PM to join Past Erased II - The 'Changing' of the Guard [Fallon]

[Zandelia]

The words stung her more deeply than she would have expected, the slant and tone of judgement was found in Bitzer’s response in Zandelia’s mind whether it was meant to be there or not. She knew that she was using herself, selling her body and that it was a difficult thing perhaps for the other woman to see and accept. The fact that she seemed to be so mocking of that fact merely filled her with a small slither of shame, her cheeks burned red and her lips tightened as she bit back an angry retort – now was not the time. The disapproval cut her and she bit her lip, looking away as she did so and wondering why Bitzer had gathered her aid if she was so dismissive of the realities of method.

Perhaps she just didn’t think about it…I mean who does? Everyone thinks intelligence is all about paper, desks and talking. But it isn’t. It’s a dirt business, brutal and where anything goes. You adapt method to suit the type of target. Does she not see that? she asked herself as she listened in silence and formulated her response accordingly.

“A someone…yes I am I suppose,” she spoke coldly but not unkindly, “I impersonate many things. Whores are easy enough to do but other things too. You wanted to see my methods and what my trade requires. If I have made you uncomfortable I am sorry but it isn’t all nice conversations over tea. You gain data any way you can” she sighed and turned away.

“I am fine with it. I will not pretend it doesn’t make me feel…dirty…at times. But I do what is required. If it displeases you I won’t ask you to accompany me again in similar occasions” there was a sadness to her tone now, she had hoped to find a companion for such endeavours after all and now it seemed the hope was flickering and fading fast.

“I do trust you Bitzer, I will send one out for you – he will have short blonde hair and wearing a blue scarf. You wait here and signal me at the door when you are ready for the last one” she smiled at the physical act of the touching to her shoulder, glove to bare skin.

With that said, everything that needed to be said for now, she turned and made her way back into The House of happy Endings. Unfortunately for a few this would not be the outcome for them this night, but two still remained and she knew sordid acts would be required whether Bitzer liked it or not. She would perhaps not see them but they would occur – there was no other proclivity for a prostitute in a brothel after all, even a feigned one. Her gaze swept the carnal malaise and settled upon the next two, still sitting there and guffawing to each other. They had not seemed to notice the absence of their comrade and she smiled at that, retrieving a pitcher of wine from a table as she flicked past it and made her way towards the divans they were sat upon.

“Good evening my dears, I see you are in need of enjoyment. Please, take this wine and be merry,” she placed the pitcher upon the table with a smile and a slight fluttering of the eyelids, “but don’t let me leave you alone. Good company should always be found with wine” she finished as she sat down next to the one with long brown hair and a goatee.

She placed her left hand upon his shoulder and wrapped her right leg over his knee to stroke up and down his leg ever so slightly, gentle and brushing in a constant rhythm. Physical contact was paramount to trigger the desired response. She looked into his eyes and giggled airily as they leered at her through fogged minds and vision. She leant forwards as her hand travelled upwards to toy with the brown locks, wrapping them around her fingers and pressing her bodice against his arm.

“’ere…where’s Gerald Steven?” the blonde one with the blue scarf asked with a slur.

“Your friend? Oh I wore him out I’m sorry to say, he did so enjoy the outside for our little pleasure,” she breathed as she leant in closer to her man, “he liked my lips” she pressed her mouth to the brunette as his arm slid around her shoulders possessively.

“Do you?” she asked hi, looking into his eyes.

“Well enough. Jack, go see where Gerald is now”

“Wha so youse can petch this little piece whilst I get the shivers. Shyke that”

“If it’s me you want to share then you can do so as much as you please…Jack my love, but check on your friend. He seemed unsteady afterwards. It’s good to look after people isn’t it?” she turned her lips back to Steven then, right hand slipping across his torso in an attempt to pressure him. He seemed the leader by the way he spoke.

“She’s right Jack, can’t let him down now. Go on. Won’t take a few chimes and after we can fill this bitch together. Go!” he grunted at his companion.

She smiled, as sultry as she could and not even trying to hide her glee as Jack muttered and made his way to the door. The pleasure upon her face only served to enhance her purposes and now the second stage of their scheme was underway. Steven’s mouth tasted of too much wine and a brand of pipe weed she disliked, ashen and musty, but it was less to revile than what happened next. As soon as Jack was gone her skirts were hitched up, her thighs parted and Steven began to explore her body after dropping a pouch of coins onto the table with a waggling of his eyebrows.

Trapped and used. No choice. Act. Enjoy. Nothing to worry about right? she told herself as he all but pushed her backwards and set about his work.

She performed as best she could, clawing at his clothing as if n ravenous lust and closing her eye as the invasion took place. At least, as she tried to fight the rising responses of her body, he had not yet truly petched her. She hoped Bitzer would be quick enough to not force her to but she began to expect that the act of selling herself would be complete by the time the other woman returned.

[Fallon]

Fallon felt confused. Even as she stood in the shadow of the chill did she suck in the air. Both hands rested upon the tulwar hilts, her back straightened as she looked on ahead. Nostrils flared, a long shaking tremble of vocal cords within her throat, the stench resting and quivering ready. And with every suck in of air, was the inner rage expelled from her core and out into the air. Feet placed themselves firmly on the floor, the eyes flickering to and fro in the night – ready for the next target to emerge from the infested hive.

Zandelia’s words stung. That much she could feel. That burning that tried to push away, not that Fallon herself did much good with the situation. It was not a denial, it was the acceptance. It was the digging hand of trust, that suffocating tightness that pulled and pushed her forth. That refusal to buckle, that refusal to abandon and leave. Stubbornness? No, it was far from it. A blinding mixture of emotions that confused and twisted her mind beyond following a common sense trail of thought.

The mercenary sucked in the air, filling her innards with the chill and cooling off that inner fire. She needed to be efficient, she needed to be swift, and she needed to be deadly. Eyes flickered to the door, a drunken staggering man peering out from it. There was a step, a grunt of noise as he pulled upon his blue scarf. It did not take long after for her to confirm the blonde hair. There was no time like the present. Steps sounded out, a quick follow as he lurched into the adjoining alley for whatever reason – to relieve himself of drink was her assumption.

Into the gloom he went with a cry out of a name being sent into the air. Was he searching for something? Someone? She shook the thoughts away – they could not be allowed in, no matter what. Her form dipped into the light of the night, her steps becoming quicker still. Breaths grew shorter; the grind of steel as it was drawn ringing out. There was no secrecy this time. She was a predator and he was her prey; and it was his time to be devoured. The tulwar came racing out, a gloved grip leading it back then forwards.

He gave a shout of surprise, his form backing away into the dark whilst her advance continued. A scrabble, the beg as the sheen glinted in the light. If there were words she did not hear them, nor did she stop as the tip was thrust forward and slashed through the man. There was a gasp, and a gurgle, both hands clenching tightly onto the hilt of the blade to pull it and wriggle it free. And whilst he slumped finally to the ground, did she turn her gaze to the swinging door of the brothel.

She was told to wait, she was told to signal her. The steel was slipped away as she advanced, the beating inner drum ringing within her ears. But Fallon would not wait. She wanted to rid herself of this scene as quickly as possible. Or free Zandelia from it, she did not know which exactly. Her hairs prickled, her path already set. The right hand pushed the door open, the left hand growing numb as it fell to her side. She felt the Djed turn and tremble, her mind clearing of thoughts. Eyes scanned, barely blinking on faces. They did not rest too long upon the exposed flesh of pleasure.

You sure you want to do this? You sure you are capable of this? there was a suck in of air, Well, now is as great as time as any to find out.

Neck burning, the struggling breaths sinking and clawing its way in. Who was it for, her peace of mind or the woman’s? For the purpose of the job, or for the trust? This was her plan after all, the gentle clock work of movement in her mind clicking into place. The ethereal snake spun its way up, the tips and tendrils caressing the air as she walked. The right hand parted through people, only the cool, unresponsive look in response when they stepped in her way. Who was it for? What was it for?

Can you do this? Are you capable?
Aleric was. And thus, so am I.

The foot fall to her was the loudest, the determined gait bent upon one thing, and the searching eyes still looking. The strings gave a tremble, the words from long ago echoing round within her mind. All things had layers, all things had cores; but it was the astral that was her target. The commanding factor of the body, the string of the flesh puppet. Her eyes narrowed, the low step of the executioner catching upon the floor as she laid eyes upon the target. Beneath the squirming mass, trapped in to fulfilling her wants. The ethereal snake reached forward, the digits twitching in response. Her brow met into a line, her full concentration being diverted into this precise movement. What would happen? Would she succeed? She stepped to the side, her shoulders pressing against the wall as the world dipped into some muted tones once more.

The lump formed in her throat, the ethereal hand reaching down onto him. But instead of grabbing upon the flesh she deepened her focus. Deeper, straining, the twitching of the empty limb. She inhaled, seeping the limb in through, the drunk still continuing on with his worst. The alien presence would continue to push against him, the limb spreading out into tendrils, weaving its way across the layers and locking its self around his astral layer. Her head throbbed, her right hand reaching round to grab onto her forearm.

Air was sucked in, the eyes burning no longer with rage or obsession. No inner monster of violence that searched for control. But for a rooted passion that took over. And it was with that, without any mercy, that the astral arm began to pull.

[Zandelia]

It was with inner turmoil that she tried to keep up her charade, throat sounding out the noises that she knew Steven wanted to hear – soft, quickening breaths with the occasional punctuating moan. She was willing to see things through to the end for what she sought – the elimination of the third guard of her father’s. Still she was filled with self-loathing at the same time, losing a portion of her humanity she was sure in the darkest of dances. Prone upon the divan, fighting the reactions of her body that were beyond her control and purely mechanical in nature her eye widened as she saw hi fumble at the waistline of his trousers. There was a vile smirk upon his lips, his gaze told her exactly what he desired.

Oh shyke…she won’t be quick enough. Petch! No, I can’t…yes, yes I can the thoughts flickered through her mind as his weight suddenly shifted and he was upon her, holding her wrists with one hand above her head.

She knew she couldn’t break the hold easily, not least because it would break her cover. She retreated from the situation mentally, sinking into the depths of her mind and concentrating on facts, figures and data she had gathered and required analysis. His stale sweat filled her nostrils and she had to fight down the rising tide of bile before she vomited, swallowing it and closing her eye to further aid her removal. The weight, the rhythm, the positioned jerking faded and she allowed it to happen – she had little choice. Revulsion filled her but she was too far inwards now for it to show upon her face, as if he would notice captivated as he no doubt was.

Data, data, data. Mice…mice is what we need. Money, Ideology, Compromise and Ego. All are manipulated and used. Desire…no, no…not that. Three guards dead soon, a handful of others remain. Six, six at one time. Why? Shifts but when? More investigation needed. Scars! Bitzer…Bitzer. I can’t work her out, can’t figure. I’d like…no! Not that right now. Use, what can I use? Need helpers but no one like helping. Not really. Too dark, too sordid. Shadows everywhere. Trust, but who? Only one. Two maybe. Need more for Markus. Patching bastard! the mental diatribe continued for some time as she sought out any thought beyond what was happening.

Then there was a jerking, a writing that she wished hadn’t been reached – only one conclusion from that and it sullied her heart further and snapped her back to experience it for all its horror. Then confusion reigned as the full weight of the man slammed into her, his head smacking into her mouth, splitting her lip so that she drank blood. She licked her lips and pulled up his head by the hair gently, he seemed unconscious and drooled all over her sleeve like and imbecile. She tried to move him but his body was deadweight, libs flopping as if he had passed out from too much drink. She kenw he hadn’t ahd that much though. No, Bitzer msut have saved her. She tilted her head as best she could but found no sight of the other woman.

What the petch just happened then? Posion? No, why poison him unless you are me? And I bloody well didn’t do it. Hard to breathe… she told herself, her ribs were already cinched by her bodice and his added weight was all but suffocating her slowly. She shoved at him again and managed to get him up a half-foot before she shifted herself sideways, lost her grip and he slammed back down only halfway off of her torso.

She could breathe now though at least, head lolling off of the divan and hanging into nothingness. She needed to get out, needed a damned bath and a long one at that. She wanted to scrub every last inch of herself repeatedly but she sighed and knew she would need to await assistance. Bitzer would return soon, she could keep up the act long enough – two tired lovers recovering from their tryst perhaps. She took the opportunity to slip her hands inside his open jacket, fingers probing and searching until they found the rustle and tell-tale dry texture of parchment. She pulled it out and two small notes crumpled in her palm briefly before she stuffed them into her bust.

All I can do is wait. Come on woman show up already! Be the guard you want to be! she screamed internally as she recovered her breath.

[Fallon]

Fallon pulled, and pulled. She felt the writhing struggle, the confusion as she continued to pull. Cold sweat clung to her neck, the strain seeping up into her joints and racing its way along the nerves. There was no gentleness, no smooth pull as she tightened her grip. He struggled, if not physically then out of response to be forcibly removed from his body. But Fallon did not let go.

It came as a rip, a tearing sensation as it snapped. He arched slightly, his expression twisting as if he was in pain and then he slumped with a crash on top of the woman. But, it was the astral layer she held firmly in her grasp. So weak and feeble, so young and fleeting in its movements. For a long while she stared at it, her hand still feeling the squirming mass rub against the astral. That helplessness, then again she was exactly the same when she was initiated. The only difference however is that she was put back.

Releasing it, she let it drift. The ethereal returned to her, the shaking strain upon her frame. Shoulders slumping she took the moment to catch her breath, to gather her bearings to the world around her. That chill set in, the painful lacing as the projected and the flesh found each other. Eyes blinked; a low exhale as the numb limb shuddered. Slowly she weaved the extremities up through the joints, the strings weaving and lacing together, the slow seep of life as it throbbed once more within the limb. Slow, sluggish the joints gradually bent and relaxed – to which only then did Fallon begin her slow walk over. There was no rush, her emotions and turmoil had found a state of stillness. No longer growing and convulsing over things, there was only one clear focus in her mind now – get Zandelia out.

Taking a stand in plain sight before the pair sprawled across the sofa. Rocking on her heels she gave a pause, her right hand rising to rub at her chin whilst the left continued to hang limp; no doubt the observant woman would catch onto that. After that there was a long sniff, the moment of silence hanging there whilst the ‘Harlot’ caught her breath.

”Well, you two certainly look good together. Situation aside that is,” she managed to break a tense smirk. Taking to a knee she looped her more able arm around the dead weight, wriggling the limb between the two bodies, ”Give me a tick and I’ll get him off you.” Her left – weaker though it was in its present state – lifted and rested upon his shoulder. Taking a grip she pulled, a suck in of air as the limbs trembled. She kept her back straight, a pull up with her knees, muscles rebelling as she peeled the man away.

Cold sweat still clung to her, the chest heaving as she filled her lungs with air. Staggering, she felt the dead weight of the man slip off from his perch and onto her. Weighted torso meeting her knee, she buckled beneath and worked upon pushing him to the floor instead. All the while he was still unconscious, his tongue lolling about in his open mouth. Collapsing back onto her haunches, there was a thud as his head struck the ground and a splay of heavy limbs. Wrestling him off, she left the man to the floor a long series of deep breaths escaping. Gods she was tired; the mental, magical and physical strains had sapped at her strength. Rubbing at her shoulders she turned her gaze back to the woman. Concern flickered, a nervous swallow as her eyes turned to the hitched up dress and then snapped back with a blush. What should she do? What should she say? Impulses were already knocking on the door of her mind once more, ”I… you… you alright?”

The right hand reached out and gave a squeeze upon her shoulder, the gaze looking – searching for an answer within that green orb. She wet her lips, her brow meeting into a line as she leaned in. What was wrong with her? She chewed the thoughts out, her eyes blinking as she brought the same hand up to the cheek. No, it was not Zandelia, there had to be more to it than that, ”It will be alright, you know that. Be fine.” Her head turned away, looking around the oppressive atmosphere of the brothel. Quickly standing she offered the hand down to take, ”Come on, let’s get you out of here and get you cleaned up. Alright?”

[Zandelia]

Patience, she was usually possessed of far too much patience some had told her – too willing to wait and less willing to actually do. She was reversing that type of thinking this season with her goals, achieving them one by one and slowly but surely. The downside was that now her patience was wearing thin quicker than it had been before and so it was as she writhed trying to escape the man’s weight that Bitzer came into view and her irritable muttering was cut off short with the appearance of her saviour. She slumped backwards, head lolling off the divan and taking the other woman in as best she could. Despite the fact that she was upside down she saw the rub of the chin and the sniff of consideration for the scene. There was something familiar there, tickling at the back of her memory and drawing a small picture of so many years ago.

Let’s get out of here first before getting nostalgic she told herself as she shrugged her shoulders and pushed the man up a little to gain some breathing room. She looked at the other woman imploringly, noticed that only one arm was functioning, the other lolling and concern flashed through her – she didn’t want Bitzer to have been hurt in this scheme.

“Very…damned…funny, get this lump off of me before I have to seduce someone else to do it for me!” she snapped in between deep breaths, her ribs were still half-hindered and she was beginning to feel the numbing sensation in her extremities that accompanied the deprivation of air.

She heaved upwards with her arms, muscles straining as they were asked to use more force than they were truly capable of even if only for a few moments. Together, bit by bit, they managed to slump the man off of her body and he slammed into the boards of the brothel. No one paid any heed to them, clearly the passing out of patrons and the assistance of the guards were common enough occurrences. She breathe din deeply for the first time in chimes and coughed as her lungs rebelled, rolling onto her side and covering her mouth as a few wretches wracked her chest. She pushed herself up a little unsteadily until she was sitting now. Her thoughts were dulled, elsewhere and trying to forget this night forever. She shuddered.

Then came the hand, first to her shoulder and then to her cheek and invoking memories she had hoped to have buried forever. She flinched slightly without meaning to, the brothel was so similar to her master’s bedroom. No, ex-master…he was dead now by her own hand. She shook her head and looked up to see Bitzer was the one touching her, blurred vision from unknown moistness making her outline indistinct. She sprang up and wrapped her arms around the woman in a fierce hug, it was nice just to feel something from someone who didn’t want to immediately use her. She was a rock of sorts that was latched onto as she calmed her mind and pushed back the memories. A familiar presence, she felt she had known her for her whole life.

“Thank you,” she whispered after a few moments, “I’ll…be fine. Just need to get out of here, rest maybe. I don’t know. Drink probably. A bath at the Hot Springs for several Bells too I think. I’ll be fine” she squeezed the other woman once before withdrawing and frowning down at the left arm. She pulled it up gently to her gaze but found no wound, nothing to indicate injury and yet it was definitely not right.

“You didn’t get hurt did you?” she asked softly, “and did you do this?” she prodded the man upon the floor with her boot. “No, later…let’s get out of here. Take me away, somewhere safe and…and…no men”

With that she allowed herself to be led from the brothel, leaning upon Bitzer a little as the world passed in somewhat of a daze. It was always like this after selling herself, she had done it a few times but not enough to be fully comfortable with the act. Shock still managed to grip her each time, though it was lesser now than before. It was more to do with the memories it evoked within her – the years of being invaded and abused. She used herself now freely but once that had not been the case. She wondered whether she would ever be free of such a time. She was erasing her past in others but she would still know.

Does it matter? If only I know then all that happens is self-loathing. Have enough of that already. But Bitzer knows now…a little. I can’t erase her. Would she approve? No. Would she think…she wouldn’t would she? she asked herself, tentatively deciding to ask the question no matter how much the answer might sting.

“Bitzer…” she winced and gasped as her lip split again as it moved, “you…don’t think less of me for tonight do you?” she asked.

It was done, she would either answer or not. Either way something was to be inferred. Perhaps it was for the best that she knew exactly what the other woman thought – it would make the work easier. Still, the answer held a slither of unexpected dread for her.

[Fallon]

There was a frown, her eyes staring upon Zandelia as she tried to breathe. And it was perhaps then that all her attention was brought down solely upon the woman. Was she scared? Frightened by something she had overlooked? Or relieved that Fallon had come in at such a key moment to free her? She wetted her lips, a careful look as the woman shook her head. There was a flinch, her body going rigid and the muscles tensing. For a tick she stopped breathing, the embrace wrapping around her and halting her thinking.

It was only the twinge of her arched back that alerted her once more to the world once more. There was a sheepish tap of the woman’s side, a sharp intake of breath as she tried to push away the screaming thoughts of this sudden closeness. Lips twitched, a thick blush finding itself upon her cheeks as she forced out some words, ”This… is uh… nice and all. But I sort of don’t bend this way?” Her hand gave a flail to the way she had leaned back, and then promptly stopped when she heard the whisper. There was an exhale, the hand reaching up to smooth down the hair, ”Hush… it is alright now. It’s alright.”

Familiarity, that much was clear. A lingering feeling that rested within her, the responding urges to shield and protect. Why was this so? Zandelia was the assistant after all; surely it should be the other way round in terms of protection? And now that the embrace came, that frightening uncertainty and intimacy clouding her seemed to thin. But why? The thoughts looked for logic, a common sense answer to what was going on without emotions clouding her. A seemingly futile task.

”I’m fine, it is nothing,” she gave a reassuring smile. The fingers of the left hand flexed, slowly and gently to prove her point before she escorted the woman away. It was the left hand that wrapped across the back of the woman, although it was little more than able to serve as a reassuring supporting weight. And whilst the woman was silent, it was Fallon this time who spoke in whispered tones, ”Baths, drinks, we can do both. Allow ourselves a moment of respite from this. And…” Her right hand hooked open the door, a deep inhale as she took in the crisp cool and lead them into the gloom, ”Tonight, I will stay with you. Keep you safe and away from men. Gives you time to have some peace of mind. Sound fair?”

It did not matter the answer the woman gave, Fallon was going with her regardless. It was with slower steps now that she guided, her fingers of her right tugging at the buttons of her tunic. Underneath that she rubbed at the shirt layer, then turned her head to Zandelia. Was she alright? Her mind was still not made up on that factor. What else could she do to give comfort and show concern? Bringing them to a stop Fallon finally made her mind up. Slipping off the wool tunic she – rather firmly – pulled it across the shoulders of the woman. For a tick she adjusted it and held it in place, her eyes locking on, ”Keep it on, you look like you need it. No buts.”

Inhaling in the air she gave a tug at her shirt sleeves, a curling of the lip as she took the woman in properly. Or at least until the question was asked. To begin with the expression fell, seeping into a blank mask. Her hand withdrew, the finger tips wavering a few inches away. That question was one that even she herself had difficulty in answering.

”I am…” she paused, her face creasing as she tried to find an answer, ”Confused. I mean, not by the methods or what you did. And why you did such a thing. I understand why. I just…” she shook her head. She knew what she wanted to say, it was just difficult to do so, ”You. I’m confused about you. I don’t know what to think about you.” Her shoulders slumped in, ”I want to help you. I want to be of some use to you. I want to be loy-“ catching herself she sucked in the air. Excuses came next, a fumbling string of words that made little sense. To smother, to cover and to hide, ”I’m sorry, I’m not quite feeling myself right now. Think I’m just a bit tired, and well… you know…” she gave a gesture ahead, ”Come. Enough of this. Let me escort you to where you wish to go.”

[Zandelia]

She merely allowed herself to be led, she had no strength left with which to fight the words and suggestions. She was not sure that she even wanted to. It was not that she was looking forwards to Bitzer being with her for the night for anything beyond the company. She had grown used to the other woman being there, always there and watching over each other. It would be like being upon the ship from Sahova again, slipping back into a comfortable time where there were no complications or self-abuses. She merely nodded at Bitzer’s words tiredly, she couldn’t do much more. Thought was difficult, resistance futile. The idea of there being a body between her and the rest of the world was all too attractive right now.

A shield…she likes being a shield. I would ask why but she wouldn’t answer me simply enough to understand. She just…is she told herself numbly, at first recoiling from the arm around her but then leaning into it and accepting the gentle support as they walked.

She didn’t need the support for strength’s sake, physically she was fine and able to walk properly and without much hindrance, though her feet were slightly unsteady. It was more emotional, more from the shock of the evening. First the chilling dissection of the first, the sending to the death of the second and the more vile acts of the third. She supposed it made her ruthless, or foolish. She didn’t much care at that moment, too bust was she with the listening and watching. The shadows were always dangerous and Bitzer’s response was all too interesting – words cut off before they were fully realized.

“You are too lovely to me Bitzer,” she tried for a smile and remembered why she shouldn’t have done as she winced again at the pain throbbing through her lower lip.

She shrugged into the garment, pulling it across her as far as she could and enjoying the warmth that was radiating from it, the left over body heat of the other woman. It was a kind gesture, a simple one but vastly appreciated – she doubted Bitzer would know just how much. She was astute but seemed dulled to the more emotive concepts. She was stopped dead by the words though, they were confusing and strange. Normally so thoughtful and erudite she seemed to stumble over them, almost as if she didn’t wish to say them. Or was saying them before thinking.

“Well, it’s okay. I confuse myself often. I’m not even sure I know what I want. I just…do things,” she slipped her hand out from under the borrowed clothing and touched her fingers to Bitzer’s forearm, “and you are useful. More useful to me than I am to you. I make a poor assistant I think. You’ve helped me more than most people in my entire life and without complaints. Well…much” she finished with the poor jest and retracted the hand from the cold and slipped it back into the warmth.

Did she mean to say loyal? Why? She owes me nothing. I owe her in fact. Too much already and too much to repay. Ever. She isn’t my follower, not a contact. She is my mistress… she thought about it and wondered if she really were or if there were aspects to their small bond that seemed to shift from one to the other depending upon the situation. She shrugged.

“You can stay with me, I have no choice. I’d…like you to. One person I can trust to watch over me without jamming a knife in the ribs. I don’t think I’ll be able to have a bath though. Bit too late. Though I really really want to get clean. Wash these…get them off of me. Stench. Dirt. Drink though, we could get drink easily enough” she was mumbling the words a little for the injury to her lip, speaking was becoming more difficult as it swelled.

“I don’t…don’t know what to do. Too confused. Thoughts foggy. What should I do Bitzer? Tell me what to do?” she asked, the tone was slightly pleading – she looked to her leader, her guard.

This was one situation she would more than happy give over to another to solve on her behalf. She’d rather forget it even happened. Or at least, most of it never happened. She could live with remembering the embrace even though the woman made it clear she was not interested. It didn’t matter, though the timing and tone of the words were strange. She shook her head and pulled Bitzer’s arm around her shoulders again. Simple companionship was enough.

They made their way through the streets and towards the Tent City. They were far from there yet though, their pace was slow and measured.

[Fallon]

There was a blush, her eyes turning away when she was called ‘lovely’. There was a nervous pull at her collar, a clearing of the throat as she forced her gaze to look on into the gloom. A moment of careful guarding, watching and protecting. When the garment was finally shrugged on however, she snapped her attention back. A sheepish grin, a slow nod in understanding. The woman was tired, that much was clear. Words were full of surrender, her body full of emotional fatigue. But she was a rock now, that key stone of stability in this dark night and oppressive atmosphere.

Smoothing the wrinkles out of her tunic she gave only a respectful nod, her smile turning soft and the gaze quickly following suit. What was wrong with her? What was this creeping ring that struck within. Fluttering, light, almost as if caught within a day dream. And for a moment she was lost within them, or at least until she sharply blinked. Straightening, once more she took up the position of observer. There it was, that begging tone, the plead for her to lead forward – not as Bitzer of the Scars, but as that support. Her guard. Her shield.

”This is what we are going to do,” she began, letting the woman nestle herself once more onto her left. It was almost out of reflex that her hand gave a gentle squeeze, one without thought and consideration. Was she finally warming up to the woman? Shaking away the thought she did not dally upon it, pushing it back through the miasma of memory to be retrieved at a future time. Her eyes glanced down upon the woman as they walked, and snapped on ahead. All the while her free hand rested upon the hilt of the kukri – ready almost to draw it should the need arise.

”I am going to take you back to the tents, get the brazier going, light the lantern and leave you for a few chimes,” she gave a pause, ”Do not fear, Orvin will be there and it will indeed be short. Hopefully. You will be quite safe and warm. And, when I return I will look at your lip and you will clean yourself up.” The tone was calm but crisp, the words escaping slowly and exposing Zandelia to the full extent of her accent. It had been a long time since she had spoken naturally, and it was perhaps that opportunity that she savoured the most. To be herself, to be Fallo-

No. She was Bitzer now, right hand of the Hound and member of the Scars. The pedestal placed leader due to the seeming absence of her brother. Even she did not know where he was, or what his planning was. And it was because of that she could not return. Not that there was exactly anything she could return to anyway, those ties were cut when she left Syliras and in return left that gnawing sensation inside. Releasing a sniff, she sucked in the air and tasted it.

”After that, I will crack open the ale and supplies. Or if you wish to dive into it before me… well you may,” She gave a tap on the shoulder that point, ”You will relax for a little while. And I will answer your whims. Within reason of course. Calm the heart and sooth the soul.” Stepping out of one winding alley, she gave a turnabout on the spot, her eyes dancing and looking upon the sky. So many possibilities, so many outcomes and chances. And as they walked, the low hum upon her lips of some long forgotten, hazy tune. Feet stepped, a gentle lead when the path became narrow. But instead of releasing the woman, it was the gloved hand that took hers. Her head gave a crane round the corner, a series of blinks escaping from her face, ”Come, we are almost there. Not long now.”

Would she be alright alone? Well she did promise that she would not be long. Fallon chewed upon her lip, her eyes narrowing as the wood begun its turn to canvas and fabrics. Smoke and wood hung upon the air, a lingering scent of fires as she pulled the arm around once more. What was this craving? This sense of urgency to keep this woman close until they reached safety? Desire? Greed? Some strange lust? Somewhere in the distance the hum of a merriment and song. But she did not dally.

Stopping before the tent she gave a nod to Zandelia, and lifted the flap to peer inside. She could hear the breathing of Orvin, the low growl of surprise coming from within the gloom, ”Orvin. Heel. Heel.” She shooed the woman in at that point – certain it was safe. Scrabbling about in the darkness she found the lantern and lit it, the oiled wick igniting into a flame. Shapes danced across the canvas, the shadows stretching out from the light source. Hitching it up she hung it from the centre of the tent once more, whilst the Canine gave a circle of them. Cracking a smile she gave a nod before once more moving about the seemingly disorganised space within, ”Right… just going to set things up. You want me to acquire anything for you?”

[Zandelia]

She spent her entire life doing things, thinking upon schemes and trying to envision machinations that were acceptable enough in theory to put into practise. Looking back in her tired and reflective state, almost trance like, it seemed her history was a series of events with very little rest in between them. She had seen cities, killed people, used them and formed bridges in several places throughout Sylira and beyond. Taking stock she had achieved much but it was unknown if anything really survived the rigours of time – she had fallen out of contact with anyone outside of Sunberth and Sahova. Even Sahova was merely the occasional letter perhaps – though she had yet to receive one yet. She lived in hope that seeds would mature into trees. It was surprisingly comforting to be told what to do, what would happen and when. There was a security to it that she experienced but wasn’t able to properly consider.

Perhaps it can be more like this one day. Merely being directed and trusting the judgement of another. It would be nice. But not yet…not yet she thought fuzzily as she was led through the streets, her guardian keeping watch for her so that she didn’t have to.

“Sounds wonderful. Orvin, Bitzer and me with food and ale. Can’t think of anything better. Like old times” she sighed, the words flickering within her memory again with a faintest recognition but unable to access it fully.

She listened as she was swept along, noticing the way in which the voice changed and the accent grew thicker and more rolling. Or lilting. She couldn’t figure it out but it was an enjoyable tone and she wondered why she hid it from her for so long. No, she knew why of course. It was a cover and the best cover included everything from clothing to voice to actions. Mannerisms were important and if you wanted to be known as someone different it was best to invent a whole person. Still, it stung slightly that she had not been trusted enough until now to hear the true way she spoke. She shrugged at it much as she did to the rest of what had happened that evening – it was something to be processed later.

“I like your accent Bitzer, you should use it more often” she murmured as her hand was gripped tightly, protectively almost. She tried not to smile but winced again. She was learning that she smiled too damned much for such a miserable old woman. The humming was new too and something she didn’t expect, the tune seemingly familiar but she couldn’t place it.

I will have to change that won’t I? Thinking of acting. Change everything about myself just enough to make it difficult to track me from description alone. Well…apart from my petching eye I suppose she told herself dumbly.

She gripped the hand that was holding her tightly and didn’t respond to any words further, she was too busy focusing upon keeping her feet working and the sting of recollection from invading her mind overly much. It was a losing battle but she was mentally stubborn enough to keep it up for a while. She hadn’t lasted as a slave for years for nothing after all. It was not long until they reach Bitzer’s tent and Orvin attempted a loving assault. Bitzer forced him back but as soon as Zandelia slumped onto the bedding he attacked her with a vengeance. She didn’t mind and instead wrapper her arms around him and buried her face into his coarse fur. She felt like bursting into tears and that hadn’t happened for as long as she could remember.

It’s all too much, the horror and the nice treatment. I don’t deserve this. I’ve involved her in something dangerous, toyed with her and used her in ways she doesn’t like. No, I don’t deserve it she let out a juddering sigh into the wolf who seemed to sense her mood and nuzzled her hear with his nose

“Anything with enough alcohol to turn my blood from being blood. Water, water and something to clean myself with…please. I can’t thank you enough Bitzer, I don’t deserve this. All this…” she sighed and gave up with the attempt at refutation.

“Or my father’s head so I don’t have to do this anymore. I don’t know what I want anymore” she murmured softly into Orvin’s fur so that her voice was muffled.

"I trust your judgement Bitzer, you have the grand gift of assessment," she sighed, "this night I leave up to you. I can't think straight anyway. Tomorrow...well tomorrow we will see. I may have some things to tell you, show you. Maybe tonight. I don't know" she finished sadly.

It was useless, Bitzer would do what she wanted to do and she hadn’t the strength to oppose her. She sensed that soon there would be a reckonning, she was becoming too close to the other woman to keep her secrets for much longer - not all of them at least. She looked up at the slowly swinging lantern and slipped sideways until she was laying down, Orvin nosing her neck to make sure she was okay.

[Fallon]

There was a gentle rub of her throat, a massage of the cords as she glanced at Zandelia. She still remembered what she had said about her accent in that mumbled, half dazed tone. But that was not her current concern. Stuffing coal and tinder into the brazier she set about on igniting it. There was a clink of flint upon steel as she worked it, her wrists rotating round as she looked for a better angle. All the while however, Orvin was busy pressing himself up to Zandelia, or more over allowing himself to sprawl across her. The tail gave a steady beat, the nose pressing into her and then giving a firm lick of satisfaction.

Fallon nodded of course, a gentle understanding to the woman’s wishes. She wanted to be rid of the evening, she wanted to forget and leave it behind in some drunken slur. Understandable, Fallon would have no doubt followed suit if it was not for the nagging urge to keep watch. There was much to do, and tonight she was to serve as reassurance, ”I get you. I’ll see what I can do. No need for thanks anyway, you’re a Scar. A consort in my great schemes. And a friend, it’s what friends do right? Help each other.”

Wisps of smoke crackled along the tinder surface, tiny flames racing along before it sunk into the coals below. With an exhale of satisfaction, the mercenary only stole a glance to the pair, and then set about freeing herself from the tulwars,”Right, got that burning. Should start warming things up inside. Add more to it should you need to.” Her toe gave a nudge to the collection of firewood, a few of the dryer branches shifting in weight.

Ducking around the tent she gave a rummage through her things to present the small ale keg – which she place in front of Zandelia with an iron cup, ”Told you I’d crack open the ale. The rest of the supplies are about… somewhere in there,” she gave a point towards the bags at that point. Claiming the water skin, and then the lidded pot she stood, slinging it across there was a final pat of the kukri upon her back, her eyes looking around the tent one last time. Blankets where nearby, cloaks and coats piled up should the woman feel herself becoming chilled.

”Orvin,” She watched his head lift to look at her, ”Stay. Watch Zandelia. Okay? Stay.” She looked upon the laid back woman, a snort of amusement escaping followed by a teasing tone, ”Don’t you go falling asleep now old lady, else I won’t let you drink anything. You hear?” It was with that, she escaped outside and away from the warmth of the tent. Water, that was what she went for. There was a pause as she sent herself walking through the gloom. Iron clattered, the crunch of stone beneath her feet as she maintained the quick pace.

Of course, it was far from simply dipping out and fulfilling some base needs. It was for her own break away once more, those few chime of being alone in thought. And it was such things that consumed her – long enough that her feet blindly lead her forth. When the expansive river of Sunberth opened up before her, feet squelching in the damp there was a long pause. The surface shimmered, a dark expanse of rippling opening out before her vision and then suddenly into nothing.

Sucking in the air she sighed. Where was she even to begin with the woman? An enigma, a confusion, something she had not properly taken into consideration before. A frightening concept she had to deal with regardless. A string of choices had to be made, a line needed to be drawn out and it was there that a wall needed to be raised once more. Close yourself off from the world, do not feel and continue the slow disconnection of who one once was. But however long she was away for was certainly longer than just a few chimes. There was a swish of movement as she moved further upstream and towards the edge of the city.

But Zandelia had come close, too close. She had seen the bubbling emotions from within, her true voice, the uncontrollable nature that she did so much to bury. But it was that lacking control that frightened her the most, why now of all times? What cause it to emerge so? Water lapped up around her knees, a stoop as she scooped up the surface water. Although it was not something she would want to drink from the word go, it certainly looked clean enough for washing. Hauling it out, she felt the water seep into her boots the mind flickering to and fro. She was tired, she knew that much; or hiding, of lying, of smothering herself up and appearing ‘normal’. She could trust no one in the city after all – and no one would do the same if they found out she was a mage.

Which lead to another situation all together. If Zandelia no doubt would start having suspicions, which in turn lead to one of several other options to be made. She released a mumble, ”Oh petching gods, I can’t do this.”