Disgrace (Stigandr)

[Jean]

21st Day of Spring, 512 AV❧ Streets of Sunberth A lot of people were out today. A portly man shouted out to the milling crowd about his new youth lotion. "A few bottles of this on your skin and you'll look 30 years younger!" Women ushered children down the street and carried squirming, squalling babies, looking tired and disheveled. Men dawned in all sorts of armors and weaponry shoved their way past the slower citizens. Jean rolled her eyes. No one seemed to be wanting to take their time. All they were thinking was, Rush rush rush! She was taking a short rest, leaning against the wall of an old building just inside the mouth of a narrow ally. It was tiring trying to wade one's way through this thick crowd. The sound of dripping water was echoing continuously behind her. Plop! That was a particularly large drop. A plank clattered loudly at the end of the ally and she whipped around, eyes wide. A dog shuffled into sight, tail between its legs. It had knocked the plank over, startling her and itself. A closer look showed that it was a female. She was heavy with milk and had obviously given birth not long ago. Jean smiled, taking a few careful steps toward the dog. It was a little skinny, but all in all rather healthy looking. She crouched and whistled softly, clicking her tongue gently to gets its attention. Its erect ears twitched toward her and it stood alert, tail sticking straight out. She sniffed the air tentatively then tilted her head, whining inquisitively. "Hello there, mama. You want a little snack?" Jean crooned. Fishing into her backpack, she pulled out a strip of dried venison and held it out, palm flat and open to the air. The dog sniffed again, then slowly lurched toward her. It stopped a few inches from her hand, stretching its nose toward the meat. "That's right, sweetheart. I'm not gonna' hurt you, beautiful girl. Food is good. Makes milk for your babies," she coaxed encouragingly. After a long stare, the mother dog quickly snatched the venison from her hand, chewing and swallowing loudly. It was gone so quickly that Jean almost burst into laughter. Then as if she weren't there anymore, the dog turned and shuffled back toward the other end of the alley, disappearing into a broken pile of crates. Curiosity getting the better of her like usual, Jean followed. The crates had numerous holes in them - some large and some small. Several torn blankets draped over the mess of wood, making it almost look like a decent shelter. She crouched and peeked into one of the holes. The dog was curled up inside nursing a squirming, mewling litter of pups. Jean smiled widely, envying the beautiful babies. She didn't know how long she'd been crouching there when footsteps sounded, coming closer. They splashed through the puddle to her right, and before she could even stand, hands gripped her shirt and shoved her back down the alley. She stumbled and fell, landing heavily on her hip. Blinking in surprise, too confused to react, she looked back at the man who'd pushed her. He was in rags, with no hair or shoes. It wasn't an odd sight in Sunberth, but what caught her attention was his eyes. They were... off. Jean finally placed what it reminded her of. Insanity. This man had something wrong with himself in the head. His hands twitched oddly, like they were trying to grab things that weren't there. But he quickly put them to use. This mass of boxes must have been his shelter, because when he reached in and felt the dog and her pups, a savage glint lit his eyes. His hands came out holding a pup each. They were squirming and crying loudly, struggling feebly to get back to their mother. Their eyes weren't even open yet. The she-dog leapt from the crates, growling and snapping, but look a heavy kick to the face, sending her sprawling where she lay still. To Jean's horror, the man bit one of the pups. Blood splashed down his chin and clothes, and the pup was still. She saw red. Leaping to her feet, she threw herself at the murderous, insane monster. She only had her hunting knife with her, so she ripped it from her waistband, slashing at the man's gut. She'd kill him if she could. But he jumped back, throwing the limp pup behind him. It splashed into the puddle, turning the water red. Tears blurred her vision and she shrieked madly, cutting wildly. He dropped the other pup and it protested loudly on the ground, slowly crawly to where it smelled its unconscious mother. Jean kept missing! She slashed and slashed, but he dodged it all. Her body was shaking and tears streaked her face. His first connected with her eye and her skull exploded with pain. He somehow turned her knife on her and cut her arm. Her sleeve instantly plastered to her skin, sticky with hot blood. Fear clutched her stomach. Her mind screamed to run, but she didn't want to. She ripped herself away from him, thankfully keeping a hold on her knife. He advanced, looking like a feral demon. He'll kill me, she thought frantically. Jean looked at the unconscious dog, the dead pup, then the one that was still alive. There were several others still in the crate. "I'm sorry," she sobbed to them. And then she ran. She'd never ran so fast and hard in her life. Fear fueled her with energy, and when she wanted to stop, she kept on going. Eventually, she stumbled to a stop. Her clothes were plastered to her body with sweat, and each breath wheezed painfully. Jean felt like her lungs were going to explode. She sat there for a while, up against the rough wall of a warehouse, crying in pain, shame, and fear. Sobs wracked her body until the tears seemed to dry up. And then she just sat. It was mid-day and beautiful weather, but she was disgusted. The cut on her arm seared like fire, and her body trembled with pain and exhaustion. She deserved it, and she needed a drink. With immense effort, she got to her feet. They started moved on their own accord, shuffling her along. She'd find a nice bar, and drink the memory of what had just happened into a sweet, numb oblivion. UV 20 Chimes Later❧ The Pig's Foot Tavern Jean was on her third cup of alcohol. She sat alone at her own table, staring into the amber liquid. Tears ran down her face, making small droplets on the table, her wrist, and even falling into her drink. She thought they'd dried up, but she was wrong. Images of the pups and their mother danced through her mind, tormenting her beyond respite. She'd run like a coward to save her own life, and likely forfeited all of theirs. She was disgusted with herself, and felt she deserved more than she'd received. Her left eye was swollen shut with a nasty purple bruise, and the cut on her arm was dried over with crusted blood. It still burned like there were coals in her skin. She sighed shakily, shuddering with a silent sob. A long swig of her drink set her right. It'd take more than this to get her drunk though, and she couldn't wait to get there. The alcohol burned her throat as it went down, settling warmly in her belly. A barmaid walked by with a pitcher, eying her with obvious pity. What a disgrace to her Gods and Goddesses she must be right now. "I'm sorry," she whispered under her breath, both to the dogs and deities. Receipt-12 CM for 3 mugs of Ale

[Stigandr]

Restless crept through his limbs, the inescapable itch forming in the crooks of his knees and elbows, inevitable twitching and fiddling happening. He had to get out of his tent and move. His feet carried him forward, out of the tent and onto the road, the sound of his sandals loud to his hears as he walked quickly, his brown cloak drifting out behind him. He had to move. He just could not stay in his tent again. The air was cool around him as we walked, at first feeling the muscles in his legs propel him to head towards the fields and hills, then remembering it was night and probably not the best time to go wandering for a run. Another direction. Down another street. People bumped into him, he bumped into people, offers of body and warmth were given as hands grazed his body as well as offers of death for any number of things. Sunberth at it's finest. Rudeness, thugs, thieves, whores and just plain dirty individuals. Why do I stay here? he questioned himself. He had just gotten into a fight but two days ago, one that had left him weakened and exhausted for the next day. Even today he was still feeling the effects of the fight, wishing he had killed the creature, yet at the same time wanting to know more about her. It was not until he actually focused on his surroundings had he realized where he was: The Pig's Foot Tavern. It seemed to be a frequent stop for him in the last season. He did not feel the need to ever "wash his sorrows" away as so many of the other races and people did, it was just a place he could sit that was not his tent. Though his last visit here turned brutal. Did he come here subconsciously to find that seductive creature, intrigued heavily by her attitude and nature? Or was he guided here by another purpose? Turning into the Tavern, the Kelvic started to walk to the bartender as he always did to buy his mug of ale that would remain untouched, but his wandering eyes found Jean sitting, bent over a mug of ale and appearing severely distraught. He went to her immediately, taking a seat next to her and gently touching her shoulder, "Jean, what is wrong?" a simple question, straight to the point as he always was, but with concern in his voice, an emotion he could show easily as a human even if most others did not register in his voice. She was friend he had made and one who had not judged him for who he was. That meant a lot to the former slave. Even if it was the first buddings of any type of relationship, he was quick to concern for her, wanting to do what he could to comfort her and help her.

[Jean]

Mugs thumped and slid on tables, voices rose and fell between a murmur to the occasional shout or drunkenly raucous laugh. Someone was chewing obnoxiously loud somewhere behind her. What a horrible place to wallow in her sadness. Why did she even come here? There was no privacy. She couldn't curl into a little ball and sob until her supply of tears was used up. She wiped her running nose on her sleeve, trying to blink away the veil of tears. The chair next to her scraped across the floor and she nearly jumped out of her skin as a big hand rested on her shoulder. Jean was just opening her mouth to shout when his familiar voice cut through her fear. "Jean, what is wrong?" She blinked at him through the veil, and when that didn't clear her eyes, she wiped at them viciously with the backs of her hands. Another blink - finally a clear look at him. "Stigandr?" she said asked, her voice breaking. "What are you doing here?" Her chin wrinkled as her lips shivered, more tears welling up in her eyes. "I... I just had a bad day is all," she mumbled, silent sobs shaking her shoulders again. Why did he have to show up at this moment, of all people? He was last on her list of people that she ever wanted to see her like this. She looked like a mess when she cried - her cheeks got blotchy, her nose and eyes became red, and everything got runny. Jean wiped at her face again, trying not to look as pitiful as she felt. Her throat was constricted with emotion and she cleared it, taking a shaky breath. "A bad day," she said again. Images of the pups skittered through her mind again, and this time she lost it. Broken sobs wracked Jean's body and she covered her tear soaked face, gasping for breath before another sob stole it away. She hunched in on herself, feeling one-hundred years old and like she could sleep for one-hundred more. Tears choked her loudly and she sobbed further with increasing shame. Here she was, in the middle of a bar, crying like a beaten child in front of Stigandr, who she was rather fond of. A few grizzled men and women shot her annoyed glares. They really wanted her to just shut up or get out. Jean was gripping the hand Stigandr didn't have on her shoulder - so hard that her knuckles were white. She didn't want to hurt him, but she just needed to squeeze something warm and alive for a moment. Those pups, by now, probably weren't so lucky as to be full of life. She took a deep, shuddering breath, finally sitting back to look Stigandr in the eyes. "Can we get out of here? I need go... somewhere. Anywhere. I can... tell you what happened later." As she made to get up, she tried to grab for her mug but knocked it over with a shaking hand. Looking around quickly, she spotted the barmaid who nodded and smiled sympathetically. The look said that it was alright. Thank you, Jean mouthed silently. Her chair scraped loudly on the floor as she stood, sounding deafening to her even in the din of the bar. One of her hands was still gripping Stigandr's, and she led him quickly to the door, shoving through, out into the open street. Another shuddering breath shook her shoulders. The sobs had abated to hiccups and small coughs, and she wiped her face on her sleeve again, leading the way down the street. She had to get out of the city for a little bit. A really cold stream to collapse in sounded amazing right now. The silence she'd lapsed into, albeit the odd hiccup or cough, was deafening. Jean kept her one good eye ahead, the other was uselessly swollen shut. Her sweaty fingers held onto Stigandr like he was the last, single drop of water in the world and she was stranded in the desert instead of stumbling through the milling crowd of Sunberth. "Ma! What happened to her?" a little boy called loudly, pointing at Jean's swollen face and blood coated arm as she passed. The mother ushered her son away, glancing fearfully at the wretched sight.

[Stigandr]

Her body shook with sobs, tears running off of her face, landing on the table and dripping onto her shirt. He hand held his tightly, her knuckles white from he grip she had. It hurt his hand, but he did not let go, knowing she needed someone. He was worried for her, wondering what had happened, but nothing was coming from her. She just wanted to leave, to escape from the judgmental glances and hateful looks. As they stood to leave, she knocked her mug over, the amber liquid spilling over the table and floor. Reaching out, Stigandr picked it up and set it down before leading Jean our to the street. It was crowded, busy, loud and annoying. If his ears could move, he would have pinned them back at the people as he guided his companion through the crowd, bumping into people as to move them out of the way, not caring for them. He just worried about her and her endless tears. It did not matter how she looked, it just mattered how she felt, and her emotions were a raging mess to him. Slowly they made their way to the open hills of the north. The air was refreshingly cool, calm but steady. The grass was soft under their feet as they walked over it to an area close to half a mile out from the city, nestled behind a hill and hidden. Sitting down, Stigandr gently guided Jean down with him and sat with her in silence, a silent companion. His arms held around her, letting her cry all she needed to, not caring for the condition of her looks as she cried. He was just here for her, not judging her, not pushing her, not trying to clean her up.

[Jean]

The arms around her felt like an anchor, and that's what she needed. The front of Stigandr's top soon obtained a went patch where her salty tears stained it. Her cheek was pressed against him and her hands gripped the loose fabric of his shirt, holding it like she was afraid he's run off after having enough of her erratically depressing display of emotions. Jean didn't know how long she'd cried, but eventually her eyes dried out leaving her throat was raw from it all. She leaned back to look into Stigandr's face, and rubbed at her wet cheeks, sniffing loudly. "I'm sorry you had to see all this," she mumbled hoasely, her dry throat making her voice crack. She looked around, getting a good look at where they were now. The walk here had been a blur of tears. They were nestled out of sight, secluded because of the hill behind them. A stream a few feet wide bubbled happily several yards ahead of them. It's joyful trickling and the sighing of the wind through the branches overhead sounded so out of the place after what she'd just witnessed. How wasn't everything silent after the display of cruelty just acted out in that dank alley? Her shoulders still shook and hiccups interrupted her every few moments as she finally spoke up again. Her sentences were short and clipped, like she was trying to say as little as possible but still get the story out. It felt like she hadn't talked in a week. "I was feeding a stay dog today. She was a new mother. Just had a litter of pups. Their eyes weren't even open yet. I was admiring them when a man came up and attacked all of us. He wasn't right in the head, you could tell. He killed one of the pups - tore it up with his teeth. I tried to defend them but he cut me. I ran. Tried to get drunk." Her voice was dull and accusing. A fresh wave of disgust washed over her. "The crates they were staying in, I think they were his house. If you could call it a house. I assume that's why he attacked. They're probably all dead now because of my cowardice." As she shifted to sit different, her arm burned like someone had poked the dried gash with a knife. Jean looked at it, her mouth set in a hard line. She lurched to her feet, feeling very cold without Stigandr's arms around her, but she shuffled to the gurgling brook that snaked in front of them. She cleaned the dried blood off her hunting knife on a patch of wet moss, wrestled her boots off, then sat down in the stream with the rest of the clothes still on. He had followed her and was standing at the edge of the water. She carefully stripped off her top and laid it across a rock protruding from the running creek. Dried blood instantly started washing off the sleeve as it was tugged to and fro by the gentle water. Jean was left in her undergarments' top and her pants. The dried gash stood out starkly against her pale skin, winking nastily at the two of them. "Do you mind helping me clean this? I'm not much of a doctor - another set of hands would be nice." Her voice was harsh - she'd rubbed some water over the dried cut to start washing the old blood off, and it burned like she'd just been pushed into a campfire. Her teeth gritted and her lips pulled back in a grimace of pain as the bloody water ran down her arm and back into the stream. Under different circumstances and with anyone else Jean would have been embarrassed that she was half naked, but she didn't care at this point. She'd already seen Stigandr naked anyway, and he thought of nudity lightly unlike a human. There was dried droplets of blood on her pants too, but she'd get to that after the cut got cleaned.

[Stigandr]

As she had cried, Stigandr kept his arms around her, not letting her go as he felt closeness and touch was one of the best ways to be there for someone he cared about. This may have been due to his inability to articulate things as a human, and as a horse this was the best way he could comfort another. Even as she started to slow down in her crying and to look around, he at least kept a hand on her back until she was back against his chest. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Everyone gets upset or sad and needs to let it out." Slowly, through the dryness in her voice and the hiccups, Jean explained what had happened, how a crazed man had attacked a new litter of puppies and their mother. She relayed the viciousness of the attack and how she had run away. Before he could reply, she had stood up and walked over to a nearby stream, the gentle sound of it a beautiful noise and reminder of the beauty of nature and calmness of being out here. "Jean, you are not a coward. You would have died if you stayed to fight from the looks of it. A crazed animal is a hard thing to fight against. They have no hesitation, no fear." Stigandr stopped talking here, knowing he was not cut out for words of comfort. He was a horse, not a silver-tongued human. He would do that best he could, knowing his words were too much the nature of how things happened and not the words humans used to make one anther feel better. Standing up, he followed her to the water where she started to clean her knife, the blood on it breaking off in flakes as it fell away on the moss and water around it. As she removed her shirt, Stigandr got a good look at the wound on her arm and the blood there and moved to her side in the water, slipping his sandals off before joining her. He would have had a thought of her being attractive if it were not for that cut, a much more serious matter than urges of the flesh. She asked him to help and he was glad to do so, squatting down to his haunches next to her. The cool water felt good on his feet, but he knew it would hurt her. Stopping her hand with his, he moved to cup water in both hands and lifted them up, letting the water cascade over the top of her shoulder, most of it running down her arm. He did this a couple of time with both hands, then started to use one hand as he gently rubbed at the dried blood with the free hand, trying not to put too much pressure on it so it would not split open again, releasing her dark blood from her body. Slowly it flaked away until most of it was gone, though her pale white skin was still stained a faint color from the blood. "You need to get out of the water. You will get sick sitting in it like this for too long." Grabbing her hands, he pulled her up and led her out of the water to the grass nearby, making sure that he grabbed her shirt to bring it with them. Stopping, the Kelvic laid her shirt out to dry, then turned to Jean and guided her down to the ground gently with one hand on her mid-back, the other on her non-wounded arm, sitting with her on the soft grass again. Somewhere he wished he could find words to comfort her, but knew it was useless. He spoke in actions more than anything else and there was only so much he could do at a time like this. Then an idea hit him, a stray thought regarding Jean and her horse that gave him an idea. "Jean, can you ride without a saddle? Are you well enough to with the ale you drank?" His words hung in the air as he waited for a reply, this being one of a few times that he offered anyone a ride on him as a horse.

[Jean]

She smiled fondly at him as he tried to console her. It helped, but not exponentially. Talking to him was a lot different than talking to anyone else. A human for example. It was refreshing to be around him, and even though someone else might have told her the same thing he had said, it held more weight coming from him. She didn't know why, and didn't care to think about it too much. She didn't really want to think about anything right now. He squatted next to her in the water, stilled her hands, and went to cleaning the wound by himself. Jean watched him as he worked, her mind trailing off. She looked at his hands then feet, remembering that in his other body they would be hooves. It was humorous to imagine hooves cupping the creek water and rubbing around the gash. It made her smile despite herself, and Jean hid it by ducking her head to examine his fingers on her arm. The cut was inflamed and tender, but she was so distracted that the pain was tolerable. It stole a grimace from her every now and then, but that was the extent of her reaction to the pain. The blood was cleaned away quickly, leaving a rusty tinge to her skin. The cut, now more of less clean, glared nastily at she and Stigandr. It looked raw and irritated, but hopefully it wouldn't get infected. It wasn't terribly deep, but maybe she should go and see a physician just in case. It could probably use stitches. Jean suddenly remembered the Dhani she had met a few days ago, who was in part a doctor. Maybe she could help her out. Stigandr's voice cut through her thoughts as he took her hands and hoisted her out of the water. She looked at him dumbly for a moment then nodded, realizing what he'd said. "Okay," she said distractedly, noting that she was getting cold. Jean let herself be led to a thick bed of grass. He guided her to sit down with a hand on her back, and the skin there tingled oddly - but in a good way, she thought. They sat in silence for a few moments, and she didn't complain. Her mind was wandering in a very lewd direction - that being downward. Despite her pants being cold and wet, as well as her arm, she was starting to feel very hot. It might have been the alcohol thinking, but she really wanted his hand to move lower. And the other could have joined in exploring as well. Jean felt a blush creep up onto her face as she imagined several scenarios, all involving Stigandr nestled firmly between her thighs. Her eyes glazed over and she shivered slightly with the sudden urge to throw herself at him. I need to quit drinking, she thought wistfully, glancing sideways at him. She registered his voice slowly, and turned to look at him, still a little dazed. Taking a few rapid heartbeats to drag herself from her imagination, she nodded. "I'm not drunk. It'll take a lot more alcohol than that to do me in," she said, her voice husky as a side effect from her wandering thoughts of Stigandr's body. Jean cleared her throat before continuing, sounding more like herself again this time, "I don't need a saddle, no, but I'm not the best without one. I could stay on pretty well though I imagine." She looked at him closely now. "Why do you ask?" It took a moment for it to hit. "Are you asking if I want to ride you?" That sounded wrong, she thought, blushing a furious red in her embarrassment. "Not that like, I mean," she sputtered and amended quickly. Idiot! Gutter head! You're never drinking again!