all those horses and livestock here so they can be cared for while we travel north. My friends are well. A couple of them are coming with me. With us. Do you still want to go?" He paused, glancing at her. "Do you still trust me to take you north and bring you back home safely?"

[Issima]

Issima felt the sting of his rejection of her, but the sight of those watery eyes lessened the blow. She watched as he shuffled about, almost too rushed to be orderly. She didn't have an immediate reply for his words, because he had erected an uncomfortable wall between them. She sat, glued in place, for a long moment. And then the frustration of the night was too much. The fear, the helplessness, the scuffle itself, the hurt, Aponi, all of it. It swelled into a ball of emotion that made her sigh aloud, dropping her head into her hands. Her fingers scrubbed at her brow, as if the pressure of her fingertips could push away the sudden headache. It didn't, of course, and she found her feet. "Sam," she said, turning to follow him when he simply stepped around her. His rush to be out of this place emanated off of him, making her vying for his attention ineffective. After a moment of this awkward dance, Issima had lost the bit of patience she had left. "Sama'el!" He'd never have heard her voice raised so, nor seen the stubborn set to her jaw as she grasped his shoulder and forced him to turn towards her. Her brow was furrowed, her eyes bright with emotion. "Stop it. This wasn't your fault any more than it was mine. It just happened. This has nothing to do with your future as ankal, your position in the watch, or... anything else!" She might have stomped her foot, for the temper she displayed. "It was a crazy coincidence, and it's over. I'm fine, and you're not getting rid of me so easily. Of course I still trust you, and of course I'm still going. What I don't trust, Watchman, is your ability to discern what a girl who was just attacked by a giant blue man needs." Issima folded her arms over her chest, somehow looking frail and stubborn at the same time. "I'd very much like a hug."

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

There had been no intent to reject, merely the impetus to get her to their makeshift camp near the Sanctuary, which would be their sanctuary, where Horse waited, and Denen and Luke and theirs. No blue men, Cerulean or otherwise, were like to bother them there. It wasn't that he didn't hear her, or was purposefully ignoring her, but he fell into a single-pointed focus: get Issima and Aponi to safety. Then there would be time for... He stared at her, wide-eyed, when she finally stopped him in his tracks and laid down her law. Blinking a few times, he paused to take it all in, dumbfounded by her sudden self-assertion. It wasn't that he thought her weak-willed, but she had been so easygoing until now. Of course, she had every reason to take the bit into her teeth and plant her feet. Awkwardly, he felt, he put his long arms around her, body smelling of travel and muscles tremoring ever so slightly. He didn't count, not exactly, but when the duet of their drumbeat hearts reached a sort of completion and before his could begin racing again, he pulled back to look at her, touch her hair tentatively. "I'm sorry. I just want to get you both to camp. Then we can relax our guards. Be ourselves." He chafed her arms, then crouched to pick up all the luggage. "Are you ready?"

[Issima]

However brief his assent might have been, it was enough. Enough, for now, to soothe the frayed nerves that were so very raw and exposed. He smelled familiar, and felt like safety, with those arms wrapped around her thus. Just when Issima had released a little sigh and nuzzled into his chest, the moment was over. His hands were on her arms, and then not. Luggage in tow, Sam was far more prepared than she was. Alas, she nodded her pretty head and shrugged her cloak on over her torn clothing. She was still wet, still cold. And while she certainly wasn't nervous about meeting his companions, she hardly felt like she was in the best frame of mind to be making an impression upon people who were important enough to Sam to accompany him. Either way, she followed, because she trusted him enough to do so. "Sam," she piped softly, once they had escaped the building to find that, mercifully, the rain had abated. "Can we not talk about this with your friends? At least, not tonight. I don't want to be Issima-the-girl-who-was-attacked-by-an-Akalak forever in their minds, and if that is how I meet them, well... I wouldn't forget a story like that."

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

It wasn't until she spoke up that he paused to look at her, and really look at her, setting aside his own guilt feelings and worry. He blanched a little. "I... I'm sorry. Let's go back to the room. We can lock the door and lay down and talk about things until we're both calm. When we're both ready, we'll go to camp. We can even spend the night if you want to. They have no reason to believe we're in danger." He turned around, all her things still in his hands, ready to follower her back up. Sama'el just wasn't good at this whole girls thing. No wonder they kept leaving him for better offers.

[Issima]

Issima hesitated, biting at her lower lip in thought. She couldn't decide which was best. To assure Sam that she was strong enough for this, that it was quite alright if they scurried back to camp and made friends with those he had brought along. It seemed the Drykas thing to do, to stifle her weakness and follow his original leading. But his eyes were kind, and she felt like he was really seeing her for the first time since his return, and she felt loathe to part with that. It was self-indulgent, but she dipped her head in a vague nod and then turned to do that. They received a few curious stares as the two who had departed scarcely a moment before returned already, but she didn't care. She simply mounted the stairs and returned to the room they'd left, finding it somehow comforting. She dropped onto the bed and watched Sam as he trudged back in with her things, which he dropped onto the floor. With that finished, and the door closed behind him, Issima stared at his youthful countenance. He seemed tired, and she regretted that she had caused such stress. Was still causing it, she supposed, with this unplanned return to the Inn. "You must think me weak," she sighed across a bruised lip, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her slender arms around them.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

It was becoming a greater part of his life to step outside himself and look at the needs of those who depended upon or followed him. Denen had his strengths, but needed Sama'el's to survive happily. The horses depended upon him, now Issima. Luke had tagged along, but he was hardly their leader. Kavala needed his help, the ghosts, the faceless family in Avanthal who may or may not expect someone to come and save them. It was easier when he was just another Watchman, ready to lay down his life for Endrykas, but now there were particular people whose livelihood would be affected by his untimely death, and there were rarely any other sorts of death among Drykas, let alone Watchmen. But it was easy to turn around and focus on Issima, one woman, one set of needs. Denen and Luke had each other for the moment, and they were close to the Sanctuary should anything come to pass in his absence. Back in the room, he set her things aside and sat down on the bed beside her. She spoke and he looked at her, almond-shaped brown eyes searching for something in her face. "I think you were alone and ambushed by a foe stronger than you. That is not the same thing as weak."