[PM to Join] [Mature] Hooks and Jabs

Tue Feb 11, 2020 8:46 pm

21 Dentis 2719

Rutger’s House of Pain.

That’s what it said on the side of the red-washed building. It wasn’t a brilliant or vivid red, faded from the brunt of a hot sun over the seasons. It reminded Meraki more of rusty brass, or copper, which made him even more interested in whatever the establishment was. There were some clues as he got closer, peeking through to see gleaming hints of precisely crafted metal.

Meraki stood at the entrance, momentarily entranced by what he saw inside. A wayward grin showed at one corner of his chapped lips. Weaponry. Of all sorts. Just left out… there for the taking! Or purchasing, that was.

The honey-blond felt around his pockets, in a hurry. Did he have any coin? He ambled over to a nearby table. How could he not browse the blunt objects? His dark green eyes almost sparkled when he caught sight of a row of knuckledusters. He bit at his lower lip. His pockets were empty. Even if he found something he wanted, he wouldn’t be able to buy it. His fingers twitched, and he stared at a steel-based knuckleduster that looked as if it would fit well.

He heard some voices, off to the side, where he saw a man polishing a sword while talking to a couple sailor-looking sorts.

Probably out of all the businesses to consider theft…

…a place called House of Pain might be the worst choice.

The wick muttered to the knuckledusters, “I’ll be back for you lot.” He turned away from the table, fixed his gaze to the floor, and left the business establishment before he got unduly noticed.

Somewhere around late afternoon, as the day approached evening, Meraki realized he needed to stop wandering about the waterfront and decide where he’d be spending the night. He figured a tavern or two till he got shooed away, or maybe he might find a spot in the neighborhoods. It was only his third day in Old Rose Harbor, but he was spending some time to get to know the streets. Not that it was a particularly safe venture to wander… Meraki was gradually learning that the Harbor was a lot grittier and tougher than his home in the Stacks.

Still, there was something about the place that he didn’t dislike. The salty air had a sort of mixture between fresh and rotted tastes, depending on which way the wind blew and where he was at. It was loud in some areas, but quieter in others. There were similarities to the Stacks, but also vast differences. For Meraki, who’d never left his home before – not even for a visit or trip – he found the whole thing to be both overwhelming and exciting.

But he’d started to temper his excitement. He still planned on getting back to Brunnhold, one way or another. His luck was... as luck happened to be for him – which was the exact sort of warped fate that’d gotten him to where he was, destitute in the harbor.

He veered away from the path to the Black Dove and toward the nearest neighborhood district.

Meraki didn’t get as far as he’d like though. After only a few minutes, he turned to cut through a side path and accidentally came across a troubling scene.

He first noticed the gang of about five at the other end of the alley. Even if the Stacks were different than the Harbor, Meraki could recognize what this was. He could tell by the way the thugs slouched their shoulders forward, and the way that a gruff woman at the edge of the group looked right at him like a dog that had heard a whistle.

When Meraki accidentally made eye contact with the look-out, she nudged one of her accomplices.

The wick held quiet, and didn’t approach any more than he’d already had. He glanced past the group, to who he assumed to be the target of whatever was going on. Body language made it clear, but five against the one didn’t seem all that fair of odds… even if the man looked fit. Until Meraki noticed that the lone man seemed to be missing a hand.

“Sorry,” offered Meraki when the look-out took a couple steps toward him, in what he knew would be the choice to leave like he hadn’t seen a thing, or else...

He took a slight step backward. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Tue Feb 11, 2020 9:35 pm

Evening, 21 Dentis, 2719
An Alleyway, Not Far from the Wharf

Aremu had seen them long before they caught him. He had seen them on the wharf; he thought he knew which was the one that had noticed him first, the long, lanky man with the slicked back hair and tangled beard. He had seen him from the corner of his eye along the wharf, once, and then again. He had stopped, and gone into a shop, and come out again, his rucksack against his back, and when he had seen the man again – then, he had been sure.

Aremu had walked a little faster, his shoulders tight, his hand and his wrist in his pockets. He felt the flatness of it like a visceral ache; he did not know if it was that which had given him away, had made him a target, but he knew he should not have minded the itching of the straps, and worn the prosthetic for his errands after all.

It was only when he saw the second one that Aremu began to worry. He made a split second decision; he ducked behind a group of dockworkers, loud and rowdy and laughing, and turned off the main wharf; he went down a busier street, and turned, and turned again. He knew the Rose; he knew the streets well. He had thought he could lose them; he had thought better here than to lead them to Quarter Fords.

He should have stayed on the Wharf.

One of them came from behind, and grabbed hold of the rucksack, pulling at it.

Aremu yelled aloud, and clutched hold of the strap; there was a struggle, and a ripping sound, and Aremu pulled it back and took off, sprinting away down the street.

The second one caught him from the side, and tackled him into the alley.

Aremu had twisted, and rolled over, wrapping his right arm around his bag. His left hand had found the knife in the sheath at his back and yanked it free. He’d felt it bite down, and he’d scrambled back, the gleaming metal dripping with blood.

“You fuckin’ Mug!” The man he’d cut spat.

Aremu felt the wall against his shoulder; he scrambled up to his feet, the knife gripped tightly in his hand, gripping the bag against himself. That had been the highpoint of it.

One of the men was combing through his bag; Aremu’s lips were swollen, and bloodied, and one eye sealed shut. He tasted blood on his tongue, and every breath sent an ache of pain through his ribs. The man he’d stabbed was muttering to the leader of them, watching him, one hand pressed firmly against his side, the other holding Aremu’s knife.

“Laoso takings, boss. Ne ging,” The man turned the rucksack over and shook it; the potatoes tumbled to the ground, and Aremu’s notebook beside it, landing in the muddy street.

“Riff’s something, at least,” the injured man said, turning the knife from side to side. The woman, their lookout, snorted.

Aremu was breathing slowly and steadily. Both arms were pinned behind his back by the last member of the group, twisted up and together, held tight; the pressure of it bowed his shoulders forward, and his head.

“Fuckin’ crip,” The leader said. He came forward, and buried his fist in Aremu’s stomach again. Aremu grunted, tightening his stomach against the hit; it did not make much difference. His head swam again, still. “What’s the ging worth t’ ye?” He asked, raising his eyebrows. “Ye cut ol’ Mert somethin’ good; he’d be happy t’ cut it outta ye.”

Aremu spat onto the ground, breathing hard. It was not his money; it was Niccolette’s, which he had taken from the Quarter Fords house to run errands.

The lookout had taken one, two steps away. “Better run,” she told the young man at the edge of the group, sneering at him.

Wed Feb 12, 2020 9:31 pm

A run-down of the scene in the alley made it obvious what was going on.

Meraki wasn’t a hero. He didn’t think of himself in that way, at least. People could fight their own battles. Even that rationalization, this was more than a drunken brawl or a rival’s tussle. He glanced at the stolen, torn rucksack. He caught sight of the blood that dripped from one of the man’s hands. Blood like that never meant good things. It meant a blade was involved, and sure enough, his sight followed the trail to look at the knife.

It didn’t look good for the mark. Already beaten, already bloodied, already cornered… there was a chance, if they were in the Stacks, the robbers would beat him unconscious and then leave him in the alley. But here in Old Rose Harbor, from everything he’d witnessed so far, he suspected the criminals in these parts didn’t like to leave witnesses.

Witnesses such as himself, maybe if he turned and left now, he could get away with it. He could even try to direct it into work, if he was so inclined to make coin through illicit means. Meraki wasn’t though. He wanted to keep on the good side of the law.

The gruff woman took a couple steps toward him. As he wasn’t leaving yet. He’d gotten caught up in looking at everything. Meraki’s eyes widened somewhat. He laughed when she sneered her threat at him.

“Sorry,” he immediately apologized for the rude laugh. He cleared his throat and walked toward the woman instead with a startling level of confidence to his approach. “Just… you lot thinking you need this many of you for something like this? Overkill, right? You five against on-”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

In a swift jump, he closed the distance and threw his first at the woman’s face. She didn’t seem surprised by the attempt though. He hadn’t been that subtle with it, and his fist grazed against her cheek with the slightest of touches.

“Shi-” he swore when she grabbed his arm. He couldn’t pull free. The broad was buff under those frumpy clothes! She swung him toward the nearby building, twisted his arm behind him, and he stumbled against some abandoned crates. His foot slipped in the mud, and her knee slammed into his stomach. His breath forcibly left his lungs.

Coughing, Meraki knew he didn’t have much opportunity. He felt the woman try to press him into the wall. He adjusted his balance, then kicked behind him. While his heel connected with her knee, as he’d planned, any impact got lost as she tackled him to the ground instead.

So, Meraki wasn’t a hero.

He definitely couldn’t think of himself in that way, now.

The woman had gotten him against the muddy ground on her own, within seconds. She pressed the back of his head to keep him down and snarled, “Said ye’ better run.”

“Was he got?” asked the leader, who’d gotten distracted by the display.

Meraki squirmed as the woman patted him down. She tried to get at the front pockets of his vest. He twisted, ignored the pain in his shoulder, and bit her arm. Meraki sunk his teeth, past the dirty clothing, and into the woman’s skin. She hollered. It provided just enough surprise that he wrangled free from her hold.

Every second counted now. He grabbed his brass knuckles from his vest, sliding them on with familiarity. The wick’s field rippled and pressed against the air around them. He let go of the bite. The woman instinctively moved away from him and pulled at her sleeve to scratch at the fresh wound. Meraki used the building side to get back to his feet, but he’d gotten attention onto him now.

The wick slid into a wide stance, for fighting, no longer having to pretend otherwise. Meraki wasn't great at trickery anyways. This was more his style. He balled his hands into fists. However they came at him next; he’d be ready.

Rolls

Thu Feb 13, 2020 12:34 am

Evening, 21 Dentis, 2719
An Alleyway, Not Far from the Wharf

Aremu watched; they all watched. Even the leader had stopped what he was doing to look at the slender, puffy-eyed young man, who had snorted with laughter and began to approach the look out. Go, Aremu wanted to say; just go. They probably won’t chase you; they’re busy, here, with me.

“Ey!” The leader yelled, jerking forward, as the man went at the lookout in a sudden burst of speed. Aremu’s gaze flicked back to him, then, with the rest in the alley, to the fight.

The woman had him, Aremu thought, wincing and looking away. It seemed over in a moment, the would-be interferer laying against the muddy ground, pinned down. He thrashed; there was a yell of pain, and then he was up on his feet, against the wall of the building, sliding brass knuckles onto his hand.

“The fuck’re you – ” The leader glanced from the young man to Aremu. “This yer fuckin’ friend, Mug?”

“Never met him before,” Aremu said, honestly, his voice thick and hoarse beneath his lilting accent. He tasted blood as he spoke; he spat a mouthful of it onto the floor of the alley, and licked dry lips with a grimace.

“Oh, now you can fuckin’ talk,” The leader spat as well. He gestured to the man who’d been rifling through Aremu’s rucksack. He dropped the canvas onto the potatoes and the notebook, cracked his neck, and went to join the other woman, the two of them clearly intending to gang up on the new attacker.

"Think yer a tough guy," the woman sneered, one hand holding the spot where he'd bitten. It wasn't quite enough bravado to mask the pain on her face.

Aremu jerked his whole body; he threw himself up and back, pushing his legs against the ground and using the hold on his arms to guide him. The crown of his head cracked against something behind him; he heard the crunch of a broken nose, and felt it through him. There was a faint yell; the grip on his arms loosened. He pulled away with all his strength; he felt something pop that should not have popped in his shoulder, a sudden shock of pain, but he was moving, and it had been his right shoulder.

Aremu dove for the man with the knife – with his knife. He caught him with an elbow, and maybe a knee; his hand closed around the handle of it, and they struggled.

There was a loud curse from behind Aremu; he held tight to the knife, and ducked, and the man who’d held him, blood streaming down his face, punched past him, and cracked his fist against his friend instead. Aremu scrambled out and back, crouched low, his knife gripped in one hand. He spat another mouthful of blood onto the floor of the alley, his gaze flicking from the man he’d stabbed already once, to the man with the crushed, bruised mess of a nose on his face, to the leader. He tightened his grip on his knife, and gritted his blood-stained teeth.

Rolls

Thu Feb 13, 2020 8:01 pm

“Think yer a tough guy,” sneered the woman, though he could tell she felt the pain of his bite still.

“Only the two of you?” replied Meraki brashly. He looked at the man who’d left behind the rucksack. The thug looked tough, with no small number of tattoos dappled over his leathery tanned skin. Meraki wasn’t about to back down though. He’d made his choice.

Behind the two thugs, the mark started to fight back. A loud crack and yell sounded, and it was enough to cause a flicker of distraction.

Meraki used it. He swung in a hook with his bare fist toward Rucksack, prioritizing the uninjured opponent for the moment. His fist slammed against the other man’s shoulder, to… not great effect. He winced at the slight pushback of hard, packed muscle against his knuckles.

A returned punch came at him. Meraki leaned back, and it grazed past his jaw and landed against his shoulder instead. The two men stared at each other for a second. Meraki recognized it, as much as the other man did… and the woman beside them even took a slight step back, in similar recognition.

For in the next second, the pair fell into a chaotic exchange of punches. Meraki tried to keep up. Rucksack didn’t only hit hard, and have defensive bulk, but swift speed too. The wick scrambled in desperate dodges to avoid the sort of punches that would immediately end things. It was difficult to manage when pressed against the wall, though.

Meraki ducked and moved away from the building. Up until now, he’d been using his bare fist to familiarize Rucksack with his left hook and jabs. He always pulled any seeming right hits, before they landed.

Now, however, he swung with his right.

The brass knuckles connected with Rucksack’s face in a loud crack. He moved far away from the wall, to the center of the alley, while the other man slouched forward with a grunt. Blood dripped off Rucksack's cheekbone, the skin torn open by the metal accessory.

He readied to land a follow-up punch, but stopped himself when he felt movement directly behind him. Being away from the wall meant he had more mobility, but it also meant that his back was now exposed. The Look-Out took her opportunity to get involved...

...but Meraki swung a punch into her face. She’d gotten too close, trying to grab onto him. If she had managed, it would have been bad. Rucksack would have taken the chance of revenge. Instead, Meraki had interrupted her attempt. He grinned, enough that the missing gaps of some of his back molars were obvious.

“Think yer a tough gal?” he mocked the angry woman.

His gaze flicked to the mark, who’d gotten hold of a knife and seemed to be handling himself. Meraki took a few steps closer to the other man, in assumption that they’d could do with watching each other’s back. He didn’t know if the stranger was used to alley brawls, but that he was on his feet already was a good sign.

With a chipper attitude, despite the bruises he could feel rising in various spots from his violent exchange with Rucksack, he said to the stranger, “Sure, mate, I’ll be your friend if you insist!”

Rolls

Thu Feb 13, 2020 11:44 pm

Evening, 21 Dentis, 2719
An Alleyway, Not Far from the Wharf

Aremu tightened his hand around the blade; his other arm was aching and sore already, something throbbing in his shoulder, but he lifted his forearm anyway, holding it defensively. The recent scar that ran along it ached, fiercely, all the muscles beneath screaming with remembered anguish; Aremu set them aside. There was little enough time for that now; if he had the strength, there might be time enough later. He did not believe the gods had much to do with it, not anymore.

The wick was close enough now that Aremu could feel the brush of his field, half in the alley. Aremu raised his eyebrows – or, at least, the one that responded – and then nodded, firmly, half-breathless already. He tightened his grip on the knife; he didn’t see much choice but to trust the man at his back, and if the assailants couldn’t close on both sides again –

Broken nose lunged for him, a low charge; Aremu twisted out of the way, quick and lithe, smaller than the other man but faster too. A glancing elbow clipped him in the ribs, and he grunted at pain against pain; he doubted there was much of him left unbruised by now. The man turned, and twisted, and came back at him –

And ran himself onto the blade Aremu had thrust forward. He felt it go in, the shock of it through him, and then he yanked it back, bloody. The man groaned; he dropped. Aremu did not look; he did not stop to check whether the man was still breathing. A red stain was spreading over the front of his shirt.

Perhaps he did look; perhaps, as much as he should not have, Aremu did linger, a moment, too long. A blood-stained fist cracked into his cheekbone; Aremu grunted aloud, lifting his right arm up, just barely managing to stave off a second blow. His knife caught the man he’d already stabbed once, a glancing blow that sliced his arm open and left him raw.

Aremu was breathing hard; he pulled back almost against the wick, glancing to the leader, only half aware of the bloody struggle going on behind him.

“One is down,” Aremu said, quietly, looking at the man; his voice was rough and hoarse, but loud enough to be heard over the grunts and gasps. He tightened his hand on the handle of his bloody knife. “How many do you wish to die?”

The leader glanced down at the man at his feet; he groaned, and shifted.

“Fall back,” the leader snapped. “Davey, grab Per’s other arm – now!” The two of them hauled the man Aremu had stabbed backwards. “Fall back!” He roared at the woman and the second man he’d sent to fight the wick. The men retreated from the alley, slowly – not far, Aremu thought.

“Come on, adame,” Aremu spat a bloody mouthful on the ground, looking at the wick. He did not quite know if it was a lie; friendship was a heavy thing to lay between two men, but the term in Mugrobi he could use lightly. “This way,” he said, glancing at the entrance of the alley, and then turning and making his way deeper into the dark. If we go out the other way, he did not say, they shall be on us; they do not mean to let us go.

Aremu stopped, shaking, to pick up the rucksack; he left the potatoes, but took the notebook with blood-stained fingers, slipped it into the pack, and slung it over his shoulder, and then he was moving, deeper into the alleyway, glancing around. There was a small doorway; the metal door that hung against it was open, enough to pry. He glanced back over his shoulder at the wick, and went inside, further into the unknown.

Rolls

Fri Feb 14, 2020 8:59 pm

The stranger had his back. Able to focus, without concern of getting snuck up, he pivoted his stance wider. Fists readied, he glanced between the Lookout and Rucksack. Both were short of breath, but not drained of fight. If they rushed him at the same time, it’d be bad, but Meraki had a hunch they didn’t have a lot of experience properly swinging with each other. Too easy to get twisted up, and punch the other, in those sorts of cases. They were keen enough to realize that, but so was Meraki.

A grin cracked across his lips. The chapped skin, tender from one of Rucksack’s punches, dripped fresh with blood. Meraki’s field buzzed eager-like, almost like he wanted to draw both his opponents toward him.

Come at me, don’t be shy, he thought while he flitted his gaze between the two thugs.

As soon as he felt the movement behind him, Meraki took the chance. He slid forward in a low stance and aimed his metal-lined right fist directly at the woman’s hip joint. The brass knuckles crunched into the pelvic bone, a precise and unexpected strike. He felt the bone give, in that wonderfully fragile way when momentum and metal dominated the hidden skeleton underneath, fracturing it, shattering it, and then splintering it into nearby muscle under the pounded skin. A thrill rushed through the tsat. His fingers stung within the rings of his knuckledusters, connected to the brutal impact.

The Lookout screamed in pain. She buckled under the sudden loss of balance.

Meraki slid back, thinking of himself like water to accomplish the motion, as he returned to the stance he’d had before. He felt the other man at his back again, as they returned to the spot at the same moment. He had no idea of the knife or blood, unwilling to take his sight away from the two in front of him.

One is down.

“Two,” interjected Meraki. He spat at the woman, who’d crumpled to the ground. She held her shattered hip, crying and unable to keep from expressing her severe pain. Rucksack had hurried to her side, rather than try to take immediate vengeance against the wick.

How many do you wish to die?

“What?” Meraki laughed. “Die?! Mate, you think that’s needed?”

Whether it was or wasn’t, he heard the call for retreat. Rucksack helped the Lookout to her feet and headed away.

Meraki lowered his hands somewhat, stance easing, as he watched them get further away. “See, they’re leaving. No need for murder.”

He didn’t know what adame meant, by context it sounded like it was an okay word to be called. Maybe it was a term for wick or something that he didn’t know. Meraki followed with little doubt (though there was some). The tsat watched the alley’s entrance, then knelt to help pick up whatever had fallen out of the rucksack. He grabbed a couple of the potatoes, then followed the other man into the dark.

Meraki kept glancing over his shoulder, to watch if they were going to be followed or not. He felt that the thugs would back off, given they were two down in number, but he didn’t like the idea of getting caught unaware anyway.

At the metal door, he nodded and followed into the building. Once inside, Meraki asked, “You hurt bad? Did you need to sit or…? You can use my shoulder, mate, if y’ need it.”

Meraki set one of the potatoes in the pocket of his trousers while he glanced around what looked to be an abandoned building of some sort. It was difficult to tell in the dark…

…the tsat breathed in shortly, then he spoke in a language different from the rest of his words. The phrase was short, but clear, in monite. He repeated it and patted his free hand against his heart, then gestured at the darkness around him, while he continued to talk to the mona about how dark it was and how difficult it was to see, leading to a possibility that he might trip.

Light flared in front of Meraki, a small orb of flame-like illumination.

Then it vanished in the next second.

Meraki sighed. It wasn’t all that surprising to him. He muttered somewhat in a blend of tek and monite, disappointment obvious in his tone, then he brushed his hand free of blood on his vest. Something crunched underfoot as his boot landed on it. He peered through the dark of the building, still trying to follow the other man as the human seemed to know more about where to head and Meraki wasn’t sure which way led which.

The tsat said, “My name’s Meraki, by the by.”

Rolls

Fri Feb 14, 2020 9:47 pm

Evening, 21 Dentis, 2719
An Alleyway, Not Far from the Wharf

Aremu glanced sideways at the wick standing next to him. Do you think they would let us live? He wanted to ask. I do not wish to kill them; I do not wish to kill anyone. I never have. But more than a few men have died on the blade of this knife, and more than a few more will, I think. My choices have brought me here, and so have theirs; I did not ask for this, tonight, at least. Perhaps I never did.

“I hope not,” Aremu agreed,. The adrenaline of the fight was wearing him off, leaving him aching. One eye throbbed, badly, and there was a sharp ache in his cheek which he did not like; he wondered if the bone was broken, or only bruised. He could taste the blood on his lips, and each breath whistled painfully through his nose, down into his chest, and shuddered sharp against aching ribs. His arms and legs ached, too, some superficial, some deeper; his right shoulder throbbed, and his left thigh, too, where a booted toe had dug deep into the muscle.

Aremu held inside the building. He took a deep breath, shaking his head. Better not to sit, Armeu thought, slowly. He was not sure how easy it would be to rise again. He glanced away, closing his eyes, at the flicker of light; before he could say anything, it was gone, extinguished, and the wick sighed.

“Aremu,” The Mugrobi said. He took a deep breath, and grunted with the ache of it. “It is better not to wait,” he glanced around, his good eye straining to see through the dimness, the difficulty of it made worse by the brief, blinding flash. His accent was lilting, the vowels drawn out long in the words, the consonants soft. “I do not think they have gone.”

Aremu drew himself up; it took effort to walk, rather than to limp, but he managed it, and he held his footsteps light across the floor, careful to step quietly. Not too distant, he found what he had hoped for; there was light gleaming through a hatch in the ceiling, and a rickety metal staircase which led up. He tucked his knife into the sheath at his back, grabbed hold of the flaking metal railing, and glanced back down at Meraki, and then back at the door behind him.

“This way,” Aremu said. He led the other man up; his whole body shuddered with the strain of the climb, but up they went, up and up, spiraling round on the thin metal stairs. At the top, Aremu grunted, and used his hand and shoulder to force the hatch open; he caught the rim with his fingertips, and folded it back, and climbed through.

The roof was large and flat; Aremu held the hatch for Meraki to climb out, and then slowly folded it back down. The wind whistled over it, through them, a cold autumn breeze shuddering in off the Tincta Basta. Aremu’s face was tight with pain in the pale moonlight; Benea was full tonight, and Ossa nearly so, and the full extent of the bruising could be seen. He walked slowly to the edge, and crouched just next to it, his hand holding tight, glancing down at the ground below.

There was the distant edge of the well-lit wharf, the Tincta Basta beyond it, the waves lapping at the moonlight. Closer, there was movement; there were two figures resting against a wall across the street, and three making their way back into the alley. Aremu shuddered, and eased back, a good distance from the edge.

“I do not believe they will check up here,” he said, quietly, looking at the wick. He sat, then, slowly; better to sit than to collapse, Aremu thought. He closed his good eye for a long moment. “Still,” Aremu said, “it is best we not walk around.” The metal roof beneath, he thought, would creak and groan, if they were unlucky; he did not like the feel of it beneath his feet, and beneath his legs even less so.

Aremu’s breath whistled softly through his nose; his chest hurt more, not less, with each breath, and he held himself upright through the pain. “Why?” He asked, looking across the rooftop at Meraki. It was, he thought, the only question which mattered.

Sat Feb 15, 2020 10:07 pm

The adrenaline still hadn’t faded from Meraki. He wasn’t as injured as the other man seemed to be, either. He tried to stay close so they wouldn’t accidentally get separated.

“Aremu,” he repeated the name in a quiet whisper, then nodded. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth when he heard that the other man didn’t think the thugs had left. Made sense, even if it wasn’t convenient.

“You sure you okay, mate? I could…” He trailed off.

Meraki didn’t exactly know what he could do, but he would figure it out if needed. As they moved through the abandoned building, and he followed, he thought about different plans. He could distract the remaining thugs, take a run for it and get them far enough away to give Aremu space for escape. He could fight them off, himself, but he suspected they’d be a lot meaner after what he did to the Lookout… maybe the foreigner (judging by the accent) hadn’t been wrong to ask about murdering them instead.

He watched as Aremu climbed up to the hatch and almost asked again if the man needed help, but kept quiet… Meraki nodded and followed with a slight wince when the rickety staircase creaked under their respective weights.

Meraki climbed through the hatch's opening afterward, an easy enough thing to accomplish, then sat on the roof rather than standing. It was nice that it wasn’t slanted, though. He felt the breeze and shivered slightly from the increase in chill due to being higher up. The wick looked over at Aremu and felt a bit of sympathy pain at the swollen eye he could see glossy in the moonlight.

He moved to his knees, and went over to crouch beside Aremu, at the edge. He looked as well. When the other man eased back, so did he. He went as far as Aremu did, then settled with his legs crossed.

“I hope they don’t,” whispered Meraki in response to the belief that the thugs wouldn’t check the roof. He nodded as the other man sat to rest, and to the comment to not walk around on the metal roof. “Wasn’t planning on it, mate.”

Meraki wished he’d had something to help the other. He supposed he could try to heal some of the injuries with magic, but… the mona hadn’t seemed keen to help him tonight and to challenge that for something on another person? He wouldn’t. It seemed too dangerous.

Why?

“Huh?” said Meraki, confused at first, then he realized what the other man was asking. He cleared his throat, then rubbed his fingers in his hair to scratch at the back of his head. Momentarily, he tapped his vest pocket to make sure he hadn’t left his knuckledusters behind – but there they were. He lowly exhaled, then answered in a hushed voice, “Look’d like they were keen to kill you.”

“It ain’t nothing, though,” he added, and brushed his thumb against his nose. He looked up at the night sky. “Itching for a fight since I got here, and that hit it.”

He shrugged. His gaze lowered again. He carefully moved closer to the other man so that they could keep their voices as quiet as possible. Meraki asked, “You’re a fair tough, ain’t ya? Where you from?”

Tue Feb 18, 2020 11:31 am

Evening, 21 Dentis, 2719
A Rooftop, Not Far from the Wharf

The cold chill air whisked over his bruises and aches; it was not soothing, but rather sharp and painful, prickling at his skin and tightening it, reminding Aremu of all the places he hurt. For a moment - for just a moment - he let himself think longingly of an island, of white beaches and warmth wrapped in the air, of the other side of the Tincta Basta.

The breeze made him shiver again; over the distant sounds of the Rose, Aremu heard raised voices. He could not be sure; he thought they were coming from the alley. He did not move, his good eye open.

The last of the adrenaline was tingling and draining away. He had promised himself, Aremu thought grimly, a long time ago, never to climb any height which he could not descend. He was not sure yet if he had broken that promise tonight; he would find out, inevitably, in time.

”It is something, I think,” Aremu said, quietly. He looked at the other man, half-sideways. He was abruptly aware that he had not put his right arm away; he had not made an effort to tuck it into his pocket, or thought carefully, in the sitting, of how they were arranged. He could not, even now; even with a new, prickling awareness of the stump of his right hand visible in the moonlight, he could not summon up the energy to hide it. His shoulder hurt; it was more comfortable resting his wrist on his crossed legs. He did not move it.

”Thank you,” Aremu added. He looked away, back over the edge of the roof.

A fair tough, Meraki called him. Aremu’s lips twitched at something like a smile; he shrugged his shoulders through the ache in them, and the twinging pain in his ribs. He knew enough Tek to take it for a compliment; on the heels of how he’d looked to be thoroughly losing a fight he had not asked for, he could be grateful for it.

Another fight, Aremu thought, tiredly. The scar on his right arm ached; he was conscious of a faint pull in his side, deep, beneath the second souvenir of his most recent stabbing, beneath the thin line of puckered skin. All of it had healed well, or at least well enough, again. And this time?

And the next?

”Thul Ka,” Aremu said, looking out over the edge of the roof, across the lights of the Rose. Smoke rose from the factories crowded along the edge of the city, drifting into the pale starlight; lights glinted off the chainmail of a midsized semi-rigid ship, drifting up the currents into the night. ”In Mugroba.”

”And you?” He asked, glancing sideways at the wick. Aremu did not know much of Anaxi accents, even now. He did not think Meraki sounded quick like those he had known in the Rose, once, quite, but he would not have thought to ask. But Meraki had said - since I got here - and Aremu preferred to ask, rather than to answer.

An Unexpected Victorian Fantasy

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