[PM to Join] Bottom of the River

[Faizra pezre Taci]

Late Afternoon, 28 Hamis, 2719
An Abandoned Market, Carptown

Faizra stood knee deep in the river, the water swirling past her, carrying with it the laughing echoes of voices raised upstream, remnants of the night before, the last traces of rainy season mud swirling out from Thul Ka into the desert beyond. It wasn’t clean, this water, not like the cool blues and greens of the Turga, Hulali’s waters; here in the city they spat in it with their factories and fouled it, but there wasn’t any other, and Faizra supposed Hulali must know what it was He had done, when He let man use his waters so.

Faizra murmured an apology to the swirling rivers for her thoughts and hummed a prayer as she worked. Her throat was still choked thick with dust, and she bent to scoop up a handful of the flowing water, to drink at least something. She went back to beating the dust from her clothing, soaking the skirt in the river water and scrubbing away at them with her hands, the muscles in her bare arms aching with the strain, her shirt and pants already drying on a rock behind her.

“Poa’naSister!” A voice called from the shore.

Faizra glanced back over her shoulder. “Ma’ehau!Go away” She called. “What’s wrong wit’ ye? Ma’ehau.” She turned her head back to her work, the hot sun beating down on her head wrap and bare shoulders, drying her breastband as quickly as the river made it wet. She knew her; a little wick girl who begged on the street with her old brother, not even an inch of height between them. She’d seen them not an hour ago, squatting on the street not far away.

“Po’ana!” The little wick girl tumbled down the bank and grabbed Faizra’s hand with her arm. “Y’ got t’ come, poa’na, pe’aplease, there ent nobody else and he’s gon’ t’ kill ‘im!”

Faizra scowled, jerking her hand away. “Yar’aka,A Mugrobi curse” she stared down at the wide-eyed little girl, and reached out and ran her thumb along the edge of the bruise that covered her cheekbone. “Bhe! Wha’s this?”

“Pe’a, pe’a, pe’a,” the girl was sobbing now; she wrapped her arms around Faizra’s upper arm and pulled – then, wild and sudden, she jerked her hand to reach for the knife at her back.

“Yaka!No” Faizra twisted. “Ne o’ that, nanabo." She cursed.

Faizra left the skirt; there was no time. She pulled her shirt on as she went, and stepped into her wet pants, and then the little girl had her by the hand and they were running along the dusty streets, bare wet feet slapping against the ground.

“He said we had t’ give ‘im our takin’,” the girl was explaining, all but sobbing as she ran. “Bu’ Soro wouldn’t do ‘t!”

Faizra burst onto the edge of the market, a cluster of half-abandoned stalls crumbling, and in the middle of it a man, a human, with a foot of height on her, was kicking at a ball of a boy curled up, his hands covering his head. A handful of other children squatted in what little shades the stalls left, watching.

The girl moaned, swaying back and forth, and sobbing, clutching at her. “’e’s dead! ‘e’s dead!”

“’e ent dead!” Faizra shook her off. “ey! Desema!Bastard” She gripped hold of her knife and stepped forward.

The human turned to look at her and spat against the ground. He wore sandals, worn old things, and there was a nasty gleam to his eyes. “Ye stay out of this,” he said, and cursed her.

The little boy was shaking, still curled up; he lifted his bleary, bloodied gaze. The girl was sobbing behind her, and Faizra scowled, locking her eyes on the man. A man like a strangling vine, big and thick, wrapping himself around the trees and crushing the life from them.

“Ent think I will,” Faizra spat. “Leave ‘em alone.”

“Ne,” The man said, slowly, and aimed another kick at the boy.

Faizra hissed between her teeth and flung herself at the man, knife glinting in her hand. It was a good hit; she struck him, and knocked him back, and she felt the jolt of the blow up her arm as the knife struck flesh – and then he twisted, and the knife went flying, and Faizra too, stumbling back with a curse and a throbbing bruise across her face. She spat bloody mucus onto the ground, clenching her hands into fists, and held, staring the man down.

“Ye’ll regret this,” he warned, softly, blood dripping steadily from the line she’d opened on his chest, and Faizra knew he’d do his best to make it so.

Rolls

Faizra's knife vs. man's counter: SidekickBOTToday at 12:55 PM
@moralhazard: 2d6 = (4+6) = 10

[Nuru Kirabo]

¤

All day she had been plying her trade in Carptown, seated on her blanket inside an alley like a beggar. But indeed she wasn't begging per say, though the gollies would love to say she was nothing but a beggar as they pointed and jeered at her on the street. Other wicks, a couple humans stopped by today and payed her well for her statement about their future. While what she did wasn't real magic, there were times when she would use her spokes to dazzle people. Particularly the humans.

Currently she was reading a human's fortune. Herbs burned beside him in her abalone shell, the short man sat across from her with his legs tucked underneath him listening intently on her words as she threw the collection of bones, odds, and ends from her hands onto the weathered cloth that housed them. He had asked about his love life, they all do, and whether or not he should ask a woman to marry him. Nuru creased her brow and threw out her hands, uttering mumbo jumbo as she pretended to contact an other side. What she was doing in reality was speaking the chat for her colored lights spell. From all around them lights started to blink in and out of existence, her eyes rolled dramatically back into her head as she shook out the answer in which he sought.

Peeking an eye to him during her dramatics, he looked bored and wholeheartedly unamused. Shaking for one last time, she stuck out her hands and looked to the bones at her lap. In truth, much of it was a gimmick, but there was still a method to her madness. Looking at the bones they told her that he would have a long path to winning over her heart fully, the answer was a no, but the way her baby leg was positioned towards him told her that in time the woman of his affections may come around. After telling him this he cussed at her and left immediately, but at least he still payed.

On this day she had made plenty of money, more than enough. Greed though kept her ass on that old blanket. Nuru waited and waited but no one else came. The day started wearing on her and slowly her eyes drifted closed. She was soon napping, fast asleep, leaned against the building.

Of course, as she napped someone, a thief, had been spying on her. He knew this was his moment to steal from her earnings. As she stirred awake she caught a glimpse of the man leaving. By the time she had figured out what he had done, he was out of sight. All of her money made that day gone. Pissed she gathered her things and began heading home.

That was when she heard the cries. Nuru paused, biting her lip. She could be headed into something she didn't need to bother with. Out matched and possibly out witted. But when the witch heard a young girl pleading for help she knew what she had to do.

When she got there the cut had been made and the knife went flying. Threats were made. Assessing the situation her eyes went from the man, to the woman, to the children who were cowering. She was behind the man and started chatting with herself, calling a wind to knock him behind his knees. It went forth and buckled him to the ground. That was when she recognized him as the thief from earlier.
"Close spitch, Hulali floats... and he drowns. You would steal from me? And then what? Fight a woman and children? Kov, you must be mung."
Holding herself with a cold authority, she narrowed her yellow eyes at the man. Daring him to step up and fight against her.

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[Faizra pezre Taci]

Late Afternoon, 28 Hamis, 2719
An Abandoned Market, Carptown

Faizra stood her ground. Ne use running from a maja’wacrocodile, Faizra thought, her eyes locked on the man. Ne use at all. The wind whistled through the abandoned marketplace. It tugged at the remains of stalls and whisked dirt over the ground and Faizra shifted her stance, lower, and readied herself.

He lunged!

The wind whisked up out of nowhere and swirled - slammed into the man’s knees and knocked him face first to the ground. Faizra felt the swirl of the spell at the edges of her glamour, and she glanced sideways to see another witch. She nodded, once.

The human was cursing them, then, vigorously. He scrabbled at the dust, half sideways and half upright, lurching back up to his feet. Something dusty glinted in his hand. He snarled at the wig h who had struck him. “Ent ne spitch,” He spat. “Hidin’ behind yer voo, you coward,” he brandished a blade at her.

Faizra hissed through her teeth at the sight of her long knife, held in the man’s hand.

“Ent yers,” she told him, hands opening and closing, clenching tight. She felt the absence of it at her back - the lack -

Faizra lunged.

The man slashed at her, and he opened up a long bloody line down her already-injured arm. Faizra cried out, and stumbled back, grabbing hold of the wound.

The human spat a bloody mouthful of spit onto the ground. He gestured at each of them with the knife, pointed the bloody tip of it at Faizra first and then the other witch. “Ent gon’ t’ forget ye, neither ‘f ye,” he promised, and cursed them again.

He took another step back, and another, and at the edge of the market he turned and ran. A coward, then, Faizra thought furiously. She had known him - no maja’wa, only a filthy bug that scurried away from a stomping foot -

Faizra didn’t hesitate. She sprinted after him, bare feet pounding once more against the dust. Daoa’s knife - she couldn’t let him - it was no conscious choice, no deliberate decision, but the wrongness of the sight thrummed through her with each step that she took, which each drop of blood that welled up from her arm and swung free.

“FAIZRA!” The little girl was screaming her name but Faizra could not hear her.

Daoa’s knife, Daoa’s knife, Daoa’s knife, a beat she ran to, pounding in her ears. She prayed to Hulali as she ran, a wordless roar of a prayer, and kept her eyes fixed on the man’s back. He raced down the dusty streets, winding away from the market square, and Faizra put her head down and ran as if her life depended on it, ran with the damp fabric of her pants tangled around it and her bare feet pounding the hot ground, the sun beating down on them overhead. She ran as if he carried her life in his hands. Perhaps he did.