[Memory] One of the Few Good Memories

A troubled little girl meets an ally.

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Anaxas' main trade port; it is also the nation's criminal headquarters, home to the Bad Brothers and Silas Hawke, King of the Underworld. The small town of Plugit is nearby.

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Caina Rose
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Tue Jun 04, 2019 7:39 pm

• Anaxas/Old Rose Harbour
on the 5th of month Achtus, 2710 • Midnight
LLike many stories, this one begins on a dark and stormy night. Old Rose wasn’t the largest city this side of the Shier mountains, but it was probably the dankest. Homes and businesses were rife with cold wind and disease, blowing in through the cracks between planks of wood, or sneaking in through an open window. And on nights like this, the wind coming off the sea is even stronger than usual, racing through dark alleys like children playing a game of Catch the Kenser. But no guardian in their right mind would be letting their child out of doors after the lamps had been lit. Old Rose was dangerous, and even though the slave trade had begun to fade away, there were still ways for young Anaxians to disappear.

Anyone out and about at this time of night (almost the 30th hour), that happened to be taking a stroll through Voedale, might happen to walk past the Dog Yard. Stuck to the fence, they might see a scrap of cloth, covered in blood. There’s blood on the ground as well, a steady dripping that makes a definite path.

At the end of the path was a little girl, with the sleeve of her dress ripped off. There were other holes in her outfit, but this was the largest. It was also the site of a terrible bite mark, definitely the cause of the bleeding.

This little girl’s name was Caina Rose, and on her way back from begging at the Widow’s Walk, she’d taken a wrong turn and gotten lost. Scared and confused, Caina had wandered too close to the Dog Yard, and one of the vicious beasts had taken the opportunity to snap at her. Caina had run away, but a 10 year old’s legs can only take her so far, and Caina had barely managed to make it down the block, before giving up and collapsing against a wall, giving herself to the wind and the dirty ground. She was too tired to keep going, and the pain in her arm seemed unbearable, even though she’d surely suffered worse before. She heaved a heavy sigh before shutting her eyes, content to stay here for the foreseeable future.
Last edited by Caina Rose on Tue Jun 04, 2019 11:44 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Tom Cooke
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Tue Jun 04, 2019 10:29 pm

redwine 🙫 old rose harbor
during the night of the 5th of achtus, 2708
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Bloody work for a bloody hour. Then again, things being such as they were, what hour wasn’t bloody?

Tom’s heart was hammering in his ears; he slumped against the icy brick, drawing in a shuddering breath and running a big hand through his tangled hair. “I’m – shit,” he muttered, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead. Snorting in another breath. “I’m alive, hey? I’m alive.” A gust of wind whistled down the alleyway, plucking at the hem of his ragged coat; it was damp and cold and clinging, and it set all the hairs on the back of his neck to prickling.

Wasn’t ’til he got out of there, ’til he knew there wasn’t nobody to follow him, that he let himself wilt and start shaking like a damn mung. He still smelled blood – his coat was covered in it, and his hands, and his hair. There was blood on Ishma’s knife in its sheath at his belt. He tasted coppery blood in his mouth, but that was where he’d bit his gum hard during the fight, when old pez Alin’d had his knife against his throat and he’d thought it was all over. Bloody work, he kept thinking, like a mantra. Bloody work, but he was alive.

This was the first time Hawke’s business had sent him to Redwine, where the outsiders and foreigners lived. All he’d known walking into it was that a feeble old moneylender, one Ilani pez Alin, hadn’t been paying his dues; nobody’d told him pez Alin’d been a fighting man back in his day, or that he’d pull a knife first and ask questions later. Or that his bodyguard was a giant of a man – even bigger than Cooke, and faster, and more experienced by far.

Tom felt mung. He felt young and mung and, though not for the first time, like Naulas was breathing down his neck. He was questioning, not for the first time, his choice of career.

In the alleyway, he was just starting to catch his breath. Taking his hand away from his face, he spat on the ground, gritting his teeth hard. Up above, the sky was murky, the stars obscured by rolling cloud; it’d just started spitting little whirlwinds of snow, and they settled on the uneven rooftops, dripping their mangled shingles. Puffs of chimney-smoke stood out white against the midnight darkness. A few snowflakes had settled in his hair and on his shoulders.

Pulling his coat tighter about him, he started out of the alley, setting his face into its customary scowl. He’d break once he got home to Ish, but he had a decent enough walk in front of him, from Redwine to Quarter Fords. He reckoned he’d skip out on Voedale, take Basin Court and Castle Hill up through Cantile. Stick to the wider roads. He struck enough of a figure himself, and there weren’t many who’d risk ticking around with him – not at the thirtieth hour, not in any of the upscale neighborhoods. So he set off, moving fast through the dark, snowy streets.

Until he heard the footsteps.

Hasty, quiet steps. The neighborhood was asleep; the nearest tavern in Redwine was a few streets away, out of earshot. Unease gnawed at his guts. The next thing he heard, though, was a little sigh like a boch’s. Little girl’s, maybe. He relaxed, grunting and turning away. The streets were full of urchins; he’d been one himself, once. You didn’t learn to make your own way, you fell through the cracks, and that was the way the world was.

Still, he couldn’t seem to kick himself into motion. He froze for a long moment. There was only the silence of settling snow.

“Oh, you stopclockin’—” Rolling his shoulders and wincing at the cracks, he turned round, then started in the direction of the remembered noise. “Fuck you, Tom Cooke,” he muttered, “an’ your— vrunta— But he clamped his mouth shut and kept walking, shuddering into his coat. Great Lady, but it was cold enough. Just cold enough weather for a sleeping boch to freeze to death in, Tom reckoned.

He slid out of the shadows of a conjoining alleyway, half-hoping he wouldn’t see anything, half-hoping he’d imagined the noise or picked the wrong direction. When he saw the dark stains on the stones – not quite obscured by snow – he stifled a groan. Tentatively, he followed them out into the street, then spotted something lying in the sludge under a curb. Kneeling, he picked it up, squinting at it in the dark. It was a tatter of threadbare cloth.

As his gaze returned to the street, he spotted something else. Maybe twenty yards away, a little bundle of shadows clung to a brick wall, snow-flecked and still. He bit the inside of his gum, stifling another groan, then rose to his feet and started over. This time, he moved more quickly, boots crunching in the frost.

“Lad— er, lass—” As he got closer, he saw the remnants of a dress clinging to the little shape – then, wincing and hissing through his teeth, he saw the gash on one of her skinny arms. “Shit,” he muttered, pausing. When he’d reached her, he knelt, reaching out to shake her shoulder gently with one big hand.

“You alive, lass?”

He felt thick-tongued and rough – Alioe, he was half-expecting to scare her more than whatever’d got hold of her – but he didn’t know what else to say. He clenched his teeth, reminding himself of the likelihood that the lass was already dead.
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Caina Rose
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Wed Jun 05, 2019 12:15 am

Redwine • Old Rose Harbour/Anaxas
on the 5th of Achtus, 2710 • Nighttime
Caina let herself drift, suddenly so exhausted. The pirates would usually offer her a few odd jobs, if they had them, but if they didn't, they'd usually give her some hats, maybe a tally or two. Most gave her useless pieces of copper, broken and bent. She didn't know what good they were having had no prior experience with the currency of the criminal underground, but the girl kept them. Maybe she could make a necklace to sell on the dock?

Caina could normally manage. But the past few days had been rough. What ships that came in didn't seem interested in what she had to offer, and their crew only pushed her aside when she came close. When Caina had first found herself alone on the streets, the shame of begging had cut her like a knife. But stealing was even worse- every time she tried, Caina imagined her father's face if he could see what she had become. So she begged, and worked where people would let her, but the pay was never enough. Only good for a few meals, and almost never a night in an inn. Most of those who had nowhere to go would crowd inside Angler's Alley, huddled for warmth, but it was so far away from where Caina spent her days that it almost wasn't worth it. Plus, all those people scared her a little. Her father had always warned her against strangers.

Time passed in a haze, and Caina had no idea how long it was until she heard the sludge of boots in the freshly fallen snow- when had it started snowing? She didn't move, hoping that who or whatever it was might pass her by, but the deep voice made her freeze in terror. Oh no, they'd noticed her! Caina's father, Sebastian, had told her all about what happened to little girls who stayed out too late, and she'd vowed to him never to stray far from the house- a promise that she'd unfortunately had to break.

In her nervousness, Caina didn't hear the person move closer, and screamed in a mixture of surprise and terror. Her eyelids popped open, but all Caina could see was a dark figure in front of her, face hidden by the shadows. Oh Gods, she was going to die!

The stranger's question almost flew over her head, but even when the words filtered into her brain, she refused to answer what seemed like a silly question, choosing instead to scream at the top of her lungs.

"Getawayfrommeoryoullregretit!" The words flew out of her all at once, and Caina wasn't sure if the man could understand her. She blushed at the sound, embarrassed that her attempt to sound scary had fallen so obviously off the deep end. She tried to sit up, to shake off his hand and look more imposing, but the movement resurrected the pain in her arm and she couldn't help the gasp of pain that slipped past her lips.
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Tom Cooke
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Wed Jun 05, 2019 5:49 pm

redwine 🙫 old rose harbor
during the night of the 5th of achtus, 2710
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The little lass let out a blood-curdling scream.

Tom jerked his hand back, gasping, “Fuck!” Perched delicately as he was on his haunches, he promptly lost his balance and tumbled backward; he landed on his erse in the damp slush, snarling another string of profanities under his breath. For what seemed like the hundredth time that night, his heart was thumping in his ears, and he was covered in gooseflesh. “Circle damn it,” he muttered under his breath, fumbling around in the frost with numb fingers, trying to get his bearings.

He wrangled himself back to a crouching position just as the screaming stopped. He’d half a mind to get up and leave her there – she wasn’t dead, and if she could scream that clockin’ loud, he reckoned she could fend for herself well enough – but then he saw her try to sit up. When that little gasp escaped her lips, he hissed through his teeth, wincing. It was still too dark to tell much about the wound, but it had to be deep.

Suddenly, he snorted sadly. “I’ll regret it, will I? You got me shakin’ in my boots, lass.” He raised his hands to show her his palms, all peaceful-like, raising his eyebrows. “I ain’t goin’ t’hurt you, so you ain’t got to wake up the whole godsdamn neighborhood wi’ them fuckin’ pipes. Great Lady. Listen to me jus’ a pina ’mant, hey?”

To show her he meant what he said, he waddled back a couple of steps, careful not to slip again. Even then, his great shadow just about swallowed her up. But he just crouched there, quiet and careful, studying her from beneath the shadows of his heavy brow with his dark eyes glistening. His expression might’ve been hard to read in the gloom, but he was frowning, his face a furrow of worry. He seemed to be thinking hard about something.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then hesitated. He tilted his head to one side and grunted.

“Don’t reckon you got a name?” He shifted slightly, peering up and down the street before looking back at her. “Or a ma anywhere ’round here, lookin’ for you?” He supposed he already knew the answer, but it never hurt to ask. Plenty of motherless children on the streets of the Rose, but plenty of runaways, too. Lost lads and lasses of all stripes.

Tom groaned, passing a hand over his brow. He should’ve just gone home – would’ve, if he knew what was best for him. Then again, if he knew what was best for him, he wouldn’t’ve done half the things he’d done in his life.

He gestured loosely to her bleeding arm. “Looks bad, lass. Spillin’ sap everywhere, you are. You ain’t got to trust me – I wouldn’ trust me, if I was you – but if you stay here… bein’ honest, I don’t see you livin’ out the night. One o’ the coldest we’ve had this Achtus, an’ I’d guess it’s been awhile since you’ve had some proper yats.”

He raised his hands again, palms forward.

“You’ll let me come closer an’ have a look at that wound, at least?”
Last edited by Tom Cooke on Thu Jun 06, 2019 3:13 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Caina Rose
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Thu Jun 06, 2019 1:21 am

• Anaxas/Old Rose Harbour
on the 5th of Achtus, 2708 • Midnight
Caina had never heard a man curse so much in her entire life. She’d also never scared anyone like that before. It felt good. Really good. Knowing that she had power over someone for a moment, even though it was just something small like surprising him.. it sent a stream of steel down Caina’s back, hardening the exoskeleton that had started to form ever since she’d seen her father’s body, limp and cold, his blood spilling in between the cracks in the hardwood… Caina shook her head roughly, trying to send the image away.

Before her, the man was speaking what sounded like Estuan, but it was so slurred and full of accent- and words that Caina did not know- that she could hardly understand it. But she could guess the context easily enough. It took this guy a lot of words to tell her to shut up.

The site of an adult waddling backwards while hunched over like this one was… it made Caina want to laugh. She couldn’t help the small smile that spread over her cheeks, or the giggle that slipped out. She watched as he looked her over, and Caina couldn’t help but notice that his thinking face was eerily similar to her father’s. Her heart ached, but she didn’t look away, still unable to completely trust the man in front of her.

Caina was just a little girl, and at this point in her life, hadn’t learned to tell a lie. So she didn’t hesitate to tell the man exactly what he wanted to know, although she refused to go into much detail when answering his second question.

“My name’s Caina,” A moment’s hesitation. “My mother’s dead.” If he was perceptive, the man might recognize that Caina was hiding something.
She watched carefully as he moved his hand, scared that it might lash out unexpectedly. She was relieved when it didn’t- not only because she was loathe to be hit, but because it meant that her instincts about him were right- she could trust this man not to lay a hand on her, at least while she was injured.

“It’s not sap,” Caina retorted, eager to correct him as any know-it-all child would be. “It’s blood.” Her voice was sharp and clipped, but also a touch haughty. But.. he was right. Now that she was properly awake, Caina could feel how the cold had dug itself into her little hands and feet. She couldn’t see them in this ‘lighting’, but they had to’ve been on the dark end of red.

She didn’t know what a yat was either, but decided to ignore the man’s gibberish and scooted closer, just a little, so that she was no longer pressed against the wall like some ridiculous species of creeping vine.
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Tom Cooke
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Thu Jun 06, 2019 4:51 pm

redwine 🙫 old rose harbor
during the night of the 5th of achtus, 2710
An’ what’re you laughin’ about?” he growled, managing to keep himself all stony-faced for a handful of seconds, glowering at her from underneath his brow – then he let out a snort himself, a relieved smile lingering on his face even after he’d done chuckling. Couldn’t be so bad, he figured, if she was giggling like that. He shifted awkwardly, trying not to wince at the stiffness in his ankles.

Damn it, but he was wrung out. He could’ve been to Cantile by now, if not all the way to Quarter Fords and to Ish. Still, he tried to be patient, watching the girl’s face carefully. When she spoke again, the smile drained off his face.

Tom glanced down, away.

Still, something about the way she’d said it – my mother’s dead, all matter-of-fact – gnawed at the back of his head, gave him a funny pit in his stomach. He couldn’t put his finger on it. In the service of the Bad Brothers, telling the truth from lies was something he’d proven himself particularly skilled at; wringing honesty out of a kov, one broken bone at a time, might as well’ve been his trade. He had no reason to press the boch, but he filed the feeling away, determining to do a little digging of his own later. The lass’ parents might’ve been dead, but something told him there was more to it.

He laughed softly when she corrected him, raising an eyebrow. Where was this lass from, anyway? Her dress didn’t look expensive, but her speech told a different story; by the way she was looking at him, he reckoned a fair manna what he’d just said had been lost on her. He didn’t feel that woobly sensation that followed on the heels of the arcane, but she was young enough that she might not’ve grown a field or a glamour yet – or she might’ve been passive, come to think of it. Either way, he was starting to think she hadn’t been on the streets for long.

“Boemo. Right y’are,” he replied, “an’ it don’t do a boch well to be sheddin’ that kind o’ blood, hey?” As she moved away from the wall, he gave her space, but shifted a little in his seat to get a better look at her arm. Again, he hissed between his teeth. Wasn’t as bad as he’d thought – wasn’t the sort of wound a healthy boch would die from – but she was awfully thin, and now he could see the faint discoloration in her digits.

Sighing deeply, Tom realized he’d had his mind made up for him. He pushed himself up with a grunt of effort, rising slowly and effortfully to his feet. A dusting of snow, just-fallen, shivered off of his greatcoat. He considered Caina for a long, silent moment.

Then he bent a little and extended a hand.

His voice was quiet. He tried to speak slowly and carefully, did his damnedest to enunciate. “You can stay here, an’ risk sleepin’ on the street – odds ain’t in your favor. I know a kov who can help you, an’ might know someplace warm for you to stay, but I can’t make no promises. An’ you got to trust me, an’ I can’t say as I’d do the same, bein’ in your position.” His frown deepened. “An’ you got to be brave, ’cause it’s a ways to walk, an’ that’s goin’ to hurt like hell. What’ll it be, Caina?”
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Caina Rose
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Thu Jun 06, 2019 8:28 pm

• Anaxas/Old Rose Harbour
on the 5th of Achtus, 2710 • Midnight
She was worried for a moment, before the man began to laugh. It was a nice laugh, Caina decided. A little quiet, but ultimately happy. She brought the good hand up to brush her hair out of her eyes. It had grown long and unmanageable during her stay on the streets, but Caina could only guess at the level of mess, as she’d only ever glimpsed herself in puddles.
Another gust of wind pushed through the alley, drawing another shiver from the little girl. She wrapped an arm around herself, trying to keep warm. Caina missed the way his face fell, distracted by the steadily dropping temperature for just a moment.
At his laugh, she looked back up, and watched as he looked her over once more. Caina wondered what he saw, what she looked like. Probably just another dirty peasant child, like so many. Sometimes, Caina thought there were more children than parents in the world, which had to’ve been why so many of her peers were abandoned. What other reason could there be?

Moving closer to him made the pain flare up, but Caina pushed herself forward. “What’s a boch?” She asked, lips hesitating at the pronunciation. The little girl was eager to learn, and already absorbed in this stranger’s mannerisms.
She flinched as he reached out, but quickly realized his intention as the man began to speak. His voice was soft, and so very kind- it had been a long time since someone had spoken to her like she was a person, and Caina felt her eyes widen. If it were physically possible, there would be stars in her eyes right now. The thought of walking made her want to sink back into the snow, but Caina had read a book once about freezing to death. She hadn’t understood the words, but her father had explained the core concepts to her. And number one was “Get somewhere warm.”
After only a moment’s hesitation, she took his hand with her good one, using it as leverage to stand- only stumbling a tiny bit as blood rushed into her feet. She took several stomping steps forward, trying to coax her feet to feel again while moving onward to their destination. The pain in her shoulder was momentarily forgotten as Caina's head filled with visions of blankets and flaming hearths to lay next to.

Caina looked up at him, small fingers squeezing his palm, and asked, “What’s your name, sir?”
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Tom Cooke
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Thu Jun 06, 2019 9:23 pm

redwine 🙫 old rose harbor
during the night of the 5th of achtus, 2710
Great Lady, but the lass warmed up quick. He frowned, lifting an eyebrow. Wondering, again, where she came from, how long she’d been out on the streets. Not long, if she didn’t know what a boch was.

That flinch he saw when he reached out his hand made him wonder, still. He didn’t know what, but he was starting to stitch together something in his head, and he didn’t like it. Not out on the streets long, bloodied and torn, all proper-spoken, flinching at a man’s hand. He didn’t like it one bit, and he reckoned Ish wouldn’t, either. He wondered again about the wisdom of bringing the boch to hama, when he was under so much stress. The wick had dark places in his past, places he’d blotted out – was funny about children, Tom’d noticed – places Tom’d never asked about.

But he didn’t know what else to do.

As Caina tottered to his side, he replied, “A boch’s a little one, like you. It’s Tek, ye chen? Wick-speak, the tongue o’ spokes an’ the like. You spend time around ’em, you learn it.”

He tried to set a gentle pace, careful not to jostle her, but his strides were longer by far and he was aching to get out of the cold. He was cursing himself with every step. They hobbled haphazardly through the quiet streets of Redwine and into Basin Court without incident, the streets broadening out, the wind picking up; he kept an eye on every snake’s-mouth of an alleyway, every doorway draped in dark. He felt strange enough himself. Here he was, leading along some motherless, injured boch like a duckling, and covered in blood himself – but not his own! There was blood on his coat, blood on the knife at his belt. He felt steeped in it.

Caina’s little hand squeezed his, and he glanced down at her. As they passed under a streetlamp, he saw her dark eyes glistening in her pale, hollow face. Her question tore him out of his reverie; he grit his teeth for a second, looked away. Thought about how to answer.

“Uh, hell, well—” He thought about telling her it was none of her damn business; he thought again about giving her some fake name. He glanced around the empty marketplace, the barren stalls, the eaves newly-settled with snow. For every black-paned window a pair of eyes.

Then he looked back down at Caina, her gaze still trained on him, and heaved out a sigh. His breath smoked white in the dark air. “It’s Tom,” he replied, “Cooke. But – you can jus’ call me Tom. Like a tom cat, hey?” He offered her a flicker of a smile, then squeezed her hand back.

As they passed back into darkness, a chill wind plucked at his coat and sent snow whirling into their path. He felt flakes settle in his hair and eyebrows and stubble; his face and fingers were already tingling on their way to numbness. He spared Caina another quick glance, his eyes lingering on her frozen feet and bare arm. Hissing a string of profanities between his teeth, he slowed to a halt, letting go of her hand. They were near Clark’s Isle now, and the breeze carried whiffs of salt and rotting fish and old wood.

He moved in a little closer, stooping and wrapping the hem of his coat around her shoulder. As he started walking again, boots creaking heavily on the bridge that linked either half of the Rose to the bean, he tried to shield her from the wind with the extra fabric. “We got a ways yet. Quarter Fords,” he said gruffly. “You been there? Where’re you from, anyway? You ain’t got anybody in the Rose t’go to?”
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Caina Rose
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Thu Jun 06, 2019 10:48 pm

• Anaxas/Old Rose Harbour
on the 5th of Achtus, 2710 • midnight
LThere was something to be said about the attention span of a child. Despite all her hardships, Caina was still easily smitten by a warm smile and soft voice. Practically all her fear regarding the ‘stranger’ had vanished, and most of it was because Caina recognized him as a human, even if she hadn’t consciously recognized that fact yet. As it was, he was a nice man that reminded her of her father, and that was all that a little girl needed to feel safe. Especially when said little girl was so desperate for pure human contact, something not sullied with rage or magic.

At the mention of the Wicks, Caina’s face scrunched up in disgust. “You’re not a wick, are you?” She asked, an equal mix of caution and hate. Caina had never met a wick, but surely anyone who used magic was just like the golly who had killed her father, and to a lesser extent, the gollies that her father had interacted with as a part of his job. Despite Caina’s evident disapproval, she did not let go of Tom’s hand, and kept her face focused ahead. Caina’s footsteps were steady for now, but they likely wouldn’t last for the entire trip. Especially not that the speed they were moving. Now that she was no longer tucked away in the alley, Caina could once again feel the wind biting into her wound.

“Okay, tomcat.” Caina replied easily, only to be interrupted by the sudden cursing. She panicked just a little when he pulled his hand away, spinning around to face him. The quick movement pulled at her torn shoulder- but this time, she stayed quiet. The smell of fish made Caina want to vomit, but there was no food to expel from her system. Instead, Caina drew her now free hand over her face, trying to protect her nose.

She was surprised to find him pulling her close, into the circumference of his jacket. The warmth helped, and Caina didn’t hesitate to scooch in, but the close quarters did make it more difficult to move forward. As they walked, Caina pondered his words. “Yea. I lived.. used to live in King’s Court. I knew someone who lived in Quarter Fords.” Caina had never visited her friend’s house, though. And given that she hadn’t seen any of her friends since her family had been torn apart, she most likely never would.

“You live in Quarter Fords? But you’re not Mugrobi..” As she spoke, Caina peered over the bridge and into the water, wondering how much it would hurt to just… jump over the railing and fall into the water. To never come back up. But just as she was thinking these terrible thoughts, they reached land again, and Caina gazed in adoration at the bright lights of Castle Hill. “Halfway there,” She commented, looking up at Tom and smiling.
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Tom Cooke
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Fri Jun 07, 2019 8:50 pm

redwine 🙫 old rose harbor
during the night of the 5th of achtus, 2710
An’ what’s that look for? Like you swallowed a rotted fish.”

The swaying lamps and broad streets of Castle Hill set Tom’s nerves to jangling. He scowled down at Caina, grunting with irritation. “Ne, I ain’t a wick, but I owe plenty of wicks my life – plenty of times over. They got enough trouble from the gollies; they don’t need more from us, if y’ask me.” His eyes returned to their careful work of scanning the streets, following the shadows that flitted through alleyways and shivered in windows at the edges of his vision.

He didn’t stay irritable for long. As soon as she called him ‘tomcat’, his lip twitched; he struggled – and failed – to keep his face stony, letting out a little snort. It was a sad noise, though. He felt her stumbling on numb feet and weak legs. He kept her close and kept the coat wrapped around her, even though he knew it was slowing them down.

Halfway, just like the lass’d said. Halfway there.

More than halfway, now, by the looks of it. Cantile. How long’d they been walking for? He hiked his shoulders up around his ears, shivering. He was less and less in a talking mood, but he reckoned talking was keeping both their minds off the cold and what felt like a hopeless trek. “Ne,” he repeated, shaking his head, “I ain’t Mugrobi. The kov I’m takin’ y’to’s Mugrobi.” He seemed distracted; he frowned, thinking about it. “I live in Quarter Fords with ’im sometimes; sometimes I stay in Sharkswell, sometimes nowhere. My work keeps me on my feet. Used to be like you, I did – nowhere to go. Still have trouble callin’ someplace with a roof an’ a bed home. Home for me’s people, I reckon, not places.”

He cleared his throat awkwardly, aware he was rambling. Didn’t know how much sense he was making to the lass. The streets were still decently-lit and well-appointed, but the houses were looking smaller, the architecture less familiar to Anaxi sensibilities. As he turned away from the main street, they slipped into shadows again.

“King’s fuckin’ Court, hey? Ain’t you a puzzle,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You promise old tomcat you ain’t some merchants’ runaway daughter, pullin’ the wool over my eyes?”

It was a back street, this, thin and winding, the stones uneven and the gutters stagnant and frozen. Little houses squatted side by side, some leaning on each other, some boarded-up and abandoned. If the roofs weren’t full of holes, they sagged with snow. One was just the blackened bones where a house used to be. As the two of them tottered by, Tom fished in his pocket, at length pulling out a rusty little key. It glinted in the dark before it disappeared into his big hand.

They drew even with a small house, nearly indistinguishable from the others – better cared for, maybe, since hama’d started renting it not long ago. An alleyway to one side, shadow-draped and overgrown, hinted at a little enclosure behind the house. Wasn’t quite the garden Ish had wanted yet, but Tom had high hopes for next year. Had faith in his hama’s famous green thumb.

Tom turned to usher her toward the door, keeping a sharp eye up and down the street as he did. “You ain’t doin’ so well,” he husked under his breath, aware her steps were getting shakier and shakier, trying to keep her up right with a gentle hand.

He stuck the key in the lock and wrangled with it for a moment, cursing the rust. When he’d got the door open, he stuck inside and called out:

“Ishma? Ish, I need ye – I got a wounded boch!”
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