An unexpected reunion (Stitch)

[Nyahna Sasin]

60th of Fall 510 AV
6th Bell, 30th Chime

Weaving his way through the crowds, Sasin growled softly in frustration as he saw nothing. No pouches, dangling from a thread. No valuables, hastily slipped into a pocket. Just beggars, buskers, shopkeepers, and others like him. Petch. Of course, it was partially his fault for getting up at such and ungodly hour.

He didn't even know what he was doing anymore. It seemed his days were spent alternately stealing and being bored. He was doing very little, and it showed. He was bored. He needed to get out of this place for the winter.

Then again, he'd been saying that for the last season. Didn't seem to be making a difference.

Glancing sideways, he was startled to notice a man walking away from him, a pouch dangling at his belt. Grinning, Sasin started to move towards him. This might not be such a bad start to the day after all.

[Stitch]

Stitch was wearing a dark brown cloak, the hem of the garment sweeping around his ankles, and the thick hood brought up to droop around his face. It hid most of him from view, although that wasn't really the point. He wasn't trying to hide from anything but the late Fall winds. It was starting to get really chilly, and one could easily tell that winter was approaching. Even inside the thick cloak, with his normal outfit of a sleeved shirt and britches, he was starting to shiver. He simply quickened his pace a little bit, fluidly moving his way through the crowd, keeping his head low and his Auristics pointed ahead. Him and everyone else appeared to be leaving the Bazaar for the night, and he didn't want to get caught in too much of a clustered mob. Large crowds made him uncomfortable. He used to have trouble moving through the crowded streets of Syliras. Every time he came to the Bazaar, he had to take his time threading his way through all of the people. The auras always clung together, and at first, he hadn't been able to tell where the actual people where, and where their auras expanded to. He could remember a day many seasons ago where there had been a fire that broke out in the Bazaar, and he had really been in trouble. A swarming, panicked mob. It had been one big mass of throbbing color and emotion, and he had been lucky to work his way through it with little harm. Now, it was simple. He was much more skilled than he used to be, and he stepped his way confidently through the other people around him. A group of children with their mother, a young man holding the hand of a pretty companion... He could tell who each of them were, and it all registered with a single glance. The space that they occupied, and the space that their aura occupied? It was simple for him to tell which was which, and he easily avoided bumping into anyone. He was starting to feel like he had actual eyes again. To the side, there was a dark alleyway, one that threaded through a large group of residences. A lot of the old ladies that tended to the front of the Welcome Home lived there, and Stitch was quite familiar with the darkened streets. The rest of the crowd wasn't even paying attention to it, simply taking the most well-known path back home. Stitch paused for a moment, then turned, dipping into the dark side streets. This would be a much quicker path then having to deal with that throng of people the entire way back. He knew the ladies well, and knew they were probably deep asleep by now. Early to bed, early to rise, and all that.

[Nyahna Sasin]

He was jinxed, for sure. He had circled around through the back alleys, re-emerged where he had been certain the man could come out, and found the man was again turning from him. His eye twitched, but he followed him. He had circled around him, and was heading towards him when he spotted the pin fastening the man's cloak shut. A knight, and high ranking at that. He simply bumped against him, apologized, and headed off, a little more irritated than before.

He was about to give up and head elsewhere when he spotted a figure ducking down a dark alley. He hesitated for a moment. He had been having quite a few close calls lately. This cold made him sluggish, and he was dreading winter. It had been several years since he had hibernated, so he'd be cranky through spring. It was torture, keeping awake all year, but he really had no choice. It was one job, then another, and then it would be halfway through winter and then it really wouldn't be worth it that late though the season. It was stupid, he knew, but there it was. Story of his life.

Still, he found himself following the hooded figure, matching him step for step to keep him from hearing his footsteps. He ran through his options in his head. He was much better at pickpocketting than at mugging, and it was a lot less risky as well. However, it was much better in a large crowd. Sasin wasn't good enough to steal from a lone person without alerting him. And besides, it wasn't like anyone would ever know who he was.

Glancing around, he reassured himself that there was no one watching. Pulling his knife from his belt, he came up behind the man (or woman. He wasn't actually sure with this hood in the way) and placed the knife to his throat, before pulling him to the wall. "I wouldn't move if I were you." He hissed.

[Stitch]

Stitch slowed his pace as he entered the dark side streets, content to enjoy his chilly night walk home. He was alone now, so he felt much more at ease. He hadn't realized how tense he still got around big crowds. It was probably a result of that fire long ago, one that caused a rioting stampede. It had been a rush of human bodies that had engulfed both him and one of his little ones, and nearly snatched their lives away. That had been a crazy day, especially for a place like Syliras. Monsters, death, and fire. He really did hate fire. Trying to keep his thoughts in a somewhat brighter place, Stitch started a soft hum under his breath. It was an old lullaby that he often sung to the children to help them get to sleep. It was a song that brought back fond memories of past years spent with the young ones, as well as another very specific memory. A memory with Malia. A small smile crossed his face as he recalled it, that time with her in the Stone Garden. It had been one of the first times in awhile that he had managed to go out with another adult, and without any children. It had been a rather wonderful experience. Even though he would never admit that he got tired of the children, there were times when he had his moments. Spending almost every hour of every day with them, there was times when he wanted a little adult interaction. He didn't have that many friends in town, either. While everyone seemed to know the nice old blind orphanage owner, no one ever really made an attempt to really interact with him. It was probably because of the Auristics. He was slowly learning that people didn't really trust magic. He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he only noticed the aura creeping up behind him when it was much too late. Cold steel flashed toward his throat, and a hand grabbed him from behind, shoving him toward the wall. Stitch let out a bit of a gurgled cry, the sound suddenly muffled by the wall. He was pressed into it by his cheek, and the suddenly collision had caused him to bite down on his tongue. He tasted blood. He didn't move, didn't try to resist, just simply rested there against the wall. Various thoughts were flashing through his head at the moment, but oddly, fear hadn't come. After all he had been through, perhaps a simple robbery was nothing. Still, even though there wasn't fear, there wasn't any bravery. He just had adrenaline pumping through his veins. Taking a breath, trying to calm his rattled nerves, he forced the sight of the steel knife out of his Auristic vision, and focused on his assailant. Even though the man was behind him, it wasn't really a hard task. Stitch didn't depend on normal sight, after all. His aura was a dark combination of sickly reds, blacks, and purple. They all twisted and spun around the other, snaking to and fro amongst the jungle of aura threads, weaving one of the most complex patterns that Stitch had ever seen. They buzzed with excitement, obviously enjoying the sudden danger they had put their victim in. It was a foul aura, but for some reason, Stitch didn't really feel that offset by it. He should, because of all the evil lurking deep within it. He was scared, of course... But he didn't feel threatened. Why was that? Stitch looked closer, his forehead bulging with veins for a brief moment. The man was a snake. To be a little more clear, the man was actually a Dhani. That, and he looked incredibly familiar. The wicken gleam in his eyes, the dangerous edge to his hissing voice... Stitch felt like he knew the man, but he couldn't place from where. His head was too foggy. Why was his head so foggy? "W-what do you want... milord? This one will give you his Mizas, if you wish. This one will only move for that. And just that." His voice trembled. That would explain why his head was so foggy. He was scared now. The fear had kicked in, past the initial shock. The man had a blade to his throat! The coin pouch, while once revealed when the wind had tossed his cloak back... Was now hidden somewhere on his form, underneath the thick folds of the garment. Stitch wasn't moving. He was as still as a statue, yet his mind was working furiously, trying to dip through the fearful fog and feel around for the identity of the man. Stitch wasn't really sure why it mattered.

[Nyahna Sasin]

He grinned to himself, eyes gleaming with delight as the man let out a muffled cry. Finally, something was going his way today. He liked scaring people. It was just one of those things. Most of his kind like hurting people, Sasin like scaring them more. He could feel his heart speed up it's rhythm, matching his victims. He really shouldn't make a habit of doing this. It was terribly ineffective, and much riskier than any other methods of stealing, since it involved actually being in extended contact with the victims, and leaving them alive afterward. Even assassination was safer than this, since the victim never lived to tell the tale.

He frowned briefly as the man spoke. Something about him seemed familiar, something about the way he spoke. The way he spoke in the third person, and so respectfully, even to the one threatening him. It was there, at the back of his mind, just out of reach. He swiped at it mentally, but his heart was pumping, adrenaline was racing through his veins, and try as he might, he could not place just what was so familiar to him. So he did the next best thing, and ignored it.

He shifted the blade, lifting it from it's position just below the man's Adam's apple, and settling it higher, under the man's chin. He pressed the blade to his neck hard enough that swallowing was not an option, but doing his best not to break the skin. He didn't know how much residue poison was on the blade. "Smart." He murmured, before letting the blade slip lower so he could breath.

[Stitch]

Stitch didn't even nod, too afraid to move even an inch. The blade was tight to his throat, pressing just close enough to almost cut, but not quite. His attacker was obviously skilled, and Stitch wasn't about to try and challenge that skill. He had placed the knife in the perfect position, and it had left Stitch helpless in his hands. The blind man would need a definite distraction to keep the man from slitting his throat at any sign of movement, but what kind of distraction would he be able to find here? They were completely alone in this darkened alleyway. He had never really thought of the dangers of such places, especially in Syliras. He supposed he was a bit naive, though. Crime and evil were everywhere, even in this peaceful fortress. The blade finally shifted a little bit, and Stitch let out a breath of air. Apparently the man didn't want to cut him, at least not yet. "Alright, milord. This one will bring out the coin purse to his left, and hold it out right there. Milord can simply take it all." Stitch hated the words even as he spoke them. That was most of the money he had been going to use to buy the children some presents. He had been distant lately, and he knew that they had noticed it. He had been selfish, really. He had been struggling with so many of his own problems, that he had forgotten about theirs. He had often told himself that he was planning on confronting them about the problems left over from the fire... But that he was just giving them time to develop their own thoughts. That was a lie. He had just been trying to escape that day, and act like it had never happened. Here, with a blade to his throat... It brought the world into a whole new light. He was being faced with possible death, and it made him think of all the things he would have done differently. He would have bought his children their gifts, and then he would have sat them down to talk about their problems. He would, this time. Yes, he would give them a little more time.. But he would definitely sit them down. He would. One hand had reached his coin purse, hanging from the belt of his britches. He hesitated a moment, thinking his options through. A distraction? Suddenly, the coin purse smashed to the ground, let loose from his belt, but not held on to. It was a loud sound, the noise of scattering coin exploding across the alley floor. It was sudden, it was quick, and it would hopefully be entirely unexpected. The moment the coin purse dropped, Stitch himself moved, suddenly turning into a blur of a whirling cloak with lethal hands. His other hand snapped out from the collar of his cloak, remaining hidden until a mere second before he grabbed Sasin's wrist, putting all his strength into holding it in place. He slammed a shoulder up, right into the arm crooked around his neck to hold the blade, and then quickly slipped under the man, twisting the man's wrist and bringing it down with him. In a blur, his other hand would come at the wrist, and then Sasin would find his hand being manipulated by two of Stitch's hands. If all went well, his wrist and arm would be twisted painfully, and Sasin's own knife would be pointed as his ribcage. Stitch's next words would only come out if his attempted actions succeeded, and if they did come out... They would likely be even more surprising than the sudden attack. "...how much do you need, Milord?"

[Nyahna Sasin]

He grinned happily, his mood cheered by his victory, however slight. Was that a tremor of fear he detected in the man's voice? No? Well, that could soon be remedied. Wait, no. He shook himself mentally. Priorities, he reminded himself. Money first. Fun later.

He was jolted rudely from his thoughts by the loud (in the quiet alleyway, at any rate) sound of a coin purse dropping to the floor. On instinct, he turned away from the man, his body reacting before his brain reminded him that no, he was no longer a novice pickpocket, and he had not been the one to drop the coin purse. Unfortunately for him, by the time his brain had reached this conclusion, the man had two hands on his wrist twisting his entire arm down so that he was forced to lean forwards.

He paused for a second, since the man didn't seem interested in killing him, to consider his next move. He was entirely unprepared for this, and had no idea what to do. He silently cursed himself, and the man who wasn't as weak as he seemed. He dismissed the idea of struggling, as that wasn't going to work. Nor could he twist his arm out of the man's grasp, as his head was blocking one direction, and his own joints were stopping the other. There was no way he could extract his arm from the man.

He froze as the man spoke. "How much do I need? What kind of petching question is that?" He blurted out, mere seconds before cursing himself again. What was he talking about? Of course, the man would think he was just a poor robber or something.

Gods above. He turned his head to glare at the man, or at least tried to. The angle his body was at made that an impossibility.

Finally, he decided on a course of action. Straightening his arm, he pushed the man away from him as he leaned back, trying to get his arm away from the man's head, before he pulled the man back to him, and jolted his entire body towards the man, his elbow aiming for the face in an attempt to break his nose.

[Stitch]

The robber was proving to be full of surprises. Besides possessing an incredibly odd aura, he appeared to be quite bendy too. And when he yelled at Stitch, it didn't sound much like a shout, instead sounding very much like a hiss. And even as strange as it all was, for some odd reason, Stitch didn't feel very fazed. He was assuming the man was a Dhani, which he was familiar with, and the aura also seemed quite familiar. Everything about the man seemed familiar. Why couldn't he place him, if he had indeed met him before? Before he could quite puzzle it out, Sasin's elbow popped out toward Stitch's noise, and Stitch remembered something he had noted only moments before. The sneaky little thief was bendy, and was escaping Stitch's wrist lock. Releasing Sasin's wrist right as the thief yanked at it, Stitch moved at a blur, pulling both hands up to his face. He would skip to the side, tilting his head to let the oncoming elbow scoot right past him, turning a little at the neck to get jaw out of the way. He actually managed to get a palm up, and gently caught the side of the arm, pushing it along it's current path, and adding to Sasin's momentum. It was just a short little parry, designed to push the Dhani off balance. Stitch's other hand came up too, pushingg at the shoulder of the snake-like being, adding even more momentum to his frenzied elbow strike. He wanted to cause the Dhani to pitch face forward, if anything. Stitch danced back and away from Sasin, not wanting to tangle too closely with the bendy, swift, knife-wielding man. He seemed to have a temper on him, too. A temper. This was all too familiar. Just like that, the pieces clicked together, and Stitch paused, focusing all of his Auristics upon the snake-like man. The reason he hadn't remembered Sasin was because the man existed in a memory Stitch had tried to forget. The Game. Stitch spoke softly, his guard still held high, hands both in front of his face, feet light. "Milord Sasin? This is Stitch. Is that you? This one isn't sure."

[Nyahna Sasin]

(Major appologies for lateness! Sorry.)

Wonderful. This was just wonderful. Would the joys of this day never end? As it turned out, this man was fast. Fast enough to catch him off guard, anyways. Whoever this man was, he was good. The man didn't so much dodge as he did flow, really. He was like a river. Which made Sasin the rock. He didn't like this metaphor anymore. He had moved out of the way, and was now in the process of tipping Sasin over. He could feel his arm and shoulder being gently, but firmly, pushed. Again, like a river pushing a rock. Gods, what was with this metaphor?

Sasin didn't fall. Not really. Other people would have seen it, and called it a fall, but he knew it really wasn't as much of a fall as it was what he liked to call a "shplucnk". He usually liked "shplucnk"s. They were usually performed by people slipping on the blood of their mother, or by people falling out of bed when they realized they were sharing a bed with a corpse. He didn't like it so much when it was him being shoved onto his face. The dagger clattered to the ground near him as he barely managed to catch himself. A slightly better landing than could be expected of a rock. Gah! It was that metaphor again!

He snatched up his knife, and scrambled to his feet in time to hear the man speak his name. He paused. Milord. The word had reminded him of something, before, but he had been too excited to notice. But now, the word sparked a memory in him. Of a play, a ghost, a long dead prince.

"Stitch? Stitch? Oh my…..Petch." He hissed. Stitch? What was he doing here? What was…Why….

He could do nothing but stare. Now that he was looking at the man, yes, it was him.

"Well Shyke. I haven't seen you since…" he trailed off. The game, he understood, might be something of a sore spot with that man, what with the orphanage and all.

"Umm… Sorry about that. " He muttered. "I was just… kinda.." He wasn't sure what to say. It wasn't every day you had to admit to an old friend you were sort of a thief.

[Stitch]

Stitch paused for a moment, considering the situation. It was an awkward one. He had met Sasin a good while ago, at the Fire Festival, and had defended him against some rather racist things. Then, he had met the Dhani once again, at the god-forsaken Game. At both points in time, Stitch had noticed that the Dhani had a bit of a wild streak to him. Stitch had eyes that could see much farther than that though, and had been able to peer through all of the fog, and notice the warm glow beneath. No matter what everyone else might think, Stitch knew. He knew that the Dhani had a heart of gold, even if it was chipped and cracked in a few places. Even so, he had never thought the Dhani was involved in something like this. It left him a bit caught off-guard, and searching for the correct method of dealing with this. The normal thing to do would simply be to take him down, and turn him over to the Knights. On the other hand, Stitch didn't like the way that the Knights handled things. They wouldn't simply give him the appropriate punishment, and then send him on his way. He would be made an example of. They didn't accept any kind of problems within their walls. Quietly studying Sasin's aura, Stitch noticed something that he had never seen the Dhani feel. The shame of the situation was heavy in his magical aura, and it almost saddened Stitch to see it. Right at that moment, Stitch decided on what to do. He didn't know if it was the best thing to do, but he was certainly going to try. "Ah, milord. This one is glad that it is you." Stitch stepped forward, extending his hand to shake, somehow getting his cloak caught up in it. Frowning, he shook his hand, trying to get untangled from the cloak, a look of annoyance flashing across his features. Right at that moment, Sasin might get the idea that something was wrong. There was a very foreboding feeling leaking from Stitch. All at once, Stitch moved, his entanglement proving to be just a ploy. He grabbed the cloak and tossed the back of it up, sending it swirling up between the two men, placing a black veil in their line of sight to each other. The physical distraction was sudden and silent, Stitch not giving much of a hint that he was about to do it. Stitch himself would sweep low, and the cloak would snap down with him, suddenly giving Sasin his vision back. Stitch was no longer where he had been though, and was now crouched near the ground, spinning out his leg in a quick sweep. He simply snapped out the leg and swung with it, really. If Sasin wasn't quick enough, he would find himself hooked behind the legs, and sent flying to the ground. Stitch was quite quick, and he seemed to have a few underhanded tricks up his sleeve. And Sasin had thought he was the only underhanded one, here. "Shall we continue?" The words were almost playful, delivered mid-kick. The blind man was insane. He had to be.