Love and Losers (Kiva)

[Wikus]

56th – Winter – 515AV

10th Bell

The chase had finally ended. The fog had cleared long ago, and the snow shined proudly at the vague rays of sun that filtered in the horizon. The weather was strange, as was the city and the inhabitants that dwelled inside. The snowflakes slowly made their way down, spinning and swirling from one place to the other until they finally rested in their grave, and the grave of many others of his kin. The dark clouds loomed over the city, cursing it with the darkness while the horizon offered bright and clear skies. The rays of light sometimes managed to filter through the dark layer of clouds, only to be smothered moments later. Harshly cold gusts of wind blew between the tall stone buildings of Riverfall, whistling here and there before they too lost themselves in the maze and died inside. It was somewhat morose, at least in the eyes of the one who couldn’t find the hot embrace of his partner no matter how hard he looked. Just like him, the whole city had befallen the worst curse of them all – unconditional attachment towards another.

Wikus found himself stranded alone, as his chosen one had ironically chosen somebody else. Panting harshly, both of his hands rested against the wall as his body remained bent forward in attempts of calming his breathing. A layer of sweat covered his inked flesh, yet it was so cold he could barely believe it hadn’t frozen. Some of the ink had smeared through his features, where his ink-coated hairs of both scalp and beard displayed a clear mess. Whatever style he had displayed before, the current one was proper of a man freshly out of the battlefield. Ironically, he did came out of a battlefield. The bar fight had resulted in a mess of blood and broken stools, of wounds and grudges that wouldn’t fade away easily. Some chased after them, calling for a militia that never came, and eventually confronting the pair. That didn’t matter, as whatever confrontation the Akalaks looked for never came, as the two temporary companions were only interested in one thing.

Chimes ago, the couple they needed to chase had entered that door Wikus stared at, right across from the street in which he now tried to rest. He had gone out of his way just for a female that ignored him and did not accept him as she was obligated to. His right foot still bleed, not having stopped running until now and thus failing to heal it. His right hand also bled, product of a shard of glass he had used to stab a couple of dozen times the abdomen of an Akalak. That didn’t matter, however, as he felt nothing but the harshness of winter upon his poorly dressed body. Shirt tied across his waist, the harem pants provided no heat whatsoever, not even enough to at least form a contrast between his body and the bare feet that until now ran through the cold snow. With fanaticism he hold onto that unfaithful woman that drove him insane whenever her tongue wrapped the other man’s, refusing to believe she would leave him stranded. He fantasized and hoped that woman would open the door any time now, leaving it open for him as she provided her hot embrace.

It would have been easier to reach them if the duo hadn’t been spotted several times chasing the couple, which only worsened the situation. Thankfully, that seemed to be over. Glaring towards his companion to make sure she was there, he couldn’t even gather enough of his breath to mutter a single word. In truth, he wanted to collapse right in the snow, and breathe as calmly as he possibly could. Maybe fall asleep and wake up whenever this irk in his chest stopped, yet the cold snow that awaited him below would kill him. The thought of dying was somewhat pleasing, yet obviously not his intention as he held onto life like a maggot to the flesh. Spinning on his heel, he’d lean against the stone wall and raise his foot as he inspected the wound.

It was big, very big. Apparently, it was also deep, as the blood didn’t flow as eagerly as one could expect. Whenever a wound was deep enough, the color of the blood seemed to wane and become brighter, thinner. At least, that is what his eyes believed to see. He had no idea as to how to treat it, reason why he kept his fingers away from touching it at all. The foot plant was dark with dirt and full of callus, as he usually walked bare of any type of footwear. Leaning forth to grab a small handful of snow, he’d slowly place it on top of the wound. The cold felt good, and stopped the bleeding after some time. Wishing to save time, more snow was taken as the right now started slowly massaging the sole, at the same time the sole spreading some of the snow on his hand. “What now?” he’d ask, distracted with his odd therapy. His breathing had begun to calm down, the puffs of steam contorting around his features before they too were kidnapped by the occasional gust of cold air.

876 / 50000

[Kiva]

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"What now?"

A question Kiva knew no answer to. The lean woman watched the house longingly, but turned to look at her scruffy companion who was attempting to remedy his wounds. The wind was biting, and with the red stained snow, Kiva wondered how the man was still functioning. The Myrian was far from resilient to the weather and as much as she hated the suffocating layers, to go without them seemed... idiotic. With a sigh, she moved closer, couching in front of where the man sat massaging his feet.

"We wait."

Throwing the coat that she had swiped from the madness of the inn over her lap, Kiva flipped it over, examining the fabric with stiff fingers. She flexed them once or twice to get blood flowing and began fingering the lining. It was a decent jacket, if not a bit worn. The fabric was a faded blue, with cotton lining. Kiva plucked at the stitching, irritating it until she was able to slip a finger between the layers and a loud rip pierced the air. She tugged some more, wedging her hand between the cotton fibers. Another tug.

The thin lining shredded nicely, and when she had enough, she tossed the remains at Wikus' lap. He could use it as a blanket if not attire. She had no use further use for it and she imagined he was far colder than herself. The last thing she needed was him to freeze if guards finally came. Unlikely, but two fighters were better than one and from his ability to toss the blue men, he had some value to her.

Settling across from him, the Myrian said nothing, swatting at the tattooed man's hands. 'Stop it,' she thought, frowning at him. Lowering onto her butt, Kiva crossed her legs and took his injured palm into her hands. Had this man never heard of bandages before? Sighing, she began wrapping the wound. It was a quick fix, one to prove a temporary solution instead of a permanent one. Her fingers moved deftly, tying the fabric tight. Once that was completed, she let his arm fall and motioned for his foot, holding up another strip. "Wrap your foot, then ankle." She tried to illustrate what she meant. First around the bottom, then bring it up and around, repeat. She motioned for him to do it himself, and pulled away, reaching for the next item in her reserve.

The half empty bottle of wine.

Kiva, who in retrospect was not much of a drinker, nor had the best experiences when drinking, still found it something to do when the love of your life shacked up another woman within ear shot. Swirling the bottle, she drank deeply, licking her lips at the sweetness. It was a little much for her, but she enjoyed it's flavor far more than the bitter ale they had been drinking in the pub. So quietly she waited, absent-mindedly plucking bits of glass that still stuck from her coat and tossing them away and into the snow a ways away. Finally, when the couple still didn't emerge, the Myrian began to grow restless.

Burying the bottle in the snow so that it stood upright between them, Kiva scooped up some snow, took a deep breath and began to rub it on her face. The icy substance shocked her to her core, and she used the liquid to clean her skin not realizing the full abilities of Wikus' gift, "What are you?" she asked suddenly, face downward as the black ink around her eyes began growing watery and running onto her fingertips. She repeated the process of cleansing her skin, throwing the used snow onto the ground, and then used the sleeve of her coat to dab at her face.

Cheeks flushed the Myrian felt the full impact of the winter and her eyes lifted to look at the bearded man next to her. He was so weird and she meant her question. What kind of man bled black? Was he human? Or something else? Who was he? Where was he from?

Kiva wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answers, or was more unsettled by not knowing.

★★★

[Wikus]

Waiting was something Wikus enjoyed. If his past self knew how careless he was these days, he would have never believed it. In past days, time was spent doing something – anything – in attempts of making the most out of the day. It wasn’t pleasure nor obligation, but it was a pain he had taught himself to appreciate. The moment his body lied on the bed for five or six bells and his whole being ached after all the activities done was by far the best time of the day. Now, at the cost of barely sleeping at night, Wikus had halted his attempts of changing the future and simply enjoyed the little details in life. Be it flowers, be it walking, or be it meditating, his days were dull and lethargic. Massaging his palm, for example, was something pleasing to him as he did it exclusively for himself and not some vague concept discarded long ago. The snow felt good, and its cold left it half asleep. A man with his condition couldn’t get sick either way.

That was, of course, until the female once again interrupted him. First, she interrupted his successful courtship at the park, and now she interrupted his meditation. She was strong, true, yet she was also annoying to some degree. The day wasn’t over, and their ploy was still undergoing, so for now he tolerated her. Frowning, and looking away, she’d let her work his callous yet extremely smooth hand. His condition took care of that, too. In all honesty, the day hadn’t been as strange as it was now. It was clear that his past and present self were united for the day, possibly chained together by the one-sided love, unmatched by his chosen one. Close contact with others felt alien to him, otherworldly and bizarre. Now, he had spent the last bells beside this female without having heard nor felt anything to drive him away. In a way, they shared a destiny as they were forced to do nothing but wait for a divine gift that, knowing his own luck, would never arrive.

She quickly fixed his palm, the bandage not being really comfortable as it was pretty tight. Meanwhile, Wikus wrapped himself in the torn rag, placing it on top of his shoulders and trying to cover the most of his back. The cold was so intense he decided to instead crouch in place rather than sit, letting the feet absorb the majority of the damage rather than his legs or his rear. Unfortunately for him, he had to comply with the female’s instructions, wrapping the improvised bandage around his foot, thus forcing him to sit on the snow. He wrapped said foot, yet without force – it was more decoration than actual medicine. Never in the world would a cut slow him down, that was certain. Once the process was complete, he stood up once more and regained his crouching posture. His temporary companion beside him, his stance would once again remind them both of his superior height. Said remarkable trait offered him protection against the blue men, or the inverted as he would call them from now due to the events witnessed this morning, yet also provided a daily challenge in finding a place in which to fit and remain unseen.

Although alcohol was a fresh discovery for the ignorant man, he couldn’t deny its potency on the body. The cold was, of course, the motive that drove him to take a hold of the bottle that awaited between the two and take a swig himself. He didn’t ask permission, neither, as he was obviously entitled to the bottle as much as she was – he also didn’t need a reason to justify this logic. This once, there were apparently no bitter bubbles, and instead the contents of the bottle actually felt good. As to why nobody drank water, he had no idea. Placing the bottle between his two bare feet, egoistically leaving it closer to him rather than sharing it, he too took example after the female and proceeded to clean himself up as much as possible. Running both hands, bandaged or not, through the hair, he’d easily slick it out despite its cold temperature. The ink acted as a good grease, reminding him of the animal grease he used in winter to coat his flesh and gain protection against the chill. After the hair, both the palms of his hands and the bandages were completely black. No importance was given to this, as he instead limited to fondle his beard and returning it to its rightful place. It had been recently trimmed, which clearly shined whenever it was properly adjusted and combed. As he lacked a comb of any kind, he did it with his fingers.

It had been ages since he last saw his own reflection, no longer recalling his reflection nor his features. That didn’t matter, however, as he had the motions figured out long ago. Brush from below the chin in an upwards motion, then from the ears straightening all down, and lastly squishing the point of his beard with his fingers to return it the form it deserved. Shaving had been discarded from his life, as it consumed a lot of time for someone as hairy as himself, and even now that he had all the time in the world he found himself growing quite fond of his beard. He recalled an old promise of his younger self, in which he promised to grow this beard of his. Fondly, Wikus would tug it just to appreciate its existence. He had almost forgotten about the mustache, which he adjusted by running his fingertips over it. The ink had smeared across his features and his palms, yet that did not worry him.

Cleaning his features felt good and relaxing, and he considered it a way of meditation in which to clear the mind of everything despite the smell of wet dog that loomed around him. The female’s question broke his meditation, yet again. Grunting, he would ignore her for a while until he finished his beard’s special needs. Finally over, Wikus would take another swig from the wine, offering a sigh afterwards. Bringing his palms together once the wine was returned between his feet, he’d close his eyes and inhale deeply before lowering his head. He remained like this for two chimes, in which he would have clearly looked dead if his spine didn’t receive those shocking shivers every dozen ticks. Concentrating as much as possible, he was slowly reabsorbing the smeared ink from his palms and face in order to return it to the tattoos. This process was extremely painful, remembering clearly how much he cried in pain the first time the hammering and piercing of his flesh. The agonizing bells were now chimes, yet they still felt much longer than that. This power of his wasn’t exclusive for him, as just a couple of moons back he witnessed an Inverted who drew in the air with his gasses.

Finally done, he exhaled deeply and glanced down at the female, making sure she took a good luck at his annoyed frown. “Look at me now.” He’d say, his language skills empowered by the confidence gained in his raging streak. “Can’t you tell I’m a man?” With that, he once more looked forth into the surveyed door and stared, eventually closing his eyes once more in attempts of relaxing. He felt curious about the female, despite him ignoring her. He had witnessed her hips rocking to the sides back at the inn, the ‘duck-stroll’ as he defined it, and now he partially feared her mouth would begin spitting out words until he drowned. It had happened before, as females tend to hover around him for some unexplainable reason, and most of the times that is the scenario in which he finds himself locked in. Nevertheless, there was no denying in the utility of the female and her capacity of fight. Surely, if she was asked something she’d talk about how many blue skulls she had collected so far – which is something he was interested in. Wishing to test this theory, he would address her. “Woman. How many Blues have you fought?” In order to gain some warmth, Wikus would raise the hoarded bottle and attempt to swig for the third time.

1393 / 50000

[Kiva]

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The Myrian's question was answered with a grunt, and then the man in front of her groomed himself, uncaring to her inquiries. Kiva wasn't sure if this offended her, or if she wanted him to continue. Cleanliness was by no means a game changer for the Myrian, but having been in close proximity to the bearded man, perhaps a bit of a wash wasn't the worst idea. His scent was earthy, very raw, but nothing unlike what she had smelled on men before. A little dirt, sweat, and in this case, ink. He continued to pluck at his facial hair and she grew disinterested. Her eyes flickered to house they were staking. Kiva's patience was running low with her beloved. What was he doing in there?

A mental picture of hands roaming the curves of a back, a rythmic motion, a mouth moaning in ecstasy... Surely not. Kiva wanted to scoff at the idea. When the woman in mind revealed herself, it would take only ticks for her love to run, shrieking for a real woman. And there she would be, ready to swoop in. Of course. It made perfect sense. Kiva was amusing herself with such imagery, allowing it to play over in her mind when Wikus' voice brought her crashing to the very real, and very cold world. She blinked, realizing what he had been doing, and let it sink in.

She stared at him deadpan, only the tiniest twitch of a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips before she gave a sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a sharp exhale of air. Couldn't she see he was a man? Ha. The Myrian was amused, not sure if he understood how little of importance that was to her. She briefly considered joking with Wikus about such a detail. Men, after all, were so... sub-par. A number of quick retorts popped into her head, but were wiped clean when she noticed his possession of her wine.

Sharing... she could share. It wasn't easy, but something Kiva was capable of doing. What Kiva didn't appreciate, was his apparent possessiveness of the drink. He kept it close to him, within reach, and not within equal ground between then. Kiva watched the bottle rise as he drank from it, narrowing her eyes.

"Woman, how many blues have you fought?"

"Kiva" she corrected, no longer allowing the moniker. Her eyes still following the bottle, she contemplated his question, stretching upwards, expanding her chest and exhaling. Rolling her neck, she began to think. A few here... some there... Kiva had been avoiding a lot of physical contact to her body's dismay, mostly in prevention of catching unwanted attention from the blue men. Until she found a way to escape the law, she was laying low. And if you were a Myrian born to fight, such a endeavor was harder than it looked.

Still... those details didn't mean she had avoided a scuffle or two. Kiva took her time to reply, "Enough," and with that, shot out, snatching the bottle from the man's hands. She looked him in the eye when she threw her head back and finished it's contents, smirking when she felt the last drop. See? She could be possessive too. Chugging both the ale from before, and now the wine without having any sort of breakfast, the drink was indeed affecting the woman slightly. It warmed her, but also gave her a fuzzy sense of confidence. She was feeling good.

And she was about to prove it. Turning, Kiva dusted the snow from her pants and began moving closer to the house and lightening her step. To a passerby, it was very obvious what she was doing - the girl was prowling. Eyeing the doorway, and then keeping close to the side of the walls, Kiva looked for a weak point. Her boots crunched lightly as she lurked along the structure, only briefly glancing back to see if Wikus had followed or stayed put. As she rounded to a window, she carefully peered inside, the visible room holding nothing but hearth and a set of table and chairs. No sign of her love and the nuisance. Kiva was about to continue on, but the slightest detail caught her eye. Just out of her view was the beginning of a bed, some clothing discarded on the floor. There was some movement, perhaps feet under the blankets, but she could not see anything more. She furiously wiped the fog from the glass, but to no avail.

Her breathing increased and she pressed her ear to the window. Muffled voices. A giggle. Another round of heart ache. Kiva shook her head, marching away. Was this a horribly, horribly crafted dream? Was she being punished by the gods? She sent the empty bottle in her hands launching into the air, where it soared and shattered against a far off tree. Why was she ever expecting anything else? The man she loved was a slut. "Dira take him," she grumbled bitterly, eyes searching for Wikus.

When she spotted him, it was both a relief and a wash of disgust. Take this man, for instance. Just a dirty human. Not a Myrian or particularly impressive man. Not bad looking, if you were into that sort of thing, but certainly nothing compared to the person she craved previously. She was better than all of this. She was from a pure bloodline of warriors. She was strong, she was cunning. She could have anyone she wanted!

Fueled by the alcohol and rage, Kiva needed... something. Reassurance, maybe? Or a way to release her energy? Without warning, the Myrian pounced, this time to the man who was so average, surely he would acknowledge a prize when it was being offered. On a mission to prove she was desirable, and remedy her pride, Kiva snaked her arms around Wikus' back, running her nails down the exposed flesh, the other hand reaching to tug at the shirt tied around his waist. A flurry of kisses were placed on his neck, followed by a sharp nip.

She didn't want to think anymore.

★★★

[Wikus]

Disgust was something Wikus knew as well. The moment the bottle was snatched from his hands, he could only feel disgust for the female. Taking something from a man was simply wrong, especially when that man was him. His patience was nonexistent in both past and present, thus clearly making him a menace to whomever tried to test said missing trait. At first, he wanted to slap her across the face, which would have been the right thing to do to teach her a lesson. She would probably retaliate, and despite clearly being him the victor, she wouldn’t go out quietly. She would have to smother her to avoid her loud mouth from disturbing the petching neighbors – literally. The moans came once in a while, from one place or another, echoing in the stone walls of the frozen city. Doing so, however, would imply him killing his companion that supposedly had some sort of plan – something he was starting to lose faith in. They were just sitting in the snow, after all. That plan he could make himself.

Grunting for himself, he’d look away in attempts of losing the building anger within. His cheek was already twitching, already having had enough of the female. Her mannerisms were qualified by him as bizarre and odd, ironically. She walked with pride she did not deserve, as no women deserve that kind of pride. Arrogance and elitism was something only known within this city, the women being all just like his companion. The females walked and giggled, talked like hens and dressed pretty in search of a man to take into their beds. Where he came from, the females awaited in the bed until the man came and mounted all four of them. He was used to that lifestyle once, and despite the long time he’s spend without the touch of a woman, he didn’t quite forget those values. Here, the females changed men like they changed undergarments, which they then shoved in a man’s face in search of attention. Unforgivable, unnatural. The spoiled city of Riverfall was by far the worst city he had ever visited – having visited only two so far, excluding Endrykas.

When the female rose, so did he. For a moment, he was expecting a fight which he’d obviously win, yet the woman was clearly as coward as one could imagine. Not paying her any further attention, Wikus would start performing a couple of jumping jacks – a motion that made him hop and open his legs as his hands raised sideways by the shoulder join, obviously, only to return once his feet were once again straight on the snow. His bare feet were barely felt by now, something alarming as he was afraid of becoming a piece of ice. At first, the motions were very rigid as the cold had restrained his range of motion, yet the more he performed them the easier it was to raise the arms further up or spread his legs further. It also fueled his presence of new and unmanaged sweat, pure essence of any true man like himself. The contents of the bottle had some strange effect on him, a sort of strange dizziness that clearly scared him. Was he poisoned with the sweet waters? Anything was possible in this mad world. After all, his tattoos moved.

Eventually, Wikus glanced back to check on the female. The moment he spotted her glancing through the window of the house was the moment he halted his limbering up and swiftly made him turn around. Without a doubt in his mind, he knew what she was up to: she was finally going to kill the better woman, surely out of envy. If he had the words to describe how complex and abstract beauty his chosen woman possessed d in comparison to this plain female, he would have clearly expressed it to this Kira woman, or whatever her name was. It was like comparing a donkey and a horse – the donkey was by far superior to one of the beloved animals of the cursed Drykas. Approaching with a fast pace and going for the kill, it was only until the empty bottle flew out of her hands that he slowed down his gigantic strides, eventually standing still. The female, so sure and as confident as she wanted to believe herself, was now clearly confused and dubious. Justice, thought Wikus.

There was a moment of hesitation between the two, in which Wikus slowly approached the female – his features were clearly festive as he saw the female’s defeat. Despite his appearance, he was suffering inside. He wasn’t stupid, and he knew whose window that was as he had stared at it for a while now. He had pictured every single scene that took place within, and each of them broke him to pieces. Nevertheless, sometimes it was better to bury the pain deep down and not let anyone see it. He was dubious, yes, as he wasn’t sure how strong the female really was. He? He was used to suffering. He was broken so many times he doubted the pieces were all there anymore. He knew which place each of the shards of his soul took, and he knew how to reconstruct whatever empty figurine represented his being. She? She was a woman, and was surely about to fall to her knees and start wailing, surely going to weep like the weakling she -----

Unexpected to him, the female pounced at him just like she did this very morning – like a tigress catching a hare between her fangs. Wikus was taken aback, both figuratively and literally, having to step back a few times to maintain the equilibrium. Her claws dug onto his flesh as they sought to tear him open, and her tongue began licking the neck the fangs wanted to gash. It wasn’t until he realized that the female was kissing his neck instead of trying to have a bite that he halted his intent of getting rid of the savage attacker, now going into a slight shock. Whatever she had seen had sent him to him – him- and thus it meant nothing good. The moment a female chooses him he can’t help but feel grateful, of course, but also somewhat guilty. They didn’t know whom they chose, and this woman being so simple in the mind clearly didn’t know that. At first, he thought about getting rid of her, clearly. She was inferior to the whimsical standard set by his chosen one, her hair not even close of presenting him with the smell of a hundred meals that lingered in the hairs.

It wasn’t until their groins touched that his primal instinct was activated. It was a click, similar to the one a centipede makes to warn predators, and it immediately reminded him his task as a man: breed. His manhood took control, as expected in any man trapped between two thighs. Sex was only for breeding, and it had nothing to do with love. He knew this, but he still felt somewhat disgusted of how quickly his mind began accepting the woman instead of rejecting it. It took less than a few ticks before he tried to pull away his neck from her, signaling the beginning of their mating as only a man as bizarre as he could. Used to being in control and being rather harsh with his mates, Wikus would let himself fall forward, letting the female fall on the moderately soft snow as he used his hands to land above her. Growling as he set himself in position – which meant keeping his head to the side as far away as possible from the kisses or nibbles – his bare flesh was thankful the female was the one below. As it should be.

A blind hand moved between them, trying to find a piece of clothing and either attempt to remove it as intended or rip it off as his groin grinded against hers instinctively.

1330 / 50000

[Kiva]

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In a way, her advances were accepted, a plus to her ego. On the other hand, being pushed in the snow and mounted when you had no true interest in it or the person doing it... well, debatable. Not really in the mood, nor attracted to Wikus wholly, Kiva looked up at him and a trickle of doubt ran through her.

Being the one on bottom, it gave Kiva a slight advantage. For one, she had the upper hand on seeing past Wikus' shoulders, so when a roar of fury shattered the winter morning, Kiva was able to catch a brief glimpse of blue rushing towards them.

That was about all the heads up she received before she felt the hands of giant snatch up her arms and yank her from under the bearded man. Immediately, Kiva tried to recoil, but the Akalak held her protectively against him, snarling at Wikus, "Don't you touch her!" She tried to turn in the creature's embrace, but he squeezed so hard, the Myrian was convinced he was trying to blend their bodies together.

It then dawned on her what was happening. This was the Akalak from her run. How had he found her??? Kiva squirmed, wanting to laugh at the whole scenario, but finding her humor and oxygen cut short. Chest compressed, she struggled to breath and finally bit the perpetrator, shocking him into loosening his grip enough for her to turn and see what was happening. At some point, the Akalak retrieved a great axe, perhaps from his waist band, and was staring at Wikus in a very dangerous way. The eyes of the giant were a silvery grey, a stark contrast to his nearly black skin, and he towered at least 7 feet tall. Built like an ox, the Akalak looked like he had been bending steel beams with his bare hands since birth.

"Let me go," Kiva attempted, but found she was already being tossed in the snow. The Akalak dared to look at her apologetically before his features darkened again and he swung his weapon in warning to Wikus.

"You've touched something that belongs to me," the Akalak began.

Kiva's head snapped up to look at him, eyes narrowing. 'What?' She belonged to no one!

"Now I will make you pay." The blue man roared again, his muscles stretching his shirt, and he charged, swinging towards the man that had previously been grinding against her.

At the same time, Kiva was at a loss for words, not entirely sure what was happening or why. Who the hell was this guy?

★★★

[Wikus]

Wikus had barely managed to remove the thin rope he used as a belt to upholster his manhood, any hope of effectively mounting the female vanishing as an unknown took the woman from below his reach. Confused and annoyed, Wikus glared up to meet the eyes of the juggernaut and the fervor of rage that reigned within him. It was certainly a big individual, even bigger than Wikus himself which was already a remarkable trait. Crawling back on his fours, Wikus would raise feet away from the freshly arrived Akalak. His pants, lacking the thin rope that acted like belt, immediately fell to the floor, now completely naked in the harshness of the winter morning. As expected, even more tattoos appeared where the pants laid, only not being present below the knee joint. More man than ink, this body was far thinner than the Akalaks, possessing no muscle details whatsoever salve perhaps his hamstrings.

Staring with his own anger, Wikus was somewhat expecting a fight. The Akalaks did nothing but fight, and he could only expect that from any of them. Thankfully for him, his jumping jacks had managed to warm his body up, which would allow him to be more effective in the battle that was about to take place. Using the Akalak’s distraction, which was the woman of course, Wikus would move to the side and take a hold of a rather large icicle that dangled from a lamppost. It wouldn’t be very effective, but it would provide him with something to stab the Akalak if the chance arose. Obviously, he didn’t know what the Akalak was doing, or whom it was, yet the battle axe quite clearly stated his intentions. Wikus’ tattoos began shifting, strangely, and somewhat fading as the ink was apparently filtering inside his flesh. Only offering an expression of disgust towards the Akalak, Wikus did nothing but wait.

Wikus’ blood returned to his head the moment the Akalak charged in his direction. Not being able to use his whip to reduce this beast, Wikus was condemned to improvise as much as possible. Ironically, Wikus found more fear in facing a conversation than facing death, and this allowed him to remain moderately calm. The Akalak charged, ready to deliver a sideway swing that would part Wikus in two, inevitably forcing him to retreat back in with lunges. Seeing the Akalak would not halt until he was in range to chop him off, Wikus decided to take a gamble and toss the icicle towards the Akalak’s face. The icicle hit him plainly, shattering the improvised weapon without doing any damage to the brute, yet being enough of a taunt to make him swing his axe prematurely and miss Wikus. Taking the chance, Wikus leaned back and propelled his upper body forth to gain some momentum, pressing his lips together and blowing through the minimal aperture caused by this – effectively blowing enough ink with sufficient force to reach the Akalak’s face.

The ink reached the bulwark’s eyes, starting to burn his globes and blinding him from the ache. Closing his eyes, the Akalak roared as instead of halting his motions he began furiously swinging the axe here and there, ready to break whatever came nearby. He was still searching for the victim, something Wikus made more difficult by retreating with a lunge. Panting already, the Akalak’s big weapon was beginning to tire him down. At last, the Akalak halted momentarily to swipe the ink from his face. Wikus saw the chance and the distraction, already planning on how to bring the man down by disrupting his feet. Without a doubt he propelled his foot with all his strength in attempts of reach the Akalak’s hips and tackling him to the ground. Unfortunately, the cold had frozen the street, and a layer of ice lied beneath the snow. His foot reached that ice layer and did nothing but slide, crippling his balance and causing him to fall on his knee. The pain was grave, as damage to a join was by far the most annoying type of pain one could experience.

Gazing up, he saw the furious Akalak already planning on raising his battle axe just like an executioner about to bring the axe upon his head. Wikus feared for his life. In a last hope, his hand would scoop some snow from the ground and with the same motion toss it towards the Akalak’s features. It wouldn’t cause damage, nor halt the inevitable motion, yet it would distract him. Reaching out for the Akalak’s thick leg, Wikus would grab it and use it to pull himself closer to the male in order to avoid the axe. Said weapon missed him, and hit the ground with such force that Wikus’ bare skin felt the pieces of stone act like shrapnel, almost afraid of seeing the damage caused by the monstrous attack.

813 / 50000

[Kiva]

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*

Kiva wasn't sure to do first. In fact, she wasn't sure what to do, period. Everything seemed to happen so fast. Wikus' pants dropped to the ground, a fact that left the Myrian bursting into laughter. It was so unexpected, especially in battle. The jovial sound rose up into the air, popping in the air like ringing bells. It had been a long time since she truly enjoyed herself, even going back as far to say her laughter died in Falyndar with her parents. As she began to catch her breath, she realized her companion was indeed in trouble.

But what could she do? ...And did she really have to do anything? This man, Wikus... he wasn't Myrian. What did the life of a deyhan matter? Kiva began contemplating the realities of the situation - the morality. She had to ask herself, did she care?

No. She was going to allow him to mount her, out of a need to feel something other than heartache... but now that the emotion passed and she watched the pasty skin of the foreigner flopping around... she sat there, interested to see what the Akalak could do.

Crossing her legs, she watched as an audience watches a play. The thrown ink was a good maneuver, if not an underhanded one. But it slowed down the larger man, and gave Wikus a chance to think. An interesting tactic, but a wasted one. 'I would have pulled my damn pants up,' Kiva mused, legs crossed, casually leaning back as if she had not a care in the world.

It wasn't until the Akalak missed again, shattering stone, that Kiva's fun was over. Unfortunately, there was a reason she needed Wikus alive. Not for herself, of course. But for their plan to continue. Kiva wasn't exactly sure what that plan was now, but if she lost a pawn that she could have saved, and she needed it for later, what would she do then?

"Stop." Her voice was stern, like a mother scolding a child. It was an arrow, shattering the labored breathing, and fearful eyes. The axe that swung down like judgement hovered midair above Wikus' body, and for a moment, Kiva was impressed by the self control. It was excellent discipline on the blue man's part, but when he turned his big eyes towards her, so full of surprise, confusion, a touch of hurt, Kiva saw herself as she was that morning - when her token of affection rejected her, casting her aside.

A light illuminated the Myrian's eyes, "Come here," she ordered, her voice softer, friendlier. She held out a hand, motioning towards where she sat. Like an obedient dog, the Akalak lowered the blade, shoving the other male away like a pest from his pant leg and sauntered to where she was.

Kiva looked up at the towering man, his frame even more daunting at this angle. No words, just a flick of her wrist and the Akalak lowered to his knees to be eye level with the woman. He tried to take her hand, but Kiva pulled away. "Do you love me?" she asked, calculating his response.

"Yes. I do." There was hope in the man's eyes. Kiva smiled, trying not to be too excited by the prospect of her new option.

"You're perfect," Perfect for her plan, but the Akalak beamed, his white teeth splitting into a grin a mile long. Kive continued, "There is man inside that house," Kiva pointed to the building she had previously been lurking outside of, "He has insulted me gravely. If you love me, you will punish him. Then I want you to bring me the woman he stole from this man," Kiva pointed to Wikus without looking at him, "If you bring her to him, he will leave me alone. And then I will be happy."

Love be damned. This was not the first day Kiva had experienced pain, and it surely would not be the last. When her love saw the error of his ways, perhaps she would be waiting. Or perhaps she would be hiding so that she would be free of this love struck warrior once more.

She smiled, pleased with herself when she watched her Akalak bound up to the door with a mission on his mind. One bang, then two, and lifting a leg corded with muscle, the Akalak leaned back and kicked it in. There were screams, curses, and like a manipulative canary, Kiva stood and dusted snow from her pants. Looking at Wikus and his disheveled appearance, she hoped this all looked like part of an elaborate plan. Best not to let the deyhan know she had no idea what she was doing.

Best to let him think she was as smart as they came. But as ink dripped from his fingertips, Kiva realized... she didn't know what the man would think. In fact... she didn't care. "You will get your reward, and then we are done."

★★★

[Wikus]

Thankfully for Wikus, the Akalak halted his motions and allowed Wikus to correct his stance. He was already planning on lifting the Akalak’s leg and tripping the other one, sending him to the ground, then doing a leg-lock and shattering the bone… All a useless ploy that was denied the moment the woman’s voice intervened in the fight and the Akalak shook Wikus off his leg. Truly, the fight had gone terribly wrong for Wikus, something that infuriated him as he now wanted to jump on the blue bull’s neck and bite off the life out of him. Watch his red blood taint the white snow and yell out to the lifeless and cold body, maybe even laugh at his death. Nevertheless, there were bigger issues at hand. The woman had somehow commanded the Akalak from stopping, and that may have saved his life. It didn’t matter much to Wikus, whom now stood up with a clear expression of disgust on his face. It wasn’t sure as to who it was directed – to the Akalak and his disgusting kin, or the woman that belittles him.

Stark naked, as usual in him, it was clear to him that the fight was over. Moving a few steps back, he’d step onto the pants and pull them up back to his waist. The harem pants were somewhat elastic, which allowed him to bring the limit up to his belly and, after pressing it against the limit of his body, tie a simple knot to keep them in place. Looking at his flesh, his tattoos were partially faded, weak in color and barely visible. The ink was running low in his body, and where it would shine now light scarring appeared – the scarring of the hammer tapping the ink into the flesh, a process extremely painful that now was beginning to show in the partially colored tattoos. Without giving it any more thought than necessary, Wikus watched as the woman commanded the Akalak. Had the woman found attraction in the blue man? Much like every other woman in the city, the blue men seemed really popular for some reason.

Once the Akalak departed on his easy quest, Wikus approached the woman with a raised brow. In a way, he was impressed by how she had managed to get the Akalak to do the hard work. At the same time, he was somewhat skeptic regarding the female herself. Playing people, and in this exception the Akalak, was by far something repulsive. Manipulation was just another word for lying, something that he didn’t approve. Sitting in between, that expression was the only thing he had to give to the female as he instead directed his attention to the wide open door. Despite the cold, he still felt the heat the adrenaline had given him ticks ago, and his muscles were still warm thanks to his convenient warm-up. Readjusting his hair once more, he felt somewhat impatient to see if his woman would leave the house, perhaps having missed a word or a sign from the female. Perhaps she had commanded the blue bull to kill his woman, something he was sure would drive him beyond any known fury.

At last, the Akalak came out of the doorway. Two rears were hanging from each of his shoulders, still strong enough to let the axe hang from his hand. As expected, those two rears were naked, as they needed no clothes for whatever they were doing inside. One of them was hairy and ugly, while the other one was as smooth as marble floor. Wikus, just at first glance, knew that his loved one had the hairy one. Surely, that meant she was a woman willing to sit through long hours of work just to bring home a couple of coins, having sacrificed her obviously unhindered beauty for the sake of a family. She was also a tortured soul like him, having spent their lives living for the sake of someone else while no joy was given to them. In a way, he admired her. Both hanging butts protested and moved, trying to get free from the Akalak’s grip which they wouldn’t break. The giant halted a few steps away and let each of them fall to each of his sides, the two poor victims landing on the harsh snow. The Akalak then made obvious they wouldn’t be able to join hands nor bodies together by stepping in between them, and breaking any attempts of contact. Finally, he simply watched the Myrian and hoped she was satisfied.

Wikus surely was not. The abstractly beautiful female peered up at the strange pair, her eyes resting on them both, as she sniffed her snots up through her thin moustache due to the sudden cold. Wikus saw her, and still loved her, but there was a small irk on the back of his head. Now, he finally had the chance of making her his for all eternity, to rest on her uneven breasts full of hickeys and to be happy. Still, after all he had to do just to get her here… he wasn’t sure she was worth it. Why love someone that doesn’t love you back? Even if she did, why love someone that made you suffer through so much? Why it was him the one who had to bicker with his conscience when it was she the one that didn’t seem to appreciate him? He loved her still, but he finally realized something else: he loved himself more. Loving that woman was destroying him, piece by piece, and one day he would be nothing but the husk he was in his past. A creature that did nothing but look down, whose head did not know how to peer up at the skies and cry out in pride.

Wikus approached her, the female not recognizing him as she didn’t scream with the same strength or pitch as she did this very morning. It was a scream directed for someone new, which too broke his heart. After only one step forward, he raised his head and inhaled deeply. Looking towards his temporary companion, whose contract was about to expire, he’d say indifferently. “You never met me, understand?” Not even recalling her name, that’d be the last he’d say to her before stepping forward towards the female. There wasn’t doubt in him, nor was there care in his strides. Those were firm footprints left on the ground, his shoulder intentionally bumping into the Akalak as his hand went on to the female’s head. It spun, and before she had realized Wikus had taken her prisoner by her hair. Without anything else to add, but his apathetic stare at the woman below, Wikus would drag her away by force towards the house she had just left. Now, she only screamed in pain.

It broke his heart hearing her like this, but it also broke his heart that she had rejected him. After all he had done on this day, he was now certain this woman would never love him, and would never ever help fix his broken heart. She would just keep leeching from him, until he couldn’t think of a new dawn again, until he feared a new day for all the sacrifices he had to make to conquer her again. That type of suffering he had known in his past and it had nearly destroyed him. Wise men learn from their mistakes, and while others may have said his current actions were not proper of a good man, he knew long ago he wasn’t that type of man. The woman screamed and screamed, trying to hold on to the snow with hands and feet alike, trying to hold on to the man’s harsh hand in attempts of saving her scalp from being ripped off. That didn’t stop Wikus, but only fueled him to do what he had to. He would rather never love again than experience this betrayal even remotely. And so, the man entered the house, and with a leg shut the door behind him.

1345 / 50000

Thread total: 5757

[Kiva]

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It wasn't difficult to imagine the Myrian woman turning a blind eye to the rape of another woman. Kiva hated her, for she had stolen something that she had loved, and she watched the male brute she commanded wrestle with her token of affection. Wikus, with his ink and beard could take what he wanted, their deal was done. She cared not for what they did behind the closed doors of the tiny house. How fitting, should the woman who experienced bliss there moments before be forced to do the same acts against her will. A lesson to be learned, if she ever saw one.

Kiva, pushing back her shoulders and with a powerful grace not often displayed by the young woman, she strolled to where the men fought. Her previous love screamed, tormented at the fate of his chosen. "Easy," the Myrian cooed, her eyes as cold as the ice on her tongue, "What upsets you so?"

A mocking question, for she knew the answer. She was no fool, and as such, she could not overlook his flaws any longer. Love may be blind to others, but not to her, "Be still, savage. You deserve this."

He screamed some more, eyes laying to rest on Kiva's face. Without the ink on her eyes, or the cowl on her head, recognition flitted across his face. "You-"

A motion of her fingers and the Akalak that claimed to love her sent a sucker punch that rocked the beautiful face of the man she loved. He dropped to the ground, defeated and knocked clean out. Kiva, while not the biggest fan of the blue men, had to admit to their strength. Whoever their gods were, they must fawn over the Akalak's power.

Kiva sighed, a soft, painful sound. She didn't want this. Not truly, but she had lost her patience and her heart ached with longing. Today sickened her with emotions Kiva had not felt for years, nor did she know how to deal with them. She felt... crazed. Unstable. Had she always been this way?

A hand slipped into hers, and she jerked away, surprised to find the Akalak who had followed her orders so faithfully and without question staring down at her with a love so full, it scared her. Suddenly nervous, not from the attention, but at the sudden realization that she had never been looked at in such a way. In all of her years on Mizahar, she had slept with a few lucky men (both by accident and on purpose), but had they loved her? Would they do anything for her? The thought was humorous.

"What is your name? I am Lavik and Veremon." The Akalak asked softly, scared that if he talked too loud she would run away. Kiva thought the question funny and smiled bitterly, but the stone in her heart was still heavy.

Moving away from the house where the pitiful sounds of conquest fluttered, Kiva sighed at the blue giant, releasing an answer, "Kiva." Just Kiva. She felt lonely so far away from home - away from the only people who claimed to love her - and in an attempt to fix her broken heart, the Myrian motioned for Lavik to follow her. Perhaps the day could be salvaged, even if so many other things could not be.

★★★