Bloody, Battered Reunion of Bloody, Battered Hearts [Render]

[Kadarus]

Season of Fall, Day 12
Tall Johnny's Casino and Cage Fights
Private, Tag: Render

When entering any normal establishment on Mizahar, whether it be a tailor's shop, grocer, forge, or even bar, it was considered basic common courtesy and tradition to leave your weapons either at the door, or wherever it was that you were currently bedding down. After all, there was something about the wide, cleaver like blade of an axe, or the faint smell of blood wafting off a sword that seemed to spook the more peaceful folks of the world.

Of course, that little habit was usually looked over in places like Sunberth.

Hell, it was more laughed at, truthfully, than anything. If you roamed the countryside with a dagger hidden under your jacket, the minute you stepped place into the savage, lawless town, you switched the sheath to your belt, so that everyone could see it. If you weren't flashing some form of threat or another, you were just asking to be relieved of the weight your mizas were giving your wallet, or you wanted your throat slit. Either way, Kadarus Lagh'ratham was the last man in the world who would protest to the practice.

The hunter ducked his head as he stepped into Tall Johnny's casino, his gold eyes hidden as usual beneath the brim of his hat. He could feel the gaze of the gamblers, drinkers, and bouncer settle on the long sword hanging across his back, completely looking over the slender knives hanging from his belt, and the heavy studded gauntlets armoring his hands. Compared to the late afternoon, melting into an early fall evening outside, the inside of Tall Johnny's was so badly lit that Kadarus had to be careful not to stumble as he walked in, one of the blank faced Akalak guards shutting the door behind him.

The seasons had shifted, and startlingly fast to him, it seemed. The trees were beginning to lose their lush, green colors, as their leaves began to dry and shift into colors of warmth; reds, oranges, golds, a contrast to the cooling air of autumn. The morning had begun to become cold and crisp, the dew on the grass almost frosty; soon, if he chose to sleep outside, he'd need to do so in his furred second skin.

Though the season was one of passing, slowly encroaching upon winter, a season of death (in his mind, at least), the woprld looked vigrant and alive, compared to the inside of the casino. It felt something like stepping into the guts of a sick monster; smoke, thick and cloying, hung in a light fog, clinging to the high ceiling. In some parts of the floor, the people were standing so close together that they were shoulder to shoulder, shoving and mumbling curses, jockeying for position. If it wouldn't make almost everyone else in the casino do the same, Kadarus would have walked across the floor with a hand on the hilt of his claymore. From his shoulder, he heard Finn shriek something in girlish delight as he passed a card table, then felt her leap off.

He'd been drawn to Tall Johnny's for one reason; to make money. Not through gambling, of course, Kadarus didn't have a single lucky bone in his body, and the attempts of his little pycon companion to teach him any game had mostly met with failure. No, the hunter was here to make money doing one of the things he was best at; making people bleed. The cage fights on the left side of the casino were notorious through Sylira, and they drew dozens of fighters. The Zith had been quiet in their killings lately, and he needed to breed some sort of reputation in Sunberth, so the cages were the most logical first step for him.

He spent what nearly felt like an hour asking about the cages, and who the organizer was before he was pointed in the direction of a dark skinned with a thick stripe of sandy hair running across the top of his head. The right side of his face was badly marred by a set of three parallel, vertical scars, which caused his lip to dip down sharply in a vicious sort of snarl. He had no eye, only a loosely hanging, mangled eyelid. The man had his toned, tattooed arms cross over his chest, glaring at Kadarus as he approached. "Eh. Whadda you want?"

Kadarus lifted one arm, and jabbed a finger at the high fenced cage over the man's shoulder. "Inside the cage."

The man with the scar stared back at the hunter for a moment, chewed something, then turned his face to spit on the floor. "All'a the fights're already sched'led fer the day. An' the rest a' the week. Ain't no openings ta get in, specially fer some asshole what - " Kadarus's metal clad fist shot out and caught the man across the edge of his cheekbone, tipping him first onto one foot, and then to the ground with a crash. The hunter stooped to help the man up, then shoved him roughly against the wall.

"That's only half as hard as I can gods damned hit. If your worried about some greenhorn putting on a pathetic three second show and getting put down minus some teeth, you ain't gotta worry." The man with the scar spat again, this time, the tobacco juices laced with blood.

"Yeah? Fine. You go in the cage next. You got ten minutes to get ready. No weapons, pants and shirt only."

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Black eyes regarded the male from beneath the cowl. Fire light danced upon smiling lips and made the shadows shiver over the woman. The fool had stumbled into the basement, to the chaos of terse laughter. Sadly he hadn’t a clue that the laughter, was defiantly at him, not with him. Oh no, it was most certainly not with him.

He had paused seeing the figure in the firelight, the make shift bed she had laid upon was barely a comfort but she paid it no mind, it sufficed. Besides, comfort was hardly an issue when feeding was. But how well Sunberth provided for its main attractions. Like the casino she resided under, they thought she was tame enough to strike a deal with. She took care of their little problems they didn’t want a repeat of. And she had a rather quiet place to lay her head and all the free meals the casino wanted to be rid of.

She shifted her body sitting up letting the cloak fall back to reveal the figure beneath and it washed away any hesitation the male held, advancing with a chuckle towards the female before him.

“This is my lucky night.”

Lips curved, parting into a smile standing and feeling clumsy hands steal across her flesh. She nuzzled along the mans skin of his neck, her arms wrapping about him in an embrace lightly. The light fur, silky to touch and so find were finally felt, noticed in time to give a short gasp before a scream as teeth bit into flesh, claws dug, and blood was drawn.

Careful steps was taken into Tall Johnny’s, the cloaked figure moved past the bouncer with little issue, bare thighs and sandaled, talon feet were proof enough of who it was considering how often she was there. Although her fights had been declining. There were hardly any around worthy with their own two hands to battle. And truthfully she did not care to battle others with weapons, not because she could not use them, or that it put her to a disadvantage, but the lack of, honor one could say.

Personally she couldn’t say why, simply she did not like it, and it was cheating. Her claws were hers, made from her. And thus, very allow able.


But tonight, was different. For one, someone had came to get her, she wasn’t scheduled for tonight, there were hardly any challenges left in this place, not many could stand to her weaponless. Her claws aside, while she did use them, she simply outclassed a good number of them in skill. And while she had lost a time or so, she gave the masses something others couldn’t. Something wicked and primal, with no shortage of bloody.

She paused in step dark eyes scanning the casino. There was something strange, something almost familiar in the air tonight, that hadn’t been there in nights previous.

Something, important, something…. Long gone, that surely she never imagined to smell again, this hauntingly familiar scent. Precise steps, stalking gracefully carried the cloaked form towards the cage.

Mayhap today, was her lucky day.

[Kadarus]

"If my weapons are stolen..." Kadarus warned the man with the scar for the seventh time during his preparations, and the other merely answered with a roll of his single, remaining eye. As the hunter continued to fiddle with the buckles and straps on his gauntlets, the man - who Kadarus had begun mentally, unoriginally, to refer to as Scarface - looked up into the amphitheater seats. It was easy to spot who belonged to which clique; the drinkers wobbled and laughed without embarassment or manners, the gamblers walked with a slight slouch, their eyes cast to the floor. Then, there were the true spectators of the cage fights, the bloodsport. There were some who just liked a fight, but then there were the ones with the excited gleam in their eye, dressed in fine clothes won by picking a bone breaking, merciless winner. Lately, there was a single one filling up their pockets - Scarface looked at the newcomer, who had finally removed his gauntlets, plucked every knife out of his belt, and very, very reluctantly, set aside his claymore.

"Better get inna cage, pal, these people don't wait."

"Shut up," the hunter shot back, though he didn't sound perturbed, or rushed, even. Taking a moment to sit down on the small lip of the ring just outside of the tall iron bars, Kadarus was struggling with one remaining boot as he flicked his tongue across the lip of a rolling paper, having more success with the far more complicated process of making a cigarette than baring his feet. By the the time he had a match to the thing, the boot finally gave loose of whatever hold it had, and taking a long, nerve calming drag, he hopped up onto the ring and stepped through the open gate.

Kadarus stopped only a few steps onto the taut canvas floor, looking back over his shoulder as the gate slammed hard and loud, the chains rattling loudly as Scarface wrapped them around the bars, fiddling with the lock. "Hey, buddy. Don't forget to pick your guts up off the floor!" The hunter arched a questioning brow at that. "Well, it's not always human, what gets in the cage. Kelvic. One rule, too; make it interesting." As the man behind him cackled, Kadarus turned his face to the growing audience beyond the bars. They all looked eager, and, unsurprisingly bloodthirsty, with ceramic mugs clutched in their hands - next to one very fat, bald, angry man was Finn perched on a chair, squealing something or another as she rattled his wallet over her head. The canvas felt dirty and stained under his bare feet, but he squashed the momentary discomfort, rolling up his sleeves. Drawing in a deep breath, he could smell sweat and lingering fear, stale beer and greazy food - and one thing that startled him so badly that his expression of annoyance and anger flickered at once to shock.

A human couldn't draw such a thing out of the air, not many could, but even in a bipedal form, his sense of smell muted slightly by the flesh of man, it was a scent that anyu passing of years could ever erase from him. It was attached to far too many memories, pain and bliss. It was something that had filled him, energized him, gave him life when the wounds from the whips burned in agony, his face pressed against...her chest, not out of lust, but of need. It was a scent that unearthed ancient, once thought destroyed stirrings from his heart. He wasn't aware of it, but all of the color had drained from his face.

-claws digging cruelly into his flesh, the hot stink of blood, the screams of the terrified and captured-

-the warmth of her embrace, taking away all of his anguish, slowly becoming all the family he needed-

-the snarl of a beast, the picture of his hate, the thing he once loved, bringing him nothing but sickened cramps in his guts-

Kadarus' fingers had gone numb, and the cigarette slipped from between them, bouncing ember-first off his foot. The hunter didn't flinch, or even blink, as he stared at the cloaked body approaching the other side of the cage, at the gray fur on the exposed thighs, the wicked claws upon the feet. "Ast...Astoiredea..." It came as a whisper from his cold lips, both an astounded question, an d a fleeting curse.

[Render]

Her eyes watched him from deep within her cowl and for the moment, she was unnoticed. It was well and good as the air fled her chest, and for a moment she was frozen in her place as she watched the upright figure.

The sounds of the onlookers faded to a mute nothing, their scents were of no importance, just, him. The world, it bled away and hidden from the eyes of all, dark eyes, softened. There was no hunger, there was no curiosity, but a joy that had swept through her that could lift her from the foul ground and ascend her back to the heavens, to bring her back to the embrace of the night sky.

But, to fly. She could never do that again, and that desired embrace could never be returned again. He fled her, cursed her, and left. Never returned, was gone in the winds, and the time it had taken, for her to heal enough to stand, the scent and blood was gone, cold, and washed away by the elements.

How she had cursed him, mourned him, searched. To save him, to kill him, to devour his heart clean from his chest. So many things, so often she no longer knew which path she would follow.

His body tensed, and the world bled back in a roar of the crowd and she started forward. He scented the air before his eyes, those eyes turned to her, and the name he called, was like a strike to the face as humans would say. Her name, the one he gave her. For a moment she softened, hearing the echoes of a child when she had first been called so. The joy that she had felt, the binding feeling it had given. To be named out of all the others, to be set apart. To be his as much as he was hers.

The deep seated rage began and she felt the back of her cloak shift limb moving in habit, when wings of night would have been spread wide in threat. Yet nothing.

Her rage only grew. He no longer held the right to use that name.

“Kadarus.” The name, she could not control, how sweetly it came off of her tongue, of wistful the tone sounded, yet as she neared, the expression was nothing like the voice, it was a dark mask of old pain and rage.

A grey fist shot out connecting with the Kelvic’s cheek, a claw sliced a shallow grove along his jaw. It was a careful cut, yet not strength was withheld in the strike, but it was done with obvious care. A punch rather than a maul. The gentle care for a moment was washed away as her body shifted turning and leg rising swiftly to catch the side of his neck.

The cowl fell back from the woman’s face and beneath the dimming lights, red tinted hair gleamed, the crowd roared as the first flecks of blood hit the canvas.

[Kadarus]

The curious paralysis freezing his limbs in a swath of static refused to release him from its hold as she stepped into the cage, her clawed feet padding light across the makeshift floor that had saw so many broken teeth. His heart, wrenching free from the bonds he'd lashed around it, cried out for her in pitiful, sweet memories. But his mind, his logic, chimed in, reminding him of the sound the club had made when it had came down on Itrae and Natalya's skulls. That muted crunch, the squish. That blow alone could have killed them, but the Zith had not been kid, weaving their monstrous fingers through their hair, baring their throats to their son, and then -

The longing left his eyes as they narrowed into slits. Astoiredea had saved him from the butcher, but she was only one in many of a kind that had taken away his life. It hadn't just been the killing of his parents, but Laurelous Eraclaire, too; she had been his master, just as she had been to his mother and father. He'd loved her like family, that deep bond that his kind gave to only a very select few, a tie driven so deep that it was like trying to tear a tree from the earth, root and all. Astoiredea had been something to him, yes, but nothing like that, and the closer she came to him, the less he saw of her, and the more he saw of the abomination, the hated, the Zith.

Her gray fist hooked in from the side, but his body was still dead from the surprise. Kadarus grunted as one of her claws sliced a trivial furrow across his cheek; a distraction, he realized, as he rocked to the side, right into the leg whipping up into his neck. Again, he didn't cry out, meremly ground his teeth as he slammed back into the cage's bars, his hands snapping into fists with such force that the knuckles turned white, the scarred flesh of his bare forearms straining under the muscle tensing beneath.

"Astoiredea!" This time, the name was torn from his throat in a bellow of intense rage. The hunter lunged forward, his arms wide until his his shoulder connected with her stomach. A small part of him shuddered, or flinched, at the closeness as he drove her back with the spear, thrusting the bulk of his body forward to unbalance her. He dropped as he felt her weight shift again, his knee hitting the mat a second before her back did.

His face was contorted into a mask of fury and brutality, that childlike awe and turmoil wiped clean from it. Without a single hint of hesitation, Kadarus' fist dropped like a stone into the zith's face, and the crowd cheered with joy over the sound of his snarling. "Damn you! Damn you!" he howled, his fist crashing down on her gorgeous face again. There had been a time when he would have done anything to protect that beauty, even killing. Those days were coming back slowly, like the ache of a scar on a cold day. The male zith, come to take her as his own mate, ready to sink his claws into the other man's throat, not expecting the massive wolf, or the knife-like teeth around his own throat...

Her fists flashed with startling speed, hitting him in the stomach, stealing his breath just as her kiss once had, then beneath his chin a punishing blow. She shoved him away, and Kadarus scrambled to his feet, a thread of blood trickling over his bottom lip. He glared at her hair, a dark ruby in these lights, so very much like his fur as the wolf. "What are you doing here?"

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Rage filled the air, shook it as the Kelvic bellowed her name and charged forward. There was the escape of breath, the feel of falling, shock, and then pain.

Pain stole away the remnants of gentle longing, pain blossomed and the vision within one eye wavered before the wordless hiss departed from her throat. Her fist moved finally in defense, burying into mans stomach, hands and feet shoving him away. Still she held back, her own hand left bloody smears upon the canvas as she quickly rolled to all fours and back away watching Kadarus. Her own claws sliced through thin fur and soft flesh. She didn’t pause to cradle her face, taking simply the lack of bone breaking pain to signal still that she was whole at least there.

There was a moment, then a sharp tug like a dog on a leash that choked and pulled the woman up to her knees. Hardly a backwards glance given she lashed out, claws raked over flesh and furrows bled immediately. She moved swifter than she had with the opponent before her to catch hold of the scarred bouncer that had pulled upon her covering. Render jerked the man forward, her claws sinking into the flesh of his neck, and head striking the cold metal bars.

There were boos and cheers as the woman leaned nearer to the man. There was pure venom in those dark eyes as she watched the man choke within her hand, too freighted to jerk away and have her claws cut his neck. She knew the rules of course, but, things had changed, were different and there was distaste in her gaze that swiftly turned to hate as the feel of fabric shivered down her skin followed by the kiss of the casino air.

“I will take your other eye and you may not get to watch me eat it, but I promise you will feel it.” She kissed him, the scarred face man, and he screamed now beating at the bars before the woman shoved him away, blood poured down his chin, neck and chest and the rolling figure clutched upon his lower jaw.

Hateful eyes stared back at the thrashing man and a jaw slowly chewed. Blood marred her chin and down the valley of her breasts. It was fitting almost; it matched the scraps of cloth that were her outfit. She swallowed a bit of the fleshy lip, as she continued to chew before slowly standing, her eyes were focused upon the bouncer but her ears were keen on the kelvic behind her.

Her outfit laid her back bare, more for her comfort than a statement, and where two wings proudly rested there was a long, great hallow along one side of her back. No fur grew; the softening layer of fat was missing, leaving the skin to show finely the muscles and shape of bone beneath. Upon her other shoulder while not as grotesque was a little remainder of what had been, the remnant of the limb remained, amputated but there.

The zith turned slowly from the bars to regard the kelvic, swallowing the last bits of flesh between her teeth as she thought of a response.

“Does it truly matter?”

[Kadarus]

The day was full of surprises, it seemed, and Kadarus almost felt the fight steal out of him as Astoiredea whipped around with the speed of a predator at Scarface, the woman's cloak still clutched in his traitorous hand. It was the kiss, or the following gore, that gave him pause; it was the ruin of her back. The painful, disfiguring scars that marred the flesh of his former lover, his enemy, his heart, his savagery. He cursed himself, for not noticing it sooner; how gods damned difficult, really, was it not to notice twin bulges beneath a cloak, denoting the zith's proud wings? But pride no more, he could clearly see, from the still mobile stump, of the arm of one wing, to the flinchingly deep scar slithering down her back like a crooked lightning bolt, deep, furless, a constant memory.

She stood, finally, the blood gushing down her gray fur, absurdly reminding him of the juice of some unknown fruit. Perhaps, had not foolish Scarface - who would know have very, very plain addition to his collection, one he might not show with much pride - torn away her covering, he would have felt a fresh rush of anger at the face of the hated, but the intense, savage rage had fallen from his face. Now, his expression was incredibly blank, the cut on his cheek only a slightly, stinging annoyance. His eyes, shining a bright gold in the casino light, were unreadable to anyone - save Finn, and this demon of a woman before him.

He could remember waking up often, wrapped in those wings, warm against the chill of the cave, feeling safe in the embrace. In the earlier years, the days when he had been naive and confused, he had taken from the warmth of her body, and given in turn. In the later years, the eyes, the fur, the teeth, the claws, and especially the wings, they were all reminders of the dazed look in his parent's eyes before the claws had sliced open their necks. Kadarus hadn't been able to touch her, not even once, not afraid of simply what she was, or what she reminded him of, but because of the own monster that had been slowly growing inside of him like a malignant tumor.

"Damn you, Kadarus Lagh'ratham," he whispered, closing his eyes, lowering his arms to his sides. "No, it doesn't really matter. To any of these people, or in the grand scheme of things." The sight of her ravaged back stood behind his eyelids, burned into his mind for the time. He couldn't imagine what happened, or why it had happened, though he had some suspicion or another. He wasn't going to ask, though; at the moment, he merely wanted out of the cage. With an annoyed sigh, he locked his eyes onto her - then wrapped his arms around his back, locking his hands around his wrists. In his right palm, he could feel the warm, rough, and slightly rusted shackle cuff that he always wore; his tether to the past.

"Fust it. It doesn't matter. But I know I'm done fighting. Let's get this over with."

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There was that look upon the feral man’s face and the anger returned again, it was such a confusing expression, too much like pity, too much like annoyance. She paused to pick up her cloak laying it over her arm as she walked forward, and again her fist flew across his face rocking him back upon his heels slightly. Render’s free hand pulled him near by the back of his neck. Dark eyes regarded the gold pair for a moment; nothing said before she released the creature before her and strode to the cage rattling the door and chains.

“Interference, get this door open!”

She did not look back at the Kelvic, the features looking out at the crowd a silent snarl.

[Liminal]

The door to the cage slowly opened. The scarred man was, naturally, in no position to do so, and so someone else had to take over. That someone, as it happened, was an elegantly-dressed human, with a carefully waxed mustache. He was tall and thin, looked down unpleasantly at Render.

"Madam," he said, his words tinged with a difficult-to-place accent. "I expect you to do damage to the other combatants, but I also expect you to refrain from damaging the other staff." He was in perfect control, maintaining impeccable manners even as his man lay bleeding on the floor, waiting for a healer.

"The fight is off." He was now addressing the crowd in the ampitheatre. They weren't happy, of course, but they accepted it. No one crossed Tall Johnny, especially if he was in his own establishment, and more especially if they were interested in remaining alive. The man might dress like a dandy, but there were any number of dead men who had become personally acquainted with the fact that Tall Johnny was not a person to be trifled with.

"Out, both of you." He motioned for Render and Kadarus both to exit the cage. "I'll want a word with you personally in my office tomorrow, madam." The staff healer was now on the scene, and began tending to the scarred man as Tall Johnny waited for his erstwhile fighters to leave the ring.

[Kadarus]

Kadarus arched a curious brow at her as her face became suddenly ugly with intense anger, and she turned away, snatching her cloak up off the mat. He had been expecting a lunge, a struggle to not be disemboweled or bled out by her deadly claws, a titanic clash between unearthly strange beasts. So the last, final punch, a farewell kiss of sorts from her, was little else than a pleasant surprise. The collaring hand, however, raised his hackles, and immediately, his lips drew back from his teeth. It felt too much like a shrewd master grabbing a reckless puppy by the ruff of its neck. He could feel her fingers on the scar she marked him with in their youth.

To anyone too stupid to have understood the past quick, violent minute, or had just wandered into the amphitheater, a person at a distance could almost think they were merely two people sharing an affectionate, close moment. "Don't you dare let me see you again," he whispered hatefully into her eyes, struggling to crush the instincts that urged him relentlessly to dart forward an d take her throat in his teeth. "I'm going to pretend I didn't even come in here tonight. If I see you again, I will kill you." She said nothing return, something that rose his suspicions only slightly before she released her hold and walked briskly to the cage's gate, looking in an extremely foul mood. Kadarus watched her go, now merely grimacing, a low warning growl rumbling in the back of his throat.

The door swung open, and unsurprisingly, Scarface - or No Lip, as maybe he'd be called now - was not behind the gate, but there stood a tall man, human by smell, his manner, motion, and dress immaculate. "Tall Johnny," the hunter muttered, recognizing him through rumor and notorious reputation alone. The owner of the casino turned to the crowd, and his announcement was quietly, vastly unpopular. Kadarus could feel what felt hundreds of hateful eyes burning into his flesh down from the stands, and again, he couild feel the hair on the back of his neck raise, a sliver of white, unnatural teeth peeking between twisted lips at the threat. After a moment, waiting for Astoiredea to move further away, the hunter finally left the cage.

"I apologize," he said quietly to Tall Johnny as he stepped down onto the casino floor, his eyes still watching the zith's back, slowly melting into the gambling floor crowd. "I have a great deal of history with her. Some, admittedly, good, some bad. Very bad. I'd never thought that she'd be here, in the cage....in a million years..." A nervous twitch flickered through his body, and he seemed to come back to reality as soon as she was out of sight - though not out of the atmosphere. Now, he could recognize that scent, and it was everywhere in the casino, permeated on every card, in every single person's clothing - and now, as it had once been, on him. Kadarus moved around the cage, giving a Scarface a sneer as he passed the man, under a hovering healer fussing over his new, disfiguring wound. The hunter was quick to gather his possessions, pulling on his boots, shirt and jacket, picking up the claymore with only a couple of fingers, slinging it over his shoulder. The glares stayed upon him, like the eyes of archers with bows drawn as he affixed his hat to his head.

His concern did not lay amongst vengeful, spited gamblers, but with one wingless, gray woman...