Closed Unhappy Attraction (Noven)

[Caela Dorin]

15th Fall 514AV

It was a bad day to decide to pay Jillene a visit. She could have stayed in her room where it was safe. Except that her room wasn't safe, which was the whole reason for her decision to visit the blind woman in the first place.

The streets had been filled with violence-more than was usual in Sunberth-for the past few days now. It had spilled into the Sunset Quarters, quite literally entering the buildings in the forms of near nightly disturbances and pools of blood. The dancer wasn't sure if it was somehow gang-related or whether all of Sunberth had gone mad but she knew that it had to be brought to Jillene's attention. She would know what needed to be done to remedy the situation or at least to ensure that her residents could sleep safely in their beds, as safely as normal. The violence around the residences had seemed linked to the evening bells and after and so the blonde had risked an excursion, making her way to the Orphanage as quickly as she could without attracting too much attention to herself. Her head was kept down, avoiding the gaze of anyone that might look her way and her legs carried her at a pace that she suggested that she was a person who needed to be somewhere rather than one that suggested she was running away. For all her caution she drew attention to herself of course.

It was when she thought she was doing so well, only a few chimes away from the Orphanage when the first sound came. A wolf whistle. The sound pierced her eardrums, making her flinch as she realised what might come next. Don't slow down, don't turn around, don't react. You heard nothing. She kept walking, her feet itching to move faster although she kept herself going at the same pace as before. It took willpower but she managed it, repeating her advice to herself like a mantra. If she could follow it then she'd be safe. If she couldn't... well, she had her dagger. More whistles, a chorus of them now but she kept walking.

"Oi, sweet'eart!" The new call made her head twitch to look around before she could stop herself. She caught herself halfway through the movement but by then it was too late, the damage was done. "We know ya 'ear us! We ain't gonna do nothin' to ya." The laughter proved the man's words false and panic began to build within her now. Everything that Web had taught her about defending herself seemed useless. Heavy footsteps behind her and lots of them, more voices joined the first and Caela prepared herself to run. It wasn't that far to the Orphanage after all, not now and if she could get there then they wouldn't dare mess with her for fear of the blind proprietor. Run and they'll chase, she warned herself, a glance back showing four men. It was enough to know that she couldn't take them on herself, too many of them but she risked a second look anyway. Mingled in with the dirt of their clothing and on their skin there were patches of copper and scarlet. They had blood on them and they didn't look worse for wear themselves so...

Violence did certain things to men as far as Caela was concerned. It made them thirst for blood, for pain, made them feel alive and after their blood lust was quenched they tended to satiate other desires. While there were plenty of whores around the city, the primal instincts that led men to pull other men to pieces led them to make a grab for whatever woman took their fancy. Not all men acted like that she knew but she had a feeling that these men were eager to take what they wanted and she'd just been unlucky enough to walk by at the wrong time. Screw it! I'm petched whether I run or not and at least if I run I have a chance.

Her decision didn't spur her at once, the dancer hesitant in the judgement she'd made upon them. Maybe she'd get away even if she didn't run, maybe running would make an bad situation considerably worse. And then the footsteps behind her quickened. Fear made the dancer take to her heels, legs straining under the sudden effort of accelerating. Even when she was moving fast she pushed herself onwards to greater speeds when she heard the heavy beat of men's feet at her heels. She didn't dare look back but she was certain that they were almost upon her. She forced herself until her lungs burned and she couldn't seem to breathe, until each breath was a strangled gasp and her legs felt ready to give way beneath her. Energy was failing her as the Orphanage came in view the sight of it a distant sanctuary, too far away for her body to carry her to it. The dancer's body wasn't made for running but still she pushed herself. Pushed onwards until something hard slammed into her back. It brought her to her hands and knees, struggling to regain her footing before the missile was followed by one of her assailants.

Too late she scrambled away from hands that grasped at her. A scream came from aching lungs quieter than it should have been. Not enough air. She tried to gather more as she lashed out with arms and legs and nails and teeth. It gave her a chance to get loose, to move away if only by a few inches, a new scream ripping from her lungs and scrabble for her dagger in its sheathe before the man was upon her, trying to pin her, his companions gathering round ready for their share. The blade swung for his face, wild and uncoordinated. He dodged his head to the side almost lazily, laughing at her efforts. Caela followed his movement, the edge of the weapon gouging into flesh enough to elicit a yell from him and rain blood down upon her before he knocked the dagger from her grip, slamming her hand into the ground and keeping it there. New hands found hers, pinning her in place so that she couldn't cause any more harm, couldn't escape. No screams would come now, the only sounds from her that of sobbing as she tried to fold her legs into her body, pulling them together in a vain effort to protect herself from what she knew would come.

Why hadn't she stayed at home? Why had she felt so compelled to see Jillene? Tear filled eyes were focused on the building that housed the orphans as she realised how close she'd come for nothing.

[Noven]

"SHUT UP!" Nov roared. "Both of you, before I snap your necks."

He slammed the sizzling hot pan down on the grill. It came just short of scraping their noses, rattling as its sausagey contents settled. The two orphans seated before him gulped.

"I'm not gonna ask again. Tell it to me straight or double latrine duties for the both of you. No but's. Talk."

Mira fumed, shooting Thomas a look that all but declared 'this is all your fault.' Thomas fumed back, beady little eyes narrowed in loathing, though his glare held neither accusation nor conviction. Well, didn't take a scholar to figure out who really held the blame this time around.

Nov pushed around several plump sausages in his pan as Mira explained. Then Thomas cut her off, then she cut back in, then he called her something even the sailors down by the Docks wouldn't dare. Same song and petching dance. The cook had witnessed it more than a couple dozen times already. He growled and set the pan down again, which immediately recaptured their attention. They knew what happened if they made him repeat himself a third time.

But before anyone could break the uneasy silence, all three inhabitants of the cramped little kitchen found their heads snapped back toward an open window. They could hear sounds of pattering feet and panicked, labored breathing, headed Sunset's way. It was still early in the day and the streets weren't as crowded; the noises of both prey and predator bounced off the empty roads like so many marbles in a jar. In the safety of their kitchen, Noven, Mira, and Thomas unconsciously and collectively held their breaths. They knew those noises better than their own voices.

Those were the sounds of someone being chased.

And being caught at that, too, judging from a sudden thud of impact and distinctly male jeers of victory. Their victim might have screamed, but it was a weak and breathless, post-chase mewl. There were more sounds of scuffles and derisive laughter. Well, that was someone else's problem, wasn't it? He had enough work to do here as it was.

Nov made the mistake of looking Mira in the eye and saw the horror in her eight year old gaze. There was another scream, fiercer this time, followed by a yell of pain. The horror in Mira's eyes grew.

"Gods be damned..." he swore as he shoveled half a pound of sand into the stove, doused the flames, and emptied the skillet of its links onto a battered old metal plate. "We'll settle things between you two when I get back. You touch the food, you die."

Then he stormed out of the orphanage, still-sizzling pan in one, gloved hand and a clenched fist in the other. He was sick and tired of these senseless gang fights that had been brewing up violence for near half a fortnight. He was sick and tired of gangs in general. Fuck them and their piss stained reputations. The cloud of irritation around him hung so thick he'd forgotten to take his apron off.

Here I go again, not minding my own business like I should be, Noven seethed to no one in particular. And what'll I likely get? Either a beating of a lifetime, or an earful of ungrateful whining. Petch my life.

The cook knew he was getting close now. He could hear the sobbing.

"Let's get a good look at them pretty thighs, eh?" one of the good for nothing, would-be rapists rasped as he fumbled about the helpless young woman's skirts, his voice hot and heavy with growing lust.

"Hey," Nov greeted, almost amiably. It stopped the man mid-act like a hot brand to the rump. "Mind getting off that poor lass for a couple of ticks?"

"Wuh--?" the goon mumbled, his stupid, ugly face twisted in confusion as he looked up at the unwelcome intruder. Ugly's buddies followed suit, gathering to stand in front of their prize like some kind of comical, human meat shield. Each had his hairy arms crossed over blood encrusted clothes and wore an ill bred challenge in his expression. 'Nice dress," one of them snickered from somewhere in the back.

The cook showed no inkling that he'd heard.

"Why, boy? Come to cook us up a bit 'o man meat?" Ugly and his posse laughed that crass laugh all idiots seemed to share. "Or maybe ya want yer turn with her sweet little cunny. Don't blame ya, we found ourselves a looker, this one."

Ugly and his goons nudged and nodded at each other in approval. Nov almost felt sorry for the guy. That was going to be the last dumb joke that would ever come out of his stinking mouth.

"Noo," the cook replied slowly, as if speaking to a room full of simpletons. It said enough of their cockiness that they didn't even look alarmed when he advanced a whole step forward. They were probably still high off their last kill. Amateurs. "Because this pan won't stay sizzling for long. And it's still got a date with your ugly, fucking face."

Crack! Sssszz... The sound of Ugly's nose breaking and skin fizzing against the bottom side of Nov's trusty skillet was like music to his ears. Though his blood curdling screams did come close second in savoring.

The cook caught a good glimpse of Ugly's half-burned face before the petcher scrambled away on all fours. Ooh, that was definitely going to leave a mark.

"G-Get him!" Ugly shouted, pointing one grimy finger in Noven's direction.

Well, this was a bit of a problem. There were four of them, counting Ugly, who was still clutching pathetically at his burnt face, and only one of Nov. Not to mention he had yet to recover fully from being slashed across the stomach five nights ago. The good doctor had told him to rest, but who could rest with orphans to be fed and rapists to be flayed?

A small, niggling voice in the back of his head told Nov firmly that fighting these goons was a bad idea. A really, really bad idea. He wasn't completely healed, he was outnumbered, and it seemed he didn't have much luck with would-be rapists either. The last time he'd tried to stop one, the guy's boss had come back and killed both his only living family and best friend. That had been more than five years ago and he still couldn't get the image of the bloodless gap in Nona's throat, nor the sight of Henry's shit and intestines spilled all over some nameless alleyway, out of his sleepless head.

But, hell. He just didn't like rapists.

The first thug to go for Nov got a hot pan to the gut. Sadly, his clothes prevented any serious burns and the maneuver would only leave the man on his knees for maybe half a chime. Good thing Nov didn't like to take chances. He slammed his skillet down on the man's exposed head with all the force he could muster and sent the guy face first into the ground. Didn't look like goon #1 was getting back up anytime soon.

The second thug had a bit more brains, to his credit. He was the first to finally deem that searing pan in the cook's grasp a threat to be eliminated. So, when Nov came at him in more or less the same fashion, he was ready, with part of his shirt wrapped around his hand, to grab at one end of the skillet. It took Nov by surprise and cost him his trusty weapon as goon #2 threw the pan clear across to the other side of the street. All three goons began to gloat as they stared down their target. The cook was helpless without his only weapon now.

Noven leered back, throwing them off guard. "You asked for it."

Within the ludicrous amount of time Ugly and his posse took to watch the pan's noisy descent some twenty feet away, Nov had discreetly removed his left glove and pocketed it in his handy dandy apron. On his other side he held one of two Tamos, the other still sheathed along his belt for back up. By the time his three opponents had turned back around to bask in their false sense of victory, he was more than ready to get rid of a fast approaching headache.

All remaining goons scoffed at what they'd quickly assumed was his bluff. Then the two on either side nudged their comrade in the middle, who rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck in a less than impressive display of arrogance. "You're going to die here, little man."

He lunged forward, no further warning, with every intention of getting Nov into a fatal armlock. How much of a fight could an apron-wearing cook put up anyway? He was toast.

What the thug hadn't counted on was that this particular cook's sole purpose in life for the past five years had been dishing out death to the scummy likes of him.

Nov dodged the ham-handed attempt at a wrestler's embrace and clumsily slashed his Tamo across the man's chest. Goon #2 blinked, hardly daunted by such a shallow wound. Then his confusion transformed into doubt as he watched the cook grin up at him with unsettling glee. Nov placed a hand over his wound, and suddenly the goon couldn't even remember his own name as his world went white with pain.

For a tick, Krysus's favored stood there, crimson veins thrumming against his skin as Vexation flowed and his headache ebbed. He was blocked mostly by his attacker's beefy girth so the others couldn't likely see, but Nov was grinning as he drilled his eyes into those of his wailing victim. He wanted the petcher to remember, even in death, who had caused him this immeasurable pain. Wanted his vengeful visage seared in the cad's filthy, shriveled brain.

Then the spell brook, and the cook jabbed his elbow into the man's throat to cut off his air supply. There were still children sheltered behind Sunset's walls, after all. They didn't need to be hearing some cur's dying cries. To finish the job, he plunged his Tamo into the goon's right eye, ending those howls of agony for good.

Noven yanked it back out with a grunt of effort and wiped his blade on the dead man's coat. "Who's next?" the cook challenged, careful to hide his crimson veined hand behind his back. It wouldn't do for common low-lifes like them to know of his secret. They'd get too rich and fat off of selling him out. "What's the matter, cook got your tongues? Shame, you lot wouldn't shut up before."

They looked down at the two bodies of their dead brethen, unable to process what had just happened. In a last ditch, infuriated effort to bring the cook down, Ugly himself bellowed out something unintelligible and came at Nov full tilt. But the cook was ready. He'd sheathed his Tamo and, sidestepping the attack at the last tick, used his free hands to grab at the man's tunic and spin him around. The motion forced his abdomen to clench for half a tick but he was beyond caring. Then Nov cradled the sides of his attacker's head with both hands and slammed it against his knee. Ugly fell senseless to the ground to join his comrades, leaving only Goon #4 and his dumbfounded features to fend for the rest.

"You," Nov gestured, first at the sole survivor and then at Ugly, mindful to use his right hand and not his left. "Make sure you tell Mr. Brave and Cocky here that this is Jillene's turf. And if I so much as see your ugly mugs around these parts again, I will grind you--live--into dog food, and save your heads to line my walls so they can keep me company at night."

Noven kicked the felled leader so that he flopped closer to his conscious companion. "Now get the fuck out of my sight."

Goon #4 scrambled to his feet and dragged his boss off and around some corner, leaving the rest for the dogs and crows. With a tired sigh, the cook lifted his shirt for a quick look at his healing wound. No new tears so far, it seemed. He hadn't been forced to over strain himself. Lucky him.

Wait, the girl... He'd almost forgotten. Damages assessed, Nov tucked his shirt back in and turned toward the whole reason behind him being out here in the first place. "You, uh...you alright?"

Honestly, after all he'd done and said, he wouldn't blame her for wanting to turn tail and run after Ugly the Rapist and Friends.

[Caela Dorin]

The blonde fought. Even as she was pinned down, she continued to struggle. She tried to block them out, tried to block out every insult and jeer and focus only on keeping her legs firmly together. She was going to get out of this situation. The young woman could promise that to herself as unlikely as it seemed right now that she was going to get out of this somehow. The young woman wasn't going to lie down and take it. If he leaned too close to her face her teeth snapped at him, the girl trying to bite him, add to the wound that already marred his face from her dagger. He was squinting out of one eye, an ugly mug made uglier by the blade that she'd dragged across it. He wouldn't forget her in a hurry after she got away, wouldn't think that every woman was some useless and easy victim. Still Caela thought that she was going to escape this, even as the man tried to wrench her thighs apart. It was a losing battle that she was fighting and she wasn't willing to admit it.

The greeting from nowhere made her eyes flicker upwards, finding the face attached to the voice. The voice that had made the man atop her freeze. Was this to be her rescuer? Some guy in an apron with a frying pan? What was he going to do against guys who outnumbered him and probably had weapons squirrelled away upon their persons? She didn't care what he did, or tried to do as long as he provided the diversion that she needed to get away. The other men moved to block her view of her would-be saviour. Much to her surprise the man on top of her left her as well, the desire for blood apparently outweighing the desire for carnal pleasure. There was a certain look that was flickered in her direction as if daring her to move. The dancer did stay frozen on the ground until all hai broke loose. Only when the screaming started did she remember herself.

Legs were unlocked. Hands dragged her away from the men who seemed ready to fight over her. There was a chance to get back at them now, to turn on them if she could find her dagger. It had been thrown somewhere, somewhere that the young woman couldn't now find. The blonde was unable to think straight, unable to remember where her knife had been moved to and so she was left scrambling on the ground looking for the thing as the commotion increased. The blade had been kicked away a few yards from where she'd been pinned and she grasped it eagerly, ready to drive it into one of the goons and then run for it. That cook wasn't going to last long after all.

She'd turned in time to see the man somehow taking on four guys and winning. Her plan melted away as she stood and stared, taking in the scene that was unfolding in front of her. Gods the man could fight and it wasn't just because these guys that he was fighting were stupid. He'd lost his frying pan sure but he had other weapons, knives that he seemed able to use to his advantage. And then somehow he was left standing in one piece and had left two bodies on the ground that she was fairly sure were devoid of life and one unconscious. She was still staring as the man seemed to finally remember her.

She smoothed her skirt down with one hand, bloodied dagger still held in the other. Caela was now unsure what to do and self-conscious to boot. The fact that he took the time to tuck in his shirt showed that she wasn't the only one conscious of appearance. She nodded mutely, hand dragging across a face that was soaked with tears that she hadn't known that she'd been shedding and blood that had come from the man whose face she'd sliced open. The girl was shaking but at least she had her wits about her this time. It wasn't like what had happened last season, not exactly. She hadn't had a emotional breakdown this time, could at least remain standing without some sort of support and seemed able to think. It hadn't sunk in yet properly. She was sure of that or else she wouldn't be able to function right now.

The blonde moved shakily to where one of the men lay dead and bent down to wipe the bloody blade clean on his clothes instead of hers before she sheathed it. "Yeah. I think so. I was going to see Jillene. I should probably do that now." Her voice was toneless as she answered his question. Green eyes focused on him yet didn't quite see him as she tried to determine what to do. She shook her head as if to clear it and then began to make her way towards the Orphanage.

[Noven]

She was staring at the dead bodies. That alone told him a couple things: it meant, for one, she probably wasn't a whore or runaway slave. If she were either, dead bodies would be more reliable fixtures in daily life than hot meals and any leftover shreds of human dignity.

For another, it also meant it was only a matter of time. A matter of time before someone caught her again, and this go around long enough to finish the deed. Maybe even longer if they didn't kill her once they were done. Long legs, honey blonde hair, and a face pretty enough to stir even the most hard bitten of men, let alone all the seedier ones in the City of Slums--she was doomed from birth. And, as if that weren't enough to seal her fate, she possessed no ability to survive in a real fight.

But this one had tried to fight. He saw as much in the blood that lined her dagger and the way she held herself. Shaken and lost in a haze of disbelief, to be sure, but still standing with every intention of moving forward. It made Noven consider that maybe he hadn't completely wasted his time, after all.

Only the strong survived in the Berth. Those with no will were better off dead.

He continued watching her as the young woman moved to wipe her blade clean, not unlike the way Nov himself had just done a few chimes ago. There was a vague look in her eyes as she followed up her silent nod with actual words, and it relieved him somewhat that she'd spoken. The cook had been half afraid he would be dealing with a mute or, worse yet, hysterical gibberish.

Unfortunately, just because she was still functional, it didn't mean she was sound. The fact that she'd mentioned Jillene was enough to cause Noven pause about letting her wander into the orphanage on her own, but it wasn't the sole issue. She was also doing that thing where she was looking at him while not actually looking at him, as though her mind couldn't quite decide on what to do and what had just happened. Nov knew that look well enough. This whole wanting to see Jillene schpeel, then, must have been her original intent. The blonde was sticking with what she knew rather than making up new initiatives. It made sense, after what she'd just endured.

And she had smoothed down her skirts before addressing him. The lass was definitely not some common waif who'd wallowed at the grungy bottom of Sunberth's chaotic hierarchy. She still had dignity, enough to wipe away her tears and clean her blade. Enough to come here on her own for some reason or other, then to fight even when she knew she had no chance of winning.

Krysus, how Noven wished she'd just been some lost cause worth no more time than he had already sacrificed.

"Hold it," the cook ordered. He held up a hand to bar her way, though he was careful not to touch her. No doubt the very last thing this young woman wanted at that moment was to be touched again by a stranger of the opposing sex. "Wait here a tick."

Nov went to retrieve his pan, bending with extra care to as not to disturb his wound, and returned in less than a handful of ticks. "I'll take you to Jillene..." he offered reluctantly, still unsure of his decision but unable to think of a better course of action. "Just know that she's a hard woman, harder than Cal--than the last landlady ever was. Whatever you want, you'd best get used to the idea of not getting it. The sooner the better, too."

He looked at the blonde uncertainly before adding, "And don't be fooled by her blindness. She sees more than either of us ever will."

Then the cook jerked his chin toward the orphanage and began to walk. He knew there would be eyes watching them, some through coincidence as they stood by a window, but more with agendas and bosses to report to. Better get within the safety of walls and a roof before anyone got too good of a look.

Once they stepped through the relatively new doors, which had been replaced on the night of the Great Fire of 511, Noven led Blondie into the kitchens and set his pan down on the lukewarm griddle. Mira and Thomas were still seated where he'd left them, his platter of sausages untouched, though they wore the the telltale signs of eavesdropping. He could see them plain as day--a few more hairs out of place, a collar that was just slightly askew. No amount of feigned innocence in their expressions could fool the cook.

Nov would have taken the time to threaten them some more, had he not far more important matters to attend to. Like the fact that his Isurian boss and landlady was standing right behind the two orphans, mismatched arms crossed and blank eyes even crosser.

"What is the meaning of this, Noven?" Her voice was cold as stone.

"I think you know well enough," came the cook's equally cold reply. Which was about as close as he was ever going to get to both telling Jillene off and insinuating any ties between her and the Night Eyes. "Some gang in the making got a taste of blood and decided they wanted an extra bit of fun. I got rid of them, told them it was your turf. Only thing that went wrong was a new dent in my pan."

Nov would have tried to show her or negotiate for a new skillet, had the air not felt so thick with tension.

"How many times do I have to tell you to stop leaving dead bodies in front of my orphanage?" Jillene reprimanded, though he and the orphans knew better than to take her words at face value. She was as glad as the rest Nov did what he did; that was largely why he was under her employment in the first place. Anyone half-brained fool could cook for a bunch of runts, but it took a special breed of skill and circumstance to uphold the Isur's iron-fisted reputation and keep her property relatively safe.

"Not enough, apparently," Nov grinned.

Jillene ignored his retort. "And who is this? Another mouth to feed?"

He knew the proprietress was bluffing, but the merc humored her anyway. "The extra bit of fun."

"I mean her name," she sighed, as though speaking to an idiot child.

"Uhh..." was Nov's brilliant reply. He glanced back at Blondie and gave her a look that suggested something along the lines of, help me out here?

[Caela Dorin]

The hand that suddenly blocked her path was flinched away from even though the man didn't touch her. The movement had just been so unexpected and the idea of being accidentally touched had her skin crawling. A step away was taken and she remained still as she watched the cook retrieve the frying pan that he'd held earlier. He'd lost his weapon as she'd lost her it seemed. The dancer watched his movements, unsure if it was wise or not to follow his order. A glance at the corpses that had been added to the landscape told her that it was probably a good idea to do what this man told her. Someone who could take on four men, kill two of them and come out of it no worse for wear was someone who she shouldn't upset.

He came back to her, offering to bring her to see the blind Isur. He obviously didn't think that she'd had dealings with Jillene before. She had, although not many, but for some reason she didn't point it out to him. It didn't seem important to correct him. The dancer was aware of how much the woman could see despite lacking her sight and she didn't look forward to standing in front of that blank eyed stare and explaining her reason for coming. A shudder escaped her as she meekly followed the man towards the Orphanage. The woman would already be aware of what had taken place outside, no doubt. If not all the details of who'd been involved, she'd at least know what had happened, or rather what had almost happened. If the commotion had alerted this man, how many others had heard?

She was led into the kitchens and was immediately met with the sight of the Isur woman who stood crossly behind two children. It wasn't the children that she was annoyed with though but the cook. The exchange between the man, who was revealed to be Noven, and the proprietress was cold and tense but she got the impression that there was more going on then she was hearing, something that was going unsaid between the two. Noven seemed to be in good humour in little way into the conversation and suddenly she was being included. The blonde met his questioning gaze, tongue remaining silent as her mind suddenly went blank. Her eyes drifted to the Isur. Your name! You know your own name! Her brain kicked back into gear and the answer was blurted out. "Caela. Caela Dorin. You know me, you..." Her voice trailed off. She didn't need to explain any further. The woman would recognise her voice no doubt, even without the name attached to it. She didn't need a life story alongside it.

There was a slight nod from the other, face turning in her direction in response to the sound of her voice. "Yes, if anyone was going to attract trouble, it would be you," the proprietress said flatly. Her words made Caela flinch. Yes, it would be her but how the blind woman knew that... Well, she supposed that she shouldn't be surprised by the what the woman could know. Her other senses were good and she was sure that she heard all the whispers from her mouths of the orphans loud and clear. How else did she get her information if not from the youngsters? They were everywhere after all, often unnoticed and they were nosy little brats. The two seated in front of Jillene were carefully not watching her although every word that was said was being taken in she was sure.

"Were you coming here or did Noven just decide that I'd like your company?" Her blank gaze drifted back to where the cook stood, obviously waiting for the answer of one or the other. The dancer could answer for herself, her wits were sufficiently regathered for that after all. Just because the man had rescued her, didn't mean that she was total reliant on him. "I was coming here. Maybe not a good idea considering what's been going on but then... that's sort of why I'm here." The girl chewed her lip for a moment, glancing in Noven's direction and remembering what he'd said about not getting what she wanted. She'd come here for a reason and she was damn well going to do what she'd come to do regardless of what the outcome was.

"Surprises are nice and all but is there anything that can be done about having people slitting each other's throats outside my door? It's not much of a step up to picking a lock, you know. I should know. I did have an intruder last season. Is there a possible solution to such a problem?"

[Noven]

Well, well. Seemed the Isur knew Blondie from before. How not surprising.

The young woman said her name was Caela Dorin. Nov wracked his brain for a possible link this name had with anything else and only drew blanks. He never forgot a face, not even half drowned full lashed and balls deep in his second dozenth pint. But the man was hopeless when it came to names.

At the Isur's rather snarky question as to why Caela was there in the first place, the cook rubbed a thumb to his chin in quiet fascination. Good thing Blondie had an answer ready; Nov himself was too busy speculating the intricacies of Jillene's word choice. The liking of certain company and all it might entail...not to mention his own part in delivering. He grinned to himself, enjoying one of the few, small ways he could subvert his landlady's iron-fisted rule. Maybe, he mused, it was possible for Jillene to be moved to a nurturing gesture. Maybe a woman's touch would soothe away the trauma of the day's trials. Women felt soft. Nov liked soft.

"Of course," came the prioprietress's sardonic voice, "he would be happy to help."

The merc blinked. "What."

Somehow, Noven got the distinct feeling he hadn't heard a single thing that'd been said in the last few chimes.

"With Miss Dorin's problem. You can start right away, seeing as how you've abandoned cooking altogether." The Isur focused back on Caela, leaving her cook no less clueless than before. He was still struggling to pull his mind out of the gutter by the time Jillene moved on. "Like I always say to the children, we don't toss free bones around here. You want extra security, you have to earn it."

"Oh, hell no," Noven interjected as his caustic gaze flicked from one woman to the other. "I don't play body guard full time. I've got better things to do."

Jillene smirked in the direction of his indignant voice. "Then it's a good thing, dearest cook, our arrangement ensures we do one better than a hired guard. We're going to help Caela become her own protection. Isn't that so, Miss Dorin?"

Empty night. The bloody Isur wanted him to teach her?

"I'm assuming I'm getting paid for this shyke."

His landlady gave a cryptic little shrug and was already turning to leave. "That's up to your student. She is the one requiring your services, after all. My work here is done."

Jillene walked toward the door. Then, as though remembering something at the last tick, turned her face halfway once she stood beneath the frame to address her incredulous cook. "Oh, and by the way, you're taking over Hilda's shifts until the old hag feels better. She seems to have gone down with a cold. Poor thing, we'll miss her fine character and free potatoes dearly."

And with that she was gone, leaving Noven to stand dumbfounded in the middle of the kitchen, mind reeling with denial. She did not just do this...she did not just do this...she did not just do this...

"Wow, Nov. She just tripled yer hours. That's rough, innit?"

"You never know when it's a good time to shut your mouth do you, Thomas." Mira stated matter-of-factly.

"If the two of you aren't out of my sight in less than five ticks, I'm stringing you both up by the feet to be pecked by crows."

Both orphans scampered out of the kitchen faster than a pair of rats caught before candle light. Noven chewed over his options for a sullen moment, then turned to face 'Miss Dorin.' "I don't have much of a choice, but I ain't doin' this for free. If you're willing to pay, favor for favor, I'm willing to teach." He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the blonde dubiously. "What do you say?"

[Caela Dorin]

There was a blink, a few moments of confusion. He would be happy to help? Her eyes went to the cook as he voiced the question that she was thinking. Was she saying that he could help with her problem? Surely not... Jillene left no doubt as to her meaning then, making the dancer stare from the blind Isur to Noven and back again. Violence was the problem and violence was likely to be the solution so was this man really capable of dealing with it?

"How many times do I have to tell you to stop leaving dead bodies in front of my orphanage?" The words of the proprietress came back clearly along with the images of the men he'd killed. The full implications of the words sank in and she cast a wary glance in the cook's direction. Yes, he was more than capable. It was quickly becoming clear that Noven wasn't hired for his cooking abilities, at least not solely. So he was far more than he seemed. Tread carefully, very carefully around him.

Jillene's suggestion wasn't going down well with her employee it seemed, his venomous gaze directed her way as well as towards his employer. Her fault and she was sure to bear the brunt of that blame. He wouldn't upset the Isur after all but what was Caela to him? Some "extra bit of fun" for some violent thugs, some damsel in distress that was a soft target. She didn't want a bodyguard, she just wanted some sort of deterrent for idiots who chose to encroach on the Sunset territory. There was no opportunity to interrupt and then she was having her sentence dictated to her. She was too shocked to recoil from the title of 'Miss Dorin' being slapped upon her by another person. There was a wordless splutter, eyes fixed on the blind woman before glancing furtively towards the cook and lapsing into muteness.

There was no arguing with Jillene. Whatever the woman said was law, even if you weren't one of the orphans under her care. Plus if she wanted to deal with this-even if she apparently had to do it herself-then she'd have to keep her mouth shut or else get used to being paranoid about dying in a home invasion. Payment for such lessons were unceremoniously dumped upon her and then the woman departed, leaving Noven with a piece of news that was sure to further sour his mood. The boy at the table was kind enough to highlight just how much it was likely to piss him off-tripled hours-before he was threatened out of the place by the cook.

"You've a lovely way with kids," she chimed in once the youths were out of the room, the opportunity for sarcasm too strong to resist. There was likely a foul humour brewing below the man's exterior and he probably wasn't in the mood for her ironic sense of humour. If she added fuel to the fire so be it. She couldn't do much worse than the Isur had already done after all, or at least she hoped not. Too late to make the words back now. A crude saying of her mother's chimed in her head, making her grimace. Too late closing your legs when you're already petched. Such lovely wisdom she had to thank the deceased dam for. It did unfortunately apply though.

Pulling her mind out of the gutter that her mother's ghost had somehow shoved her into, the blonde noted the man's lack of anger as he looked at her. He seemed to have accepted his task without bearing any hostility towards her. Yet. It was her fault that he'd been lumped with the job of teaching her to defend herself. Jillene's decision suited her fine. She wanted to be able to defend herself and Web had only helped her tip the surface of such abilities so a chance to expand upon the woman's basic lessons would be brilliant. It came at a price though and her eyes narrowed slightly as she met his dubious look.

"I'd say that it would depend on what favour you had in mind," she replied slowly. A meaningful look was shot in the direction that Jillene had disappeared in as she continued. "And I'd also say that we should discuss this outside." The dancer made a move towards the way the pair of them had first come in, intent on getting outside where there would be no eavesdroppers, or rather none who would care if she railed against the Isur. She was confident in her assumption that Noven would follow her. He was tied to her now, whether either of them wanted it or not.

[Noven]

"You've a lovely way with kids."

Nov snorted. "Only cause they're such bloody angels."

In all honesty, Blondie didn't look any happier than he did about this new arrangement. But what could either of them do besides grimly accept their fates? She obviously needed the training. If not after what happened today, then for all the other, similar incidents that would undoubtedly manifest in the future. And he had no actual way of refusing without making life harder for himself.

Plus, things weren't looking good in the Berth. Not that it had ever looked good to begin with, but violence and hunger were at an all time high. Even Noven had tasted his fair share of trouble--un-sought for trouble that had left him more wounded than usual, on top of growing concerns over the food shortage. And now he had yet another untrained lass to martially arm before life in the slums finally caught up with her. Come to think of it, there ought to be a good reason why a face as pretty as hers hadn't already been claimed by one of the mistresses. Or a strong one at least, anyway. Between Brega and Ruby alone, there were hardly any decent looking strumpets left to roam the streets without owing a portion of their earnings to either Queen 'o Whores.

But this one, from what Nov gathered, lived in Sunset Quarters. Why else would she go directly to Jillene for security issues? Which meant she belonged to neither enterprise. Which also meant she was significantly more petched, figuratively speaking, than those who had long since given in to the burdens of slum life.

The whores at Happy Endings and Scarlet Sanctum enjoyed all kinds of protection. Most customers didn't dare lay a finger on any of the mistresses' employees without explicit permission--baring the upper crust of the gangs in charge, of course. Nov knew this better than most, having learned a good deal under Isme's excellent care. Which was why he almost blurted out that this Caela Dorin would be better off signing her self up for a lifetime of safety with either queen. But he didn't, and wouldn't. Not even he was that crass.

The blonde warily responded to his question and suggested they discuss the details outside. Noven had no problem with this. There were more prying ears in the orphanage than he cared to count.

Once they were out the door again, however, the merc motioned with a tilt of his head for Caela to come this way. He double checked in all directions to make sure no one was following or listening, then ducked behind a small shack. It was one of the lesser known and therefore safer locations within the vicinity. Not that their negotiations necessarily warranted this much caution, but he had his reasons.

"So, Miss Dorin," Nov began, taking a moment to appreciate how his voice didn't echo off every surface. The area was too crowded with pieces of rotted wood and heaps of broken things. "This favor I've got in mind, I don't think you'll find too against your liking."

At this, the merc grinned. He couldn't help it, not while picturing the little paragon of rage Mira would make. "You may or may not have noticed, but one of the runts back in the kitchen--the dark one with a mean look about her--is a girl. In name, at least, but she might as well be a wild animal as far as the rest of us are concerned."

Which wasn't entirely a bad thing in the Berth. But Nov knew what wild spirits like Mira's ended up becoming: broken. Someday she would give too much lip to the wrong mobster, and said mobster would relish every moment it took to break and bend her will. It was a specialty many masters prided themselves in honing.

"Amira needs..." the man struggled for a tick to find the right words, "...a woman in her life. Someone to show her how to be more like one. I know that's not a real luxury here in the Berth, but I see the way she watches the older girls. And, well..."

Nov scratched at the nape of his neck, feeling for all the world like an embarrassed father. He couldn't tell whether it was amusing or pitiful that he, of all people, was the closest thing Mira had to a parent.

"Shyke, I dunno. Maybe if she was happier she'd spend less time terrorizing the other runts or following me around, and more time not makin' trouble."

The merc shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "In exchange, I'll teach you until you're able to fend for yourself."

[Caela Dorin]

The man didn't comment on her desire to go outside. He obviously understood the prudence of doing so. He was probably more aware of the orphans' tendency towards eavesdropping then she would be, he had to spend time around the little brats. Maybe there was no word ever said in the Orphanage that went unheard by little ears for all she knew.

Once outside, Noven indicated a direction for them to go in and the dancer followed him, noting his furtive glances around him. Paranoid much. His wariness was probably justified. There were probably as many eyes and ears around the Orphanage as in it, perhaps that was why he ducked behind a shack. She followed cautiously, eyes assessing the area quickly in search of anything that might be a danger or a trap of some sort. There was a seemed safe enough so she allowed herself to relax. Mostly. There was still some caution in her manner, just enough alertness that would allow her to draw her blade again if needed. You have to be able to trust him and feel safe around him. How else are you going to be able to learn anything from him? She pushed the thought away for now. Her nerves were still on edge so she was allowed that small bit of wariness for now.

The man was straight onto business, his manner so business-like in fact that he called her "Miss Dorin". The title made her purse her lips, a dark look cast in his direction. "Don't call me that. Miss Dorin. It's Caela, all right?" She interjected quickly. She wasn't trying to interrupt him and so she gestured that he should continue. He began to lead up to the favour he wanted to ask, the young woman frowning as she tried to see where he was going with this. She couldn't see what some little girl-or wild child as Noven seemed to be describing her-had to do with the favour that the cook wanted to extract from her in exchange for her lessons. She remembered the child in question although she'd given it no more than a cursory glance, the question of its sex never having entered her mind in that brief examination. All that had registered was her childish status and that had made her a subject of complete and utter indifference.

As the explanation came out, Caela found herself looking at him incredulously. Was he joking? Didn't seem to be. Strange though. He had a chance of asking for any favour and he chose to use it for some little urchin? The young woman knew that there were men who had unhealthy attractions, younger tastes than others. The man did work in an orphanage around children. Eyes closed as she tried to draw her mind out of that way of thinking. She shouldn't think like that, didn't know the man. It wasn't fair. A tentative question formed on her lips, the blonde searching for the right words. "Why would you want that? Why would you choose that of all things? What's she to you?" Green eyes tried to pierce his own as if searching for the thoughts behind them. There was nothing to stop him from lying, she knew that but it was worth a try. Trust after all, that's what she was aiming for.

Fingers swept through her hair as she considered his request. There was an attempt to view it in a light where Noven wasn't a pervert, a difficult struggle with those thoughts that floated to prevalence in her mind. Her own thoughts on the matter was that this girl was far better off without a womanly influence. If she behaved like a woman and she grew to be even moderately attractive then it'd be more the pity for her. She was better off a wild animal-one that didn't bother about appearance-than as a pretty target in Caela's eyes. If she wanted to defend herself though this was his price. Which was more important: herself or some girl that she knew nothing about? That was an obvious answer and so the dancer gave her decision on the matter. "If you're willing to teach her to defend herself then it'll work out better for her but if not... well, she can enjoy all that being a woman in Sunberth entails. I'll do it, whatever your reasons are." It was no concern what might come of the girl in the future because of this. All that mattered was that she was going to be all right herself.

[Noven]

She didn't understand at first, and Nov hadn't expected her to.

"Oh, no need to worry about Mira handling herself in a fight," he assured with a slow grin. "The little animal has stabbed her fair share of man-sized rats. Which is kind of the problem. You see, M--Caela..."

It took a bit of effort but he managed to refrain from calling her Miss Dorin. Should circumstances call for it, he'd consider using the formality to goad her in the midst of training, but today there were more sensitive issues to discuss. Sensitive indeed, and aggravating.

The cook rubbed at the side of his temple, struggling to put words to intrinsic knowledge. "...I've been working at this runt hole for a long time. I know which ones end up living and which ones don't. Even after they leave, I always end up finding out, one way or the other. And it's never very pretty."

"You wanna know who makes the cut for a shot at life?" Nov asked in growing, rhetorical intensity. "Thugs and rats. Every time. The boy who was with her, Thomas. He'll probably live long after she's had her throat slit by some gangster who's gotten enough fun out of her. He'll live because he knows how to keep his head down and eyes glued to the ground. That, and he hasn't got a twat. If someone doesn't find him useful for rat things like sneaking about and digging up dirt, he's left to himself, so long as he stays out of the way and avoids all the right people. But Amira..."

Some of the anger died in his eyes to be replaced by cold, certain knowing. "She doesn't keep her head down. She barks and bites when she likes, at whoever she doesn't like. It matters less now because most who get bitten are other orphans. But here's the ugly truth."

Nov leaned a little closer, rust colored eyes darkening with terrible conviction. "One day, she'll bite the wrong rat. And that rat will tell his rat boss, who will tell his rat king. Then the whole lot will find her and take their sweet, sweet time making her pay. They'll enjoy it, too, because she will fight, at first. Rats like the ones with some spunk in them--they're more fun to break. I don't need any black magic to know what those petchers who caught you were thinking. You fought them, drew their blood. You woke their thirst and they wanted to drink their fill. Tear you apart bit by bit, until there was nothing left to maim. That's what they would have done to you, what they will do to Mira."

"Best part is," he moved back to lean against a molding wall and shrugged, "I won't be able to do shyke about it. And neither will Jillene. Because they'll be folk we can't touch. Monsters bred and born of the ilk that call themselves gangs of the Berth."

The silence that followed felt like a palpable void. This had to be a record number of words Noven had ever uttered in one setting. It made his mouth feel funny and he clamped it shut to regain some semblance of normality.

"Point being," he continued, clearing his throat. "You've survived this long. You must know something other than throwing punches that works. Mira needs to learn these things too, or she'll never make it past her first moon flow. And yes, I know about those too."

Noven shifted uncomfortably in the dingy space. "That and uh...I'm pretty sure she fancies Thomas. Don't ever tell her I know though. She might kill the little bugger in his sleep just to prove me wrong. I just...I think she ought to know, you know...the finer points of womanhood at some point. Otherwise she'll bite the head off of every man she comes across. She deserves a chance at a decent life, like the rest of us. And the men who cross paths with her deserve a chance to keep their pricks."

The cook felt distinctly like he'd said enough. Maybe a little too much, even. But it lightened the burdens upon his shoulders a bit to have finally confided in someone these nagging concerns. Though, it was a strange feeling all the same.

Nov coughed again. "We can, uh, start your training any time. I cook evenings, got nothin' to do otherwise."

He then eyed Caela's clothing and added, "And you might want to change."