[Memory] If I Should Call You Home

A bitter parting.

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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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Tom Cooke
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Sat Jun 08, 2019 3:35 pm

an alleyway 🙫 west-and-long 🙫 old rose harbor
during the night of the 42nd of roalis, 2716
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Warm summer night, this – mid-Roalis, with the air thick and heavy with fitful rains. The threat of a storm crackled in the air, clung to your skin and raised the hair on your arms, filled sailcloth and whipped rigging this way and that; heat-lightning lit up the distant, churning waters in paroxysms, picked out the wheeling specks of gulls. Deep in the night, the Rose was a cluster of stars along the bay, a swarm of winking lights like the eyes of restless ghosts.

Someplace else, people were celebrating. The wind carried the clamor from the Court down the streets of West-and-Long, echoing in the alleyways, slithering through the gutters. A real fucking caoja, it must’ve been, to be this loud. But here, it was more like the phantoms of people celebrating than the people themselves, Tom reckoned; it was like another world.

It was just past the twenty-eighth hour, and nobody’d shown up yet. He was sitting on a balcony’s railing, right in the middle of a perfect patch of shadow, watching the empty back street underneath him with a keen enough eye. He was beginning to wonder if the dobber’d squealed nonsense after all – not that they could ask the kov now, him tucked in all cozy at the bottom of the Mahogany with the fishes for company. He was beginning to wonder if he’d been set up, and the thought set the back of his neck to prickling, tightened that knot that always weighed in the bottom of his belly.

Ah, well. Things could’ve been worse, though he’d hoped to have tonight with Ishma. Hoped work wouldn’t take him away from Quarter Fords yet again at the last minute, just when he’d been planning on giving hama a night of his undivided attention.

Still, as things were, he was doing a little celebrating himself, nursing a fifth of Gioran whisky – top-shelf, this time, or at least closer to the top shelf than he’d usually have shelled out the birds for – he’d been saving for him and hama for weeks. He’d needed a little something to get him through tonight, and as he figured it, the next couple of jobs would bring him enough ging for another and then some; wasn’t like he’d be sleeping a full night in hama’s bed ’til all this rubbish was done with, anyway. With all this twisting around in his head, he was getting more and more irritable by the minute – impatient for these kovs to show up, and angry that he’d wasted his night (and his whisky) on nothing but sitting and waiting like a fool.

Should’ve known. He’d told Branch to keep the dobber alive, just in case there was something else they’d—

He shifted in his seat, peering over the railing. Somebody – a couple of somebodies, by the looks of it – was slinking along one side of the alleyway, a big man and a little one. He couldn’t make out their features in the dark. Nearby, three more seemed to materialize out of the shadows; Tom realized they’d been there for awhile and cursed himself.

The night breeze plucked quiet voices from the street and carried them up to him in snatches, slurry half-sentences and scattered sounds. Chewing the inside of his gum, Tom slid off the railing, moving quietly down the stairs, still in darkness. Pressed himself into an alcove, listening.

Two men’s voices. One of them sounded familiar, but fuzzy-headed as he was, he struggled to recognize it. He was catching about every third word, but he was still sharp enough to piece together the context. His eyes flicked from shadowy figure to shadowy figure. Five in all. Too many. He swallowed thickly, thinking hard. For now, he reckoned it was best to tuck in and listen, and so that was what he did.


🙫

The meeting had dispersed by now, the two men having taken their leave of the other three. As the first three started to leave, he scanned each one in turn. Two big men – not as big as Tom, but big enough to be a problem – and a little kov, wiry and almost delicate in build. The little one was last to go. There was something familiar about his shape, about the way he walked and stood, even though he couldn’t make out his features in the dark. For a moment, the street lamp on the corner glistened in a sheaf of dark hair.

Was—? No, he thought. Not a chance. Not that it mattered anyway. Still, it niggled at the back of his head, made him feel uneasy. Made him feel cold, despite the humid heat, despite the warmth the whisky’d given him.

As the little kov moved within range, he confirmed he didn’t have a glamour or a field, gritting his teeth hard and preparing himself. He slid Ishma’s dagger out of its sheath and kept it tucked up against his wrist; he kept his eyes trained on the kov. His grip on the knife was white-knuckled, and he tried to force himself to relax, loosen up.

The other two men were far enough ahead now. He slipped out of the dark, closed the distance between him and the little man – moved in behind him and, clamping one big hand over his mouth and putting the blade of his dagger against his throat, yanked him back into the shadows.

“Move,” he growled into the man’s ear, barely above a whisper, “an’ I’ll gut you like a fuckin’ fish.” He moved his hand. “Understand?”
Last edited by Tom Cooke on Tue Jun 11, 2019 8:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Caina Rose
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Sun Jun 09, 2019 4:30 am

• Anaxas/Old Rose Harbor
on the 42ndof Roalis, 2716 • Late at Night
Despite Caina’s relative success as a gutter rat, Old Rose Harbor’s many residents were still less inclined to hire a girl for their jobs, preferring their prejudice to a job well done. After a solid week of getting turned away at least once a day, Caina’d had enough. She’d chopped her hair off, using a broken bottle underneath one of the more abandoned docks. It had been a terrible job, but coupled with a severe case of late-bloomer’s syndrome, she managed to be convincing enough. It was easy enough to acquire clothes- she’d given up any qualms about stealing long ago. Mimicking the pirates at the docks gave her a decent gait, too.

Add all of this up, and you had a boy. A thin, vaguely effeminate wisp of a boy, but a boy nonetheless. The only thing was, Caina had yet to master the voice. It was a tricky thing- in short bursts, she could do it- but she always got too stuck in her own head. When that happened, Caina would usually take a trip down to the Fords. Even though she didn’t live in the neighborhood, there was always a certain door open for her. Talking with Tomcat about what she was feeling always helped- but she didn’t want either of them to know about the disguise. Or her hair.

It was a silly, stupid thing, Caina knew. She wasn’t a child anymore, had never really been a child. And even if she had been, it wasn’t like Tom meant anything to her! He was just some guy who’d helped her out once. Who continued to help her out. Who bought her presents on her birthday and seemingly always knew when to ask Ishma to leave a plate of food on the table, no matter how late… anyway. Caina’s mother had absolutely detested women with short hair- she would always tell Caina to never come home if she “did something stupid like that.” Sebastian would glare and pull Caina to his side, but her words still had an effect. It was stupid, but Caina was a little worried that Tom would have the reaction that Lairia Rose had always threatened.

She’d cut her hair almost two months ago, and hadn’t had a conversation with either one of them since. There’d been sightings in different parts of town; it was hard not to see people you knew in the Rose- but she’d always managed to avoid them. She’d actually been thinking recently about sucking it up and stopping by, maybe buying a cake from the bakery with her newly earned money in exchange for their forgiveness. But that was when she’d gotten the job of a lifetime.

She’d been down at the docks like usual, watching the pirates and trying to guess things about them based on their tattoos, when someone she’d never seen before showed up. He wasn’t there with one of the ships, and Caina didn’t think that he lived in the Harbor. But there he was, and he was looking for her. Luckily the man was human, or Caina would’ve put a knife in his throat. She hadn’t killed someone yet, not ‘for real’, but if she had too, the still-too-young girl was confident that she could do it.

The man knew her name, the alias that she gave out for jobs, and he wanted pretty much the same thing that most of her clients did. But when he’d flashed more than the usual amount of shills in her face, she’d realized it wasn’t like most jobs. The amount that he’d offered was Easy Street when compared to the life of a gutter rat, and Caina had accepted almost instantly. It wasn’t anything that she couldn’t handle, just a sightseeing trip over to The Palace, so to speak. But the contact had kept coming, and the jobs were almost too easy… she’d built up quite a reputation among this man’s friends, apparently, because he’d arranged for a meeting with some other guys from his crew. Probably his bosses, although it didn’t matter much. As long as the gold kept flowing… Currently, the money was being squirreled away in one of Caina’s hiding spots in the city, and she’d need it soon.

She’d always thought of herself as nothing more than another gutter rat, but her father’s friends thought differently. They’d been training her, and she’d even gone to Vienda a couple years ago! She did jobs for them every once in a while, but Caina could tell that they were getting antsy. They wanted her to commit, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready. But she liked what they told her. How she could change things, *fix* things… But she needed money, first. Which was why she was still working with this guy, even though he was sketchy as hell. Even more so than most people in this dingy chroveshit of a town.

And tonight was the night. The contact had led her to where West and Long connected. It seemed like the perfect place for a meeting, but there were too many shadows. And her father’s friends had taught her that the shadows were a hell of a lot more dangerous than most people thought.

Caina’s contact did all the talking, aside from some initial introductions. She tried to remember the very fake name that he’d given her, but decided it wasn’t worth it. Ghost or Ship or Beast- something stupid like that. She just focused on playing the part of a desperate little gutter rat. And since she technically was all of those things, it wasn’t too difficult. They traded information, another meeting place.. and it was over. She walked the other way not a half hour later, a deliciously heavy coinpurse in her hands. The shops were all closed by now, but Caina distracted herself from the long walk ahead of her by thinking about all the different pastries that the bakery sold. Maybe she’d buy something with fresh fruit- she could afford it now, but maybe that would raise too much suspicion…

The sudden yank backwards was like a bucket of ice water, and Caina froze in the stranger’s grasp, panic piercing her quicker than any arrow might, and she struggled to figure a way out of this situation, desperately trying to find a weakness in her enemy even though she wasn’t even able to turn her head and look… wait.

Internally, Caina relaxed, mind slowing down to the speed it was supposed to be, even though adrenaline kept pumping through her veins. Her mind relaxed, but her body remained tense- never let your guard down, no matter what the situation. The man moved his hand away from her mouth, but left the knife, and she felt a sudden urge to laugh. “You’re drunk.” Was all she said, voice neutral while still coming off as disrespectful. The accent that she was working on was still there, although it likely sounded silly to the man currently holding a blade on her. The knife was cold against her throat, and even though she couldn’t see it, Caina knew what it looked like. She was just surprised that it was being used against her.
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Tom Cooke
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Sun Jun 09, 2019 5:59 pm

an alleyway 🙫 west-and-long 🙫 old rose harbor
during the night of the 42nd of roalis, 2716
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Took him a good, long moment to recognize the voice, and even when he did, he didn’t lower his knife.

Tom was drunk, of course – at the girl’s accusation, he felt his face heat up with shame, though he didn’t know why. The whisky’d carried him through the night in fuzzy nonchalance, but now, circumstances were conspiring to sweep him off on an alien tide: he knew this feeling that washed over him was somewhere north of pain and somewhere west of rage, but he couldn’t give it a name. His jaw clenched; his throat felt paralyzed, like he’d never speak again. Something like darkness spasmed across his vision, leaving floaters.

For a good, long moment, he felt like he might use the knife, and he was afraid, and he was angry. At whom, he didn’t know. He couldn’t think.

“Sack it,” he snarled under his breath, finally letting go of her roughly. “Fuck you.” The last words wavered, weak. He tucked his knife back out of sight, but kept it ready in his hand. Careful and coiled – ready to spring into action – he moved around her. That unfamiliar, choppy-short hair gave way to a familiar face.

Her sharp laughter echoed in his head. As he met her eye, his face was pale with fear. He looked shaken. Then, his expression resolved itself into one of anger.

She looked different, but it was her, all right. He’d wondered what in the hell’d happened to her, but, being honest, he’d reckoned the worst. Miracle she’d made it this long in a place like the Rose, but she wasn’t a delicate flower; he’d always taken her for a bitter, tenacious weed, clinging to life even in the harshest winter. In these situations, you tried not to get attached, and he’d tried and failed.

Caina Rose was kin, much as he’d hated to admit it. They both had a rage and a will to live in their blood. You couldn’t have kept either of them in the grave, he’d always thought. They’d claw their way out for another try.

His eyes flicked over her, taking in the way she was dressed, the way she stood. Some part of him that wasn’t in pain flared with pride, and for a moment, it showed. He couldn’t keep a grim smile from flickering across his face as he spared her hair another glance. Opportunistic, Caina was. If they didn’t want to give a little orphaned lass a chance, she’d find a way. It suited her, he thought.

It was news to him, though, wasn’t it? He scowled again.

“Ain’t seen you for months,” he hissed. “Months. An’ it turns out you been—what? What you been fuckin’ doin’, Caina clockin’ Rose? Workin’ for these kovs?” Tom had realized, quite suddenly, where he’d heard that man’s voice. His lip twitched in a bitter smile; the laugh he let out was frayed. “Ship? Ship? That fuckin’ weasel? Are you mung? Right under the King’s nose, we are, an’ you’re holdin’ meetin’s with Hesseans an’ fuckin’ Drain? You think you ain’t makin’ enemies? Worse enemies than me? Kovs who’d’ve cut your throat just then, without even fuckin’ thinkin’?”

He stood staring at her a moment, mouth pressed in a thin line. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Maybe I should’ve. Ain’t no use keepin’ somebody around that’s got no loyalty, hey?”

Tom spat on the ground.

“I thought you was dead.”
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Caina Rose
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Tue Jun 11, 2019 12:44 am

An Alley • Anaxas/Old Rose Harbor
on the 42nd of Roalis, 2716 • during the night
There was fear in the pit of Caina’s stomach. The knife was still there, and Caina thought that she could feel Tom’s arm tighten its hold. It was probably just her imagination, but she thought she could feel the knife move just the tiniest bit closer. This is it. She thought to herself. Tomcat’s finally decided that he’s had enough of little old me. Caina tried to convince herself that she wasn’t surprised, that she knew this day would come. But tears pricked at her eyes and she hated the stab of betrayal that washed over her.

Caina was just getting ready to make a move, hoping to surprise Tom enough to get away from the knife. But before anything happened, he swore and pushed her away. Not expecting the movement, Caina stumbled forward and almost fell, barely able to right herself, one hand going to her own knife, while the left lifted up to touch her throat, right where the knife had been.

She laughed again at his insult- Caina knew him too well, and knew that he didn’t mean what he was saying. But the laughter stopped as she saw his face. Gods, but he looked like shit. There was something in his eyes that she couldn’t place, but it was gone in a flash, replaced by the anger that constantly floated around Tom like a ghost. She steeled herself, waiting for him to begin screaming, to verbally abuse her in all the ways that she had grown accustomed to. But she wasn’t a child anymore, and she refused to run away. He’d just held a damn knife to her throat, and she felt like letting off a little steam.

It was dead quiet for another long moment, as Tom examined her. She waited for the verdict, hand settling on the handle of her blade, but not grasping it. Not yet. She was surprised to see pride flash across his face, wondered what he was seeing that would make him proud. But even if she’d been inclined to ask, she didn’t get a chance, because he started ranting.
He paused for a moment, and Caina opened her mouth to defend herself, but he wasn’t done. Talking about her contact, now.
“That ugly bastard? I’d forgotten his name.”
She responded coolly.
“I don’t care about the King. I don’t care about the clocking Drain. This entire city could burn for all I’d care!”
It never even occurred to Caina that Tom might be worried about her.
“I can handle myself, Tomcat.”
She snarled the nickname, obviously not using it as an endearment.
“I don’t need a drunk piece of shit like you to watch over me.”


"Maybe I should’ve..” Caina went still at that, blood fleeing from her face. But she recovered quickly, her blood practically boiling, and she yanked her knife out, pointing it at him.
“If you want to fucking kill me, do it. But I didn’t swear no damn loyalty to the king.”
She dropped lower to the ground, ready to fight him. A hot blooded teenager didn’t think things through, and all Caina could think was that he’d hurt her, he wanted to hurt her, and she wasn’t safe with him anymore.

He’d threatened her before, they’d even fought before, (Ishma, the long-suffering soul, could attest to that) but this was different. He was drunk, and there was a knife to her throat, and he wanted to kill her.

“You didn’t even try to look for me, did you? So willing to toss me aside, fine!”
She gestured with the knife, but didn’t move from her fighting stance.
“I’ll bet that was a huge relief."

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Tom Cooke
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Tue Jun 11, 2019 8:05 pm

an alleyway 🙫 west-and-long 🙫 old rose harbor
during the night of the 42nd of roalis, 2716
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His flush deepened when she called him a drunk for the second time. The knot of shame at the bottom of his gut felt like it’d been wrought from iron. His head was slurry and scattered – he’d been ready to fight, not to have all this shit dumped onto his thoughts – and he knew he wasn’t moving his face right, knew he wasn’t speaking clearly. Knew she could tell.

And what of it? When’d he ever knowingly laid a hand on her? When’d she ever acted concerned about his drinking, except as ammunition for an argument like this? What he did on his own time was his own damned business, clock the Circle. As she spoke, his lip twisted; a derisive reply bubbled up in him to match hers, ready for the back-and-forth, the usual shit-flinging nonsense that’d end in both of them cooling off and sharing a drink and laughing about it later. But something was different this time, something about the way she threw around Silas Hawke’s name. What did she mean, the city could burn? Where the hell else was she planning on going? Something about the way she spat Tomcat – and then about the gleam of cold steel in the hot summer air.

Wasn’t the first time Caina’d leveled that sharp tongue of hers at him, but it was the first time she’d leveled her knife at him with it.

“What’re you goin’ t’do with that, Caina Rose? Put it away, love,” he said between his teeth, voice softening, but still dangerous. He looked at the knife for a moment, then met her eye again. He wanted to relax his own stance, as if to prove he wouldn’t hurt her, prove that they were fami, and that he knew she wouldn’t. He couldn’t, though: he’d been too much a Bad Brother for too long.

That brief look of fear on her face had cut him deeper than the knife ever could, but he was useless to rectify it.

A flametongue of rage coiled around his throat at her last words; he tasted bile in his mouth. His eyes widened. “Didn’t come lookin’ for you, eh? Fuckin’, like you was—” A cruel gleam came into them; he spat his words, barked them almost laughingly, now. “Like you was the fuckin’ princess o’ the Harbor, you was? So you ain’t needin’ this drunk piece o’ shit to look after you, but you got to have somebody come an’ rescue you from whatever’n the clockin’ hell this is? You wanted me t’come an’ find you, like you was twelve years old again an’ not a grown godsdamn woman?

“Grown enough to be way out o’ line, an’ riskin’ everything with men like these – an’ pointin’ a knife at a man like me? Oh, shut your fuckin’ head for once in your life. I don’t want to kill you. It’d be too easy.”

He regretted it the moment it fell out of his mouth, swore up a storm in his head, cursed himself for a dozen more lives in the Cycle. You ersehat, he thought. He clenched his jaw from trembling, stared at Caina for a long moment, then spat, “Wasn’t a relief, ne, but it is now. Knowin’ you don’t even fuckin’ care, so I ain’t got to worry. That’s what takes a load off my shoulders.”
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Caina Rose
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Fri Jun 14, 2019 10:58 pm

An Alleyway • Anaxas/Old Rose Harbor
on the 42nd of Roalis, 2716 • during the night
Caina could barely see Tom in the dark, the moon was her only light source. There had been many moonlit nights like this one, spent in front of a fireplace, under the docks, or asleep in a bed. The wind off the sea whipped quickly through the alley, dragging the howl of a dog with it. Caina flinched on instinct- she’d been terrified of dogs ever since Tom had found her, she even had nightmares of them.

She growled, shoulders tensing as he spoke.
“Why? You scared?”
She couldn’t help but taunt him, careful to leave any fear out of her voice. She didn’t want to hurt him, but Caina couldn’t drop the feeling that he was going to jump her at any moment. She wanted to be ready, wanted to prove to herself, and to him, that she could protect herself. It was similar to when her taught her how to use the damn thing, but without all the joy and happiness that Caina usually associated the memory with.
“If you take a single step towards me, I swear to Hulali…”
Caina had picked up more than fighting skills from her guardian.

An observer wouldn’t’ve recognized the significance behind Tom’s insult, but Caina knew what he was referencing. She remembered being 12, getting dragged under the docks by a couple of pirates. And Tom showing up seemingly out of nowhere, busting heads and kicking ass, all to protect her. That was when she really started learning how to fight, when Caina realized that these skills could actually help her. The mention of the memory made Caina feel helpless all over again. But also… Tom was right. Caina was good, that was true. Tom had taught her well, and done what he could. But there was one truth Caina had learned in her years as an orphan. Men took what they want, and women were usually helpless to stop them. She could never beat Tom- not in a straight forward fight like this.


The anger culmunated all at once, and Caina screamed. She was so full of rage, of frustration and betrayal, that she couldn’t keep it in. She screamed and threw the knife, a practiced hand sending it in Tom’s direction.

It was a motion that she’d made before, but with a wooden knife, the tip sanded down so much that it couldn’t cut through a piece of paper. And the ‘knife’ had only gone a little ways before falling at Tom’s feet. But Caina had trained since then, and this was a real knife. The flash of the moonlight against its blade proved that.
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Tom Cooke
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Sat Jun 15, 2019 8:26 pm

an alleyway 🙫 west-and-long 🙫 old rose harbor
during the night of the 42nd of roalis, 2716
Image
Felt awful, but when she spat back that perfect retort, he held back a laugh. Like looking in the mirror, it was, sometimes. That was something he might’ve said as a lad, cocky and mung, after he’d bit off more than he could chew and kept on chewing anyway. Gods damn it, but Tom didn’t know how to feel. The night was moving too fast; he’d drunk more than he thought he had – wasn’t it always so? – and he felt fuzzier and fuzzier, unable to make much of the stew of his thoughts. He could hardly believe he wasn’t dreaming some moony dream.

Feelings had always been stronger, anyway – had always steered his course more surely than level-headed thinking. Right now, bitterness tightened his throat; anger and pride both burned wildfires in him, too hot to touch with words. It was fear in his head, though. He’d never even been halfway prepared for this moment, and he didn’t know what to do. He felt like he wouldn’t know what he’d do until something happened, something tsuter and ugly, the kind of thing you couldn’t take back. He wasn’t scared of Caina with a knife, and he wasn’t even much scared of dying, but he was scared of that.

“Shit, Caina,” he snapped, raising his hands and showing her his palms, just like he had when she was a boch and he was a stranger. “Jus’ relax, I ain’t goin’ t’—”

Like the heat-lightning, it was, that flash of steel in the dark. Tom was too muddled and too drunk to act as fast as he might’ve, and that almost-lethal moment was over just about before it’d begun. The spark, the whistle, the hssk of a blade snapping through flesh – a spatter of wetness, barely-registered – and the loud, hollow thunk of a sharp in wood.

Tom whirled. The hilt was wobbling a few inches from his head, Caina’s knife jutting from a wooden windowsill just behind him.

The wetness was on his cheek, and he could feel it rolling down his face, pattering on his shirt from his jaw. Tom winced as he felt a stinging pain just above his left cheekbone, maybe half a centimeter from his eye. “Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, reaching up to brush it with his fingertips. “Fuck.” It was deep – deeper than it felt, though it hurt like hell, more and more each second.

His hand came away covered in dark blood. Wiping it on his shirt, he turned on Caina, dark eyes wide – but not before he yanked the knife out of the wood, clenching it white-knuckled in his bloodied fist. “What ’n the – what’re you doin’, for the love of all that’s holy? You aimin’ to kill me? You do want to do this, don’t you? You’re dead fuckin’ serious. You’re—” His mouth moved as he wrangled with the words; he let out a choked noise, angry and confused. “You threw a knife at my fuckin’ head, Caina Rose! You could’ve lost me an eye!”

Tom stood there, stock-still, the knife in his fist, staring at her. He swallowed thickly and painfully. It was hard to tell in the dark, of course – hard to see his expression at all – but his eyes had started to look raw. The distant light of a streetlamp caught on just the barest glisten of something in the corners of them. Just the slightest dampness.

“Give it to me,” he said, his voice strangely soft. “Give me my godsdamn key. You can fuck around with those kovs, you can threaten me, but you ain’t goin’ anywhere near Ishma pez Taufiq. Ye chen? Give me the key.”
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Caina Rose
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Wed Jun 19, 2019 10:51 pm

An Alleyway • Anaxas/Vienda
on the 42nd of Roalis, 2716 • during the night
As soon as the knife left her hand, Caina regretted it. If there had been time, she would have prayed for it to avoid Tom (even though she wasn’t particularly religious). Someone must’ve been watching, though, because Tom moved just in time, leaving a dark line of blood against his cheek. Caina’s jaw must’ve been touching the rough stone of the alley beneath her feet. She stared with wide eyes at the knife, and at Tom. She’d almost forgotten that she was angry. Another part of her was proud. That wasn’t even a throwing knife, and she’d gotten it that far, and imbedded in the wood? Damn. By the time Tom looked over at her, he would see a smug look, not the terrified one that had hung on Caina’s face a moment ago.

Sebastian Rose had always told Caina to never regret her decisions, because it was too late to fix anything. So Caina stood firm, even as Tom felt the blood on his face- as he realized what happened. Even has he started cursing and screaming, the knife now in his hands. This… probably hadn’t been what her father had meant, but all she had left of him were his words… and his ring, currently on a cord around her neck.

For a moment, she had nothing to say. There had been that fear, when she’d thrown the knife. But she couldn’t admit defeat. Caina was too proud for that, had more pride than someone like her deserved. So instead of opening her mouth and trying to explain all the emotions she was feeling, Caina simply responded to his last comment.
“So what?”


For as long as she’d known Tom Cooke, Caina had never expected those words to come out of his mouth. The dumbfounded look was back, and Caina stared at Tom for a moment, the only sound being the wind rushing through the alley. For a moment, she debated lying. Telling Tom that she’d gotten rid of it months ago. But what was the point? Even if she kept it, Caina knew that she could never go back. She’d crossed a line this time. So without a word, she dragged the key out of her pocket and threw it towards him. It bounced on the ground and landed at Tom’s feet with a loud Thwang.

“Fuck you, you stupid vreska.”
Caina spat, completely unaware of what she was saying. She’d only heard the word in passing, and always as an insult. And she really, really wanted to hurt Tom right now.
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Tom Cooke
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Thu Jun 20, 2019 5:34 pm

an alleyway 🙫 west-and-long 🙫 old rose harbor
during the night of the 42nd of roalis, 2716
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Tom didn’t know what to feel, or what to say. His heart thudded in his ears; at this moment, he was beyond words. It was hard to make out Caina’s face in the dark, but he thought the light of the distant streetlamp picked out a smug little quirk to her expression. He swallowed thickly, staring at her with disbelief. You threw a knife at my fuckin’ head, he thought again, emptily.

When she said, So what? his jaw clamped involuntarily. A flametongue of rage lashed at his heart, and the pulse in his ears became a hammering headache. Gods damn it, but he wanted to—! To do what? He couldn’t think; he could barely breathe. If she’d been anyone else, if she’d been the little kov he’d thought she was, some sapling grunt working for Ship, the knife would’ve still been at her throat. She would’ve been within an inch of her life right now. She would’ve been at the bottom of the harbor before the sun came up to light the waters.

But she was Caina Rose, so she wasn’t. She was Caina Rose, so he’d wasted his evening perched uncomfortably, straining to hear a conversation that the wind didn’t want to carry up to him. Drinking whisky he’d bought for him and Ishma. Nearly losing his godsdamn eye because Caina Rose had lost her clocking mind.

All a complete waste.

His expression didn’t change when she spoke again, but his hand tightened subtly – knuckles whitening – around the hilt of her knife. “Vreska. You’re throwin’ that word around, are you? You know who’s a vreska, nanabo?” The term of endearment had a bitter twist. “It means exile, don’t it? It means a spoke whose tribe cast ’em out. When the wicks use it, it means somebody who ain’t got no fami anymore. I ain’t one, but I know somebody who’s had that word hurled at ’im a mant manna times. So do you.” He tried to force his breath into submission, tried to breath in and out more slowly, but failed. “You—”

Then, a glimmer in the dark, the key left her hand and went bouncing on the stones. It stole Tom’s breath for a few moments. His glance flicked from the key to Caina, then back to the key, then back to Caina again. His mouth set, and his face became utterly expressionless.

Still holding her knife at the ready, he crept forward, crouched, reached for it. Not once did he take his eyes off her. They glittered warily in the shadows under his heavy brow. Then, he snatched the key up off the ground and took a clean few steps back, dropping it into the pocket of his coat as he did so.

“Right, then,” he muttered.

He held the knife a moment longer, then flipped it around in his hand, holding it by the blade. He didn’t offer it to her by hand, though he seemed to think over it, chewing his lip. Instead, he set it on the stones at his feet, stepping lightly on the hilt. He kicked it: it clattered against the rough stones, hissing as it came to a halt a few inches from the tip of Caina’s boot.

Still expressionless, still staring at Caina, he took Ishma’s dagger from his belt. “Congratulations on leavin’ with your life” – his voice was oddly chipper, almost cheerful, and unfamiliar; it was the voice he reserved for kovs he was intimidating – “but if you try to follow me, I can’t make any promises. Man’s got to defend ’imself, after all.” He started back, half-turning, half-walking backwards, his gaze steady and the dagger ready in his hand. When he got far enough away, the alley between them swathed in deep shadows, he paused.

“You’d better not show your face ’round here anymore.”

For the first time, there was deep sadness in his voice. It was rough and unsteady, like he was trying to wrangle back tears and not quite managing it. He was sure she couldn’t see his face – grateful for it, because he could feel the salt from his tears stinging in the wound she’d made. Then, turning, he hurried round the corner and then down another dark, snaking back street. He didn’t give himself a glance over his shoulder; he just went.
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Caina Rose
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Sat Jun 22, 2019 7:20 pm

An Alleyway • Anaxas/Old Rose Harbor
on the 42nd of Roalis, 2716 • during the night
For the first time in her life, Caina felt regret. Not for working with Ship- not at all. But as Tom walked away, Caina was left wondering what had just happened. The evening had gotten away from her, and she didn’t move- not even when Tom Cooke’s footsteps had faded. She stood, tense and shaking, for what felt like hours. Distantly, there was another howl- and it was like a spell had been broken. Caina collapsed to her knees, grateful for the wall at her back. Her knife lay on the stone, blade pointing at her almost accusingly. She’d fucked up, she really had.

She definitely shouldn’t’ve called him.. that word. Gods, how could she? Caina might not have known what the word meant, but she knew for damn sure how it had been used. She’d never heard someone call Ishma a vreska, but it didn’t take a genius to understand. That’s why Ish lived in the Rose, and why he didn’t travel with other wicks. Caina had always just assumed that he loved Tom enough that he’d chosen to stay with him. It had been a childish idea that had stuck with her even as she grew, but now she knew the truth.

Caina felt as though she could feel an empty space in her pocket where the key had been. Giving Tom that key had been like giving back a part of herself that she’d worked so hard to get- a part of herself that Tom and even Ishma had shaped. Caina felt so small, and empty, like she hadn’t in so many years, and she began to cry. Thick sobs, barely muffled by her hands in front of her face. She cried, and continued to cry, and it wasn’t just because of the key.

There had been very few times in her life where Caina felt truly alone. Even the stormy waves of Lairia’s temper had always been weathered with her father beside her. And when her father died, only a few months had passed before she’d found refuge with Tom. And… she’d always had Tom. When she thought of family, he was there. She’d known him almost as long as her actual dad, for the god’s sake. But no more. Caina cried because, once again, she’d lost her father. And not because some villainous madman had cut and run, but because Caina had made one too many mistakes. And Tom Cooke didn’t love her anymore.

Several hours passed, and finally Caina stopped. Whether it was because she’d run out of tears, or because she had traded her sorrow for anger- it was impossible to tell. Whatever the reason, Caina Rose stopped crying. She took a few deep breaths, grabbed her knife with shaky hands, and stood up.

By the time the sun rose, Caina would be several miles out of the Rose, with everything she owned on her back.
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