[Flashback] Loosened Chains [Victor Lark]

[Lavia]

Location: Ravok, The Docks, Plaza of Dark Delights, The Slave Market Time Stamp: 508 AV, 12th day of Winter "-now hurry and finish them rations, girl." the voice demanded, a hacking sound escaping his throat as he coughed up a large amount of mucus before spitting it to the ground, just near the bruised feet. What a doleful sight it truly is, to see a woman in so much pain. Though, this sight was not rare among the city of Ravok. At least, not in the Plaza of Dark Delights. Oh yes, pain, greed and a thirst for ones desire of feeling in control is always quenched among these parts. This part of Ravok, isn't as crowded as other parts, but it still in some ways lures in the occasional curious mind. The Plaza is thought to be just 'dark' enough to taint even the purest of hearts. Worldly desires, is all it fulfills. The woman looked away from the scruffy man, who wasn't at all clean shaven and his clothing was just as tattered as her own. She kept quiet, remaining in silence like she has been for the past numerous seasons. It was assumed at times that this woman did not even have a voice of her own. She pulled her legs gently towards her torso, allowing her spine to rest against the near wall, her knees meeting and extending up just near her chin. In her bound hands, she held on to a small, thin piece of bread. How unsatisfying it was, but over time, even with such a small amount to eat, she has always convinced herself she was full. She held on to each bite she took, letting her saliva soak the bread before chewing and swallowing. She ate slowly while her face was lowered above her cupped hands as she ate like a bird pecking from a fountain. Her hair, as always, untamed and unkempt -but still a bit of beauty in each layer of curl and wave. Her hair was quite long, carrying on down all the way past her waist in all its thickness. This was said to be her only good quality. Her beauty. For she was horrible cook, a horrible seamstress and well.. She wasn't at all cunning or adroit. That was why her keeper, the one who has kept her bound with shackles, refuses to hold on to her any longer. She was no longer a prize of his own. She must be sold. Just as she was finishing up the last bite of bread from her hands, the abrupt tugging on her arm caused the last bite of bread to flee from her palms and in to the air, landing a few feet away from her. A gasp could be heard from her mouth, as the man pulled her up to her feet with ease. "Get on, now will 'ya." he grunted as he pulled her feet. The womans appearance was even more exotic when on her two feet. She was a lengthy height, her legs very long but appearing a bit thin from malnourishment. She was dressed in a shabby and shoddy set of clothing. A failed attempt for a skirt, was a simple piece of tan fabric draped around her lower body, while her upper body was sheltered in a similar fashion. Dirt, stains, rips and loose pieces of thread were visible. There was no reason to keep this woman in any kind of extravagant clothing. Afterall, she was worthless to her keeping. Just a simple Kelvic, with no purpose. Another offspring, who would be used as nothing more than making a couple of Gold Mizas, if he was even that lucky. On such a frail body, the thick collar around her neck took most peoples attention. Distracted away from everything important. The fear in her eyes, the trembling of her lips. She was nothing more than a slave. Someones soon to be prize. Just another means of profit. The man held tightly on to her arms, as if the shackles around her wrists weren't enough to keep her in bondage. He began to hiss in her ear. "You wait here and don't you make a move 'er I'll see that you go to sleep without feedin'." How strange that this man was so sure she would be returning to his home tonight. He didn't even have the smallest ounce of faith that she would be sold today. Not even tomorrow, or the next. Her head, was most of the time lowered, her eyes staring down to the earth, or in this case, the set of wooden stairs that led up just to the large platform. Once he left her side, she looked up to the many slaves who were being bound by their shackles, their arms extended towards the heavens, the chains secured on the thick poles. It was a sight she has lived with for many seasons. It was at first, alarming with each glance. -Painful. She looked away, watching as the few people began to let their curious eyes wander. Buyers and even observers began to surround the platform. Lavia too, observed the crowd. At this point, she didn't mind being sold. Any keeper had to be better than her own.

[Victor Lark]

A boy appeared in the plaza, a bit too young for the setting but nonetheless confident. He was dressed as finely as any other buyer in the area, but he lacked that pretense and condescension that inhabited the faces of the rest of his social class. Rather, his expression was one of delightful mockery. He thought it fun to look down his nose at the dirty and pathetic people, customers and merchandise alike. And while his spoiled mind had few opinions about the peculiar institution itself, he thought he might stir up some chaos today. He cared not whether it was in the actions of many or in the dark corner of a single mind. Victor thought of himself rather highly when it came to matters of manipulation and social intuition; whether his impression of himself were true would be told in the day’s events.

The latest selection of slaves lined up on the stage. Lark had to bounce to see them above the heads of the crowd, much to the disdain of the adjacent patrons. There were four of them, all as dirty as the man who sought to sell them, and only one of which had any muscle of use. His dark eyes settled on the female. She seemed the weakest of them all, slim as a knife and probably easily frightened. If he had the money, he would have bid on her, to see if her pretty little mind was as frail as her arm.

The angry old owner trudged down the steps, letting the auctioneer take over. As the clatter of his voice filled the air, the smelly brute shoved his way through the gathering. Laughing, Victor whispered loudly to the stranger beside him, “He could take a bath in the canal and smell better!”

He almost thought that the person would have returned the laugh, if he were not forced to catch the boy where the body-merchant had shoved him. Suddenly furious, Victor rose to his feet again and spat at him. “Clean your slaves, dirty pig! And then perhaps you can buy yourself a bath—” Then there was a pain on his cheek and blood in his mouth. His dazed eyes searched for the source of the surprise and found his blood on the slaver’s fist. Lark wiped the red from his mouth, eyes wide with shock.

The fury settled as soon as it had risen in him. Sure, he could do with a good brawl, but he decided there was a better way to seek his revenge. Ideas swam behind his glaring eyes as the pig’s first slave stepped down from the platform, sold for a mere 200 gold mizas. Next was the girl. “Kelvic female!” announced the auctioneer, “Two or three years old, no skills! Already broken! Start the bidding, one-hundred gold mizas!”

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Victor raised his hand, gaze fixated on her owner. “One-ten!”

As the auctioneer echoed his bid, a voice from the crowd spoke up and declared, “One-twenty!”

Another said, “One-fifty!”

“Two-hundred!” erupted from the boy’s foolish mouth. His aggressor looked at him, puzzled, then shrugged and turned his eyes to Lavia and her misery.

“Two-fifty!”

“Five-hundred!” Victor yelled, turning to face the girl he never meant to purchase. The crowd was quiet after that. Even though she was a so-called exotic because of her race, the girl was weak and talentless. She was not worth that much.

With a smile, he shoved the grimy merchant to the side in order to make his way to the side of the stage, where an accountant was waiting to exchange the girl for the money. He relished in the happy chuckles that were vomited behind him, imagining them turning to tears. When he approached, he gave the slave a look. Ready yourself, it said. Do not be afraid.

“I would have you remove those chains.” He said through his nose, mimicking his slaver uncle. “They are not presentable outside of the gallery.”

“So long as you do not mind she shifts, good ser,” stuttered the old man, bumbling for his keys.

He scrutinized her for a moment, nose gloriously high in the air, and replied, “She is too weak for it, I should think!”

As the last of the heavy iron fell from her impossibly thin frame, Victor pretended to evaluate his purchase even further by tracing a single finger over her arm. He had never stolen something so valuable, much less something living. The thought thrilled him so much that he forgot to notice her shortage of clothes. His heart beat quickly in anticipation and his brow sweated out his nerves. His hand reached hers.

And there it tightened. And then he was leaping to the streets and into the crowd, and then he was weaving between their disbelieving faces and groping hands. His grip might have been painful on her fingers, but he did not care. He had stolen the prospect of five-hundred gold from that lousy, selfish, rat of a man, and he would not lose that satisfaction because she could not hold tight enough. “Ha!” he screamed as they departed into the city, forgetting to look and see what other offended men might be following them.

[Lavia]

Lavia's wrists hung lifelessly, supported by the thick chains hoisted just above her crown. The Kelvic hung her head low, not wanting to bear the humiliation of a staring and whispering crowd. “Kelvic female!” announced the auctioneer, “Two or three years old, no skills! Already broken! Start the bidding, one-hundred gold mizas!” Of course, she expected a great veil of silence after the auctioneers words. “One-ten!” Her eyes opened and her head rose with quickness, as her eyes scanned the crowd to match a face with the voice, but could not. The biding continued, prices rising higher and higher, and once the bid of 500 mizas was called out, the crowd went completely silent, a few gasps and looks of awe smeared across their faces. It was a boy. Just a boy. Lavia looked a bit bewildered, as the young boy approached the stage to pay and claim his prize. There was laughter filled with amusement, and Lavia had to agree with the crowd, this boy was foolish and asinine. That or, completely mad. He sent her a look, which gave her a bit of complacency, her heart beginning to race. Was she really this close to being released from this desolation? From this anguish? She didn't have the ears for the conversation around her, for her mind was much to occupied with her own thoughts. She felt the tugging on her wrists, her arms falling down to her side once the chains were released. The shackles were removed off of her feet, and even the tugging around her neck meant the collar was too being removed. Her hand felt the clenching of the boys, almost too tight for her bare, but then again, her mind was elsewhere to bother to complain. Before she knew it, she was being pulled behind him, her feet carrying her quick running. She was running? They were running? "Stop them! He has not paid for his slave!" Lavia's eyes widened, once her mind collected what was happening. Her hair flew freely behind them, people in the crowd trying as best as they could to get a grip of her locks. Their hands did manage to make contact with his clothing and their flesh, but it was not enough to stop them. She kept up with his pace, her hand holding back on to his. "Are you mad!" she shouted, the first time in a very long time. They were through the crowd of people, but if she knew her keeper well, she knew he would not just let his slave be dragged away by a thief, despite her worth. Lavia turned her head to look back, the movement of their feet causing her vision to be a bit jumpy. She spotted her keeper, a slob struggling to give even a decent jog after them. But behind him, were three others. She turned back, her breathing becoming heavy as she tugged on his arm. "You must stop." she called out, their bodies separated two arms length.

[Victor Lark]

He did not respond to her surprised derision. As a person, she meant very little to him; she was a pawn in his revenge and therefore still a slave, still unworthy of his respect or concern. His hand simply gripped tighter with unconscious frustration as he tried to outrun the gaining authorities and the blubbering slaver who had offended him. But then her tiny fingers suddenly slipped from his grasp.

It took a few long strides to counter his momentum once he realized that his prize was lost. Immediately he turned and closed the space between them, taking her this time by the wrist with all the strength his untrained hand could muster. How dare she tell him what to do. How dare she spoil his fun. This was why he stole small things, dead things, unremarkable things. He opened his mouth to scold her and to order her to follow him, but he paused. He had not bought her and he did not own her. No matter how much he wished it were not true, he could not tell her to stay with him and expect her to oblige. As he did not have the strength to drag her, he had to devise another plan.

His expression softened from irritation to feigned resolution. “Fine,” he said tersely, shoving her arm from his hold. He tried in vain to mask his own heavy breath as his gaze settled briefly on the swiftly approaching men. “If you like the pig so much, you’re an idiot. But I’ll not risk my skin to save a wretch that does not want to be saved.”

It was a lie. He would persist, if only for his own satisfaction. The words were the only way he could think to convince her.

There were plenty of escape routes where they now stood. He did not linger as he attempted to find them all in the seconds she had to make her choice. Trying to hasten her decision while at the same time continue the charade, he escaped into an adjacent alley. There he hoisted himself up to the nearest window ledge and punched the glass.

His fist bounced painfully against the unbroken window. As red embarrassment welled in his cheeks, Victor reached down and easily lifted the unlocked pane. In the next moment he slipped into the hall, clumsily forcing his nerves to calm with deep breaths. Stairs rose from the woodwork beside him and his fluid plan became a path up the three flights, with an exit to the roof through the fourth floor window. The pounding footsteps of the guard grew loud as he peered outside and offered his hand.

[Lavia]

The brown haired boy turned around, in attempts to reclaim his prize. She expected more; a hit or blow at least, but as he approached her she saw his disheartened grimace and it said enough. He grabbed her by the wrist and held firmly. Lavia gave an expression of discomfort as her fingers spread from the pressure. His lips parted but there were no quick words, and instead he released his grip, pushing her hand away, allowing her arm to fall back to her side. “Fine, if you like the pig so much, you’re an idiot. But I’ll not risk my skin to save a wretch that does not want to be saved.” A wretch? She was surely no rascal of any kind! But in his eyes, her attempt to escape this 'freedom' run, made her seem as if she'd rather like to be the company of anguish. He seemed to have made up his own mind as she slipped through the near alley, leaving Lavia behind. But of course, she knew she would rather follow his lead than stick around to be thrown back in to her own misery. She refused to be a wretch. There! The sound of the echoing voice filled the narrow street, urging her feet to carry her much faster through the alley, following the direction she saw the boy run. She just caught sight of the feet hanging and then disappearing behind the window frame, afterwards a hand being extended out. She let out a sigh of relief as she reached up and pulled herself up on to the window ledge. She took a hold of his fore arm, pulling herself through the window limb by limb, but as swiftly as she could. She stood next to the boy, but her eyes weren't focused on him. She took in her surroundings before turning to close the window behind her. It silenced the loud footsteps but it did not erase the fact the men were close behind. She turned to glare at the staircase, and then through the next room ahead. She would follow behind him, stick to his lead, but she was now much to anxious to get away. The adrenaline she felt was coursing through her veins was unfamiliar. She moved past him, bumping him slightly out of the way as she descended up the staircase, her feet carrying her quickly. She wasn't sure how he was going to get out of this sticky situation, but she knew exactly how she would get out of it. What a risk he was taking. He surely wasn't a bright character.

[Victor Lark]

Victor could not hide his satisfied grin as the slave came to her senses and took the lead. The push she gave was perhaps only slightly weaker than that which he had received from her master, but he was content to ignore the slight in favor of their progress. Even in her tattered clothes and dirt-covered body, she interested him. He would never recognize the exact source of that attraction, but he excused it for the arbitrary whims that often influenced his selfish opinions. He did not care about her, no. But she was certainly worthy of his curiosity.

He had to sacrifice stealth for speed, in those moments of their ascent. Her bare feet stepped lightly against the wooden stairs, but the human's shoes seemed to echo a noisy warning to anyone who would like to help their pursuers. The halls were plain and identical and Victor found himself dizzy when he finally stopped at the top.

There, the walls soaked up a commanding baritone voice on the first floor, throwing its muffled echoes forebodingly at the two criminals far above. Petch. He had let her think for too long. She had been seen, and the man downstairs was probably not interested in buying a room. Quickly he crossed the long hall, which ended with a similar window as the first: their exit.

It slid open as easily as its brother. Without hesitation, he climbed through. The ledge was wide enough that he could crouch there on the balls of his feet, one hand gripping the pane. He took a moment to consider his situation, and then he jumped up. His reckless fingers found the edge of the overhang, but he was on the wrong side of the roof’s sharp peak; the slope would toss him onto the street again, if he was not careful. With a grunt, he hoisted his knees up so that the soles of his shoes grasped the brick wall. As he knew he did not have the strength to pull the weight of his body with his arms alone, he pushed against the side of the building with his legs and tried to use that momentum to heave himself over to the top.

In the same moment, a lookout yelled his discovery from the alley below. Distracted, Victor turned and stumbled in that pivotal instant and his calves collided with the edge. His loosed fingers slammed against the rough shingles and groped for something to grab, to no avail. Half hanging, he slid down the roof’s lip a few feet, with every appendage reaching out to try and slow his decline.

At least they were lucky in one respect, Victor thought with an optimistic smile: the man on the ground did not have any arrows to shoot.

[Lavia]

The thumping sound of the boys shoes trailed behind her, and once she reached the top of the staircase she felt a bit of accomplishment as she paced her breathing and looked down the long halls. She waited only for a moment, watching as the stranger walked past her in a bit of hurry and with an obvious sense of direction. She quickly followed after, the voices trailing off as she quickly caught up, following his lead. He lead them both to yet another window, as the Kevlic stood there and only observed, without parting her lips to speak. They came through a window, and would leave through another. It was predictable. This boy was young, naive and was simply 'winging' their situation. It was obvious, his intentions must have not been to steal her in the first place, for he did not have a pretty well thought out plan. But Lavia would not complain, for she could taste freedom already, but knew not how to embrace it as it began to grasp a hold of her. He climbed out of the window and she watched him take the jump to grab a hold of the roofs top, holding on as tightly as he could. As he did his best to manouver his body to the top, she watched his hold begin to slip with the jerking of his legs, giving effort to attempt to pull him up. She inched in closer to the open window, the cool winds breeze sweeping through and tickling the surface of her flesh. She was easily distracted with the simplicity of the breeze, neglecting the boy who could potentially break his fall with the pavement beneath him. She peered her head out to look below, the man shouting and throwing his hands about to get another mans attention. There might just be trouble, if he was to dangle there for too long. There was a still small voice urging her to shift and flee for her own life, but there was something within her that held her back. She could not find it in herself to leave this helpless, pathetic and stupid boy, whom she was quite fascinated with, alone to meet his anguish. She bit down on to her lip, her teeth sinking deep enough to cause the pale skin to appear a soft red, her hand reaching for the window frame as she pulled herself through its opening, her feet finding their balance on to the ledge and her hand holding on to the pane. She looked up towards the struggling boy, who wore a peculiar smile. She narrowed her eyes, beginning to look at her surroundings. The jump wasn't the hard part, but she knew pulling herself up would be just of a challenge as it was for him. She thought twice, knowing the only way for the both of them to make it out of this was to find another solution. The swirl of bright white and gold streaked lights engulfed the girls body, leaving behind the small stature of an owl, though, its wing span was quite massive and always unexpected. The owl spread open its wings, letting the earths breath caress them only for a moment, before descending in to the air and away from the ledge where the Kevlic was once standing. The owl hovered above the boy, its beak snapping and a hissing noise could be heard there after. The short flight was delightful, to just simply stretch its wings. But before the owl could indulge in its own satisfactions and desires, it was determined to find a way to to help this boy too be successful in this escape. The owls altitude decreased gradually, as it began to peck and bite at the ankles of the boy. Truthfully, there was not much she could do, but attempt to give a 'push' for the boy to put his best limb forward and pull himself up. As the owl did so, the shouting seemed to sound much closer than from just below, and as the owl turned its head to face the opened window they both fled through, she watched the man approaching from down the hall, this one, well armed. OOC-Sorry, there wasn't much she could have done -er, well, at least I couldn't think of anything. Hope that is alright! :|

[Victor Lark]

OOCNo worries. I hope my attempt to save myself wasn't too crazy. :)

There was nothing but air, and a roof too smooth for his fingers to hold. Then his chin clipped the corner of the building with the snap of his teeth. For a moment, he fell.

But this was not the first time the rash teenager had taken a misstep on the rooftops of Ravok. His elbows caught onto the lip and his fingers gripped it tight as his legs swung off the side, dangling above three stories of thin space. Dazed, Victor wanted to simply hold on in peace for a few moments, to reorient and recompose himself. He had not noticed her transformation, nor had he seen her climb through the window. He did not perceive the man that had reached their exit-window, and was pulling his bow in their direction.

A bird tugged at his shirt and as he shrugged it away, his grasp loosened precariously with the effort. In the same moment, an arrow cut the air beside his flailing legs. He hung then from only his fingertips. His heart skipped. Only adrenaline locked his hands on the edge and saved him from death. He inched to the street-side wall and out of the archer’s sight, scrambling to raise himself to any surface that was not vertical.

His desperation turned to exhaustion. The height of his strength had left him. He looked down, gulped. When he turned his gaze up again, he saw that owl, a peculiar sight in the city’s daytime. The auctioneer’s voice rang in his memory: Kelvic. He always did like birds.

“Girl,” he whispered loudly at it, adjusting his futile grip. “Meet me at Rose Street and Nautica. Quickly!”

Then he carefully repositioned himself, crouching on the side of the building with one arm hanging. His muscles throbbed already. A look of defeat crept hesitantly into the backs of his eyes, but at the forefront there was wild determination. For the second time that afternoon, he jumped.

Before he knew it, slimy water enveloped him. He recalled flying arrows and the cries of men, but then his body found the filthy sediment of the canal’s floor. His stomach settled back into his abdomen. He did not let the bubbles rise too high before he crawled blindly over abandoned bottles and trash and what he hoped was not a dead person. He did not know where he was going, but he did know the danger of rising above the surface too soon. Then he touched a wall, rose up, and breathed the slippery air between the water’s surface and the grimy underside of the street. It was in that manner that he made his way further into the depths of the city, towards the aforementioned crossroad, where another crazy idea would hopefully come to fruition.

She would find him standing at the back of an empty ravosala, still soaked and dripping save for the dry cloth hat atop his head. He had found it hanging on the boat’s bow and now used it to hide his face as he leaned on the steering pole like a ravosaleer awaiting a customer.

[Lavia]

The owl responded with a loud hoot and even a hiss filled with determination. The pecking and tugging of its beak had came to a cease once she heard to command from the boy. The owl lifted itself much higher in to the air, no longer hovering over just the boy, but not the entire city. Over the docks. As it took off against the breeze, the voices began to fade and she knew she was eventually out of sight, at least to those who were on their heels. There would be only one problem: The Kelvic could not read. Her wide eyes observed what was below, while the neck of the owl turned in search for the fleeing boy but he was no where in sight. Lowering itself into an alley way, the lights appeared once more once the owl was perched on to a short wooden post, shifting back in to her human form. Her feet lowered on to the ground, the wet and slimy ground not such a pleasant feel to the flesh of her feet. Her eyes were just as wide as an owls, as she peered down the alley only to see very few people passing by from a distance. Her head began to turn, searching around for something she could possibly drape over her body, and there she found, lying just next to waste bin, was a balled up plum colored sheet. She reached for it, and taking it in to her hands she quickly tied it just above her bust in a knot, and held it closed in the center with her left hand. She peered around quietly, her feet carrying her down the alley and towards the streets. Once in the view of the public eye, a few gazes were turned in her direction but they did not linger in to stares. The Kelvic looked worried and lost, but as best as she could she held her back up straight and her chin towards the heavens. She would possibly stick out, if one was to notice her bare feet, but if eyes were only on her face, she blended in. She kept her eyes open to each upcoming street sign, the words carved in to their thick wood appeared foreign and unable to be made out. She stared and studied them, but that would do no good. "Well Nicolo's Ravosalas isn't as expensive as one would assume. Right here, just near Rose Street." Her ears weren't paying much mind to the passing conversations, until she heard the familiar name of the street. She turned her attention quickly to the couple passing by, and followed behind to the direction they were going. Her eyes met with the still water and the several ravosalas were tethered together. There, she spotted a young boy in the same clothing as the one before, though his face sheltered and hidden away behind a cloth hat. She approached quietly, her feet not making the slightest noise as she lingered in his direction. Her feet reached for the inside of the ravosala, rocking it gently as she bent her knees and lowered herself on to one of the wooden chairs, she watched him quietly, her hands falling in to her lap. She observed his wet clothing, puddles of water collecting under his shoes. "I hope you know how insane you appear, to everyone." she said lowly, looking past his shoulders to the crowd, to ensure they had not been spotted just yet, "-but I thank you. Even if your intentions weren't to free me. You must have done it out of pride." It was rare the Kelvic ever spoke, but she felt the need to. She could have taken the chance and flown out of Ravok, leaving him behind, but it would weigh as a burden on her shoulders. Constantly wondering what might have happened to him. And besides, her curiosity was beginning to spark.

[Victor Lark]

A thin smile grew over his secret expression when he saw a familiar face approach, clutching rags to her chest. As she stepped into the boat, so did he reach to unwind the vehicle’s thick rope from its post, and together they swayed heavily. It would have been suspicious to turn around and investigate the area, so he simply gripped the pole awkwardly and pressed against the soft mud of the canal floor. They did not move much. Any semblance of frustration escaped the foolish teenager; he was only distracted from his work by the voice of the slave. His lips spread further into a toothy grin and he did not look up at her to reply, “Hey, if it gets the things done!”

But he did not acknowledge her gratitude. It was more imperative, in those chimes, to get as far as possible from their pursuers—as well as the poor man who owned the boat, where ever he was. Victor did not recall from his own ravosala rides any simpler alternatives to his rowing strategy. Instead, he honored her impression of him by digging the pole even harder into the soil below and pushing with all his strength. That propelled them slowly through the water for a good short distance, but the stick was stuck. His aching hands could not keep hold of the smooth, slippery thing. It fell with a small splash into the canal’s greedy grasp, just as a tall wrinkled old man began to wave frantically at them from the road. He did not have time to call after them before his means of business slipped beneath a bridge and into a wall-lined section of Nautica.

Standing yet, the boy walked his hands on the underside of the bridge, trying to push against it for a little extra speed. As the boat moseyed painfully between the two tall buildings, he turned and sat. His elbows rested on his knees, still dripping. “I am insane, remember? You cannot guess my intentions!” he said, gesturing with exaggeration for the sole purpose of taunting her. “So I will tell them: you are wrong. I very much intend to free you. If I did not, you would be caught again, and all of this would be for naught! I fear you cannot leave the city conventionally, though. They will notice an owl flying in daytime, and the docks behind us will be full of men, searching for you, for at least the next few hours. We must go the opposite way.”

Finally the ravosala crossed the short block and came upon a side-path, crawling. Victor pushed against the stone wall and a parked boat until they were close enough to the firm ground. The little wooden tub rocked again as he stumbled out of it. He offered his hand to help her, bowing affectedly, positively gentlemanlike. It was a ridiculous display, but he did not want her to think him entirely clever, did he?

He could feel the eyes on his soaking body, and on the girl who was dressed in a sheet. News travelled fast in Ravok; a voice cried out and pointed a finger. He held onto her hand, if she let him take it, as he had before, and ducked swiftly into the darkness of the city's winding, maze-like alleys. As they progressed, the vagrants and seedy merchants became less frequent and the curtains behind the window glass became more colorful. The trash even smelled a little nicer, a function of the quality of food in the homes adjacent.

They stopped at a dead end, with a narrow ladder leading up the side of a building, alongside a column of windows. “I know you’re asking yourself, How should we get through Rhysol’s great city with the whole petching guard on our tailfeathers! And I will answer, With the proper attire, of course!” Victor let her go and climbed up it expertly, as he had so many times in the past. It was his own home, after all. “Come. You should fit well enough in my mother’s clothes.”

OOCFeel free to improvise the look of the interior.
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