[Wind Reach]The Fruit of Unforgiveness [Haya]

[Kovac]

Timestamp: 14th Day of Summer, 510 AV Location: The Inner Warrens Status: Closed, Tag Haya The hour was late, though Kovac had no idea how late, nor did he care. The rather remote corridor he sat in had not had a passerby in over a bell. The archer slumped on the floor against a wall across from a small opening that burrowed through the rock to revealed a cloudless summer night. A meager wall-mounted sconce lit the hallway with a dim flickering orange glow. Kovac clutched a wine bottle in his right hand, which he raised to his lips and drew out several large, audible gulps. His other arm rested on a lute, which sat in the Avora's lap. The bottle was set down next to him, bobbled a bit before he clumsily steadied it. With a loud sigh, Kovac set his hands to the instrument and strummed out a series of mournful chords. He had seen them today, together. It was unavoidable, Wind Reach was not a large community. But every time he saw Kalle and Qual together, the anger and pain returned as if they had just stabbed him in the back again. At one time, the archer had called several Riders friend. Then he found one of them, Qual, with the woman he loved, the one he had planned to join with. He never forgave them, or any Endal for that matter. The melancholy music paused while Kovac took another swig. The bottle was almost empty, its contents drained by the now-intoxicated disgruntled half-blood. He grunted disgustedly. Kovac was disgusted by his betrayers, and disgusted with himself. His hand grabbed the bottle by the neck and flung it across the hall to bounce off the wall and land on the stone floor intact, rolling a few feet. "Petch" He muttered, denied even the satisfaction of the shower of shattering of glass he had hoped to produce as a pathetic catharsis.

[Haya]

She was tired. Dead-tired. For the first time in many days Haya’d managed to work through her daily chores a little bit quicker than usual, and when she’d been allowed to retreat for the night she had sneaked out instead, hiding herself on a secluded spot in order to do some much needed practise of morphing. But with only a little energy left, it had not gone too well.
The drudge wore a defeated scowl upon her face, pain flashing across her features every now and then as she leaned heavily on her cane. While scuffling through the warrens, the scarce presence of light made for her shadow to fall strangely deformed upon the opposite stone walls.

Being weary, and wrapped up in her own thoughts she did not notice the figure ahead, sitting slumped against the wall. Not until an object was send flying, spinning, missing her head by mere inches. It struck the wall next to her only to bounce off and roll along the floor. Haya made a startled move, widened eyes flashing in several directions before catching sight of the man on the floor. She stayed frozen, wary, not knowing if the man had actually aimed at her, or if she just had unfortunate timing in passing by. But when after a moment of silence she dared to thread closer, taking carefull steps, his face came into vision a little better and recognization dawned upon her. Kovac.

The unpleasant smell of alcohol greeted Haya’s senses, and it´s effect on the halfblood was evident. He seemed groggy, his expression a mixture of aggravation and agony.
It was obvious this was not the after-math of a party, and Haya doubted whether she actually wanted to know what had driven the man into such a miserable state.
He had not yet acknowledged her presence, and she was close to passing him by when she halted her step, her eyes focusing on the floor rather than his person. There was no smile gracing her features, a weary frown rather, and when she spoke her voice was soft.

“Go home, archer. Get some sleep. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

[Kovac]

Kovac had lowered his head until it thumped against the lute in his lap. It was only when he heard the uneven shuffle of feet and the tap of a cane that the drunk realized he was not alone. When the sound stopped in front of him, Kovac raised his head only enough to see the bared feet of the slight woman halted before him. Thin, bruised feminine legs jutted out from a stained, shapeless Lontev. Drudge. Glassy green eyes lifted further. His foggy consciousness was still able to recognize the messy burgundy hair and the hushed demure voice that chastised him. Haya. A humorless laugh burst from his throat. "The festival is long over, Haya..." The Avora spat the name out. "But you still speak with that same insolent boldness." At the festival, Kovac had reluctantly admired the Dek's clever wit and sass. Now, the Drudge's words only aggravated his already poor mood. The archer struggled to his feet, noisily laying aside the instrument. With careful concentration on his balance, he strode over to Haya. He paused only inches from her. The fact that she was rather tall irritated him further, preventing him from looming over her more dramatically. His breath stunk of sweet wine as he glared at the girl's lowered head. She was not an arrogant Endal, or a treacherous artisan, but she was a human, and at the moment, Kovac only needed a human target at which to aim his barbed hatred. "Your words are brave, but you still cower like a whipped dog, Haya. What is my business to you anyway, Drudge?" Kovac's final words were punctuated by a finger jabbed forcefully into her sternum.

[Haya]

The halfblood’s hollow laugh, devoid of any honest joy, was enough to make a shiver run down Haya’s spine. The drudge gave no reaction to Kovac’s words, but her knuckles whitened around the handle of her cane. She quickly realised it had been unwise to speak, but at this point, also very much unwise to try and get away. So when the halfblood struggled to get to his feet, clearly experiencing some difficulties with balance, she stood her ground. Even when the man treaded so close she thought she could almost taste the alcohol carried on his breath.

When Kovac spoke again his words were laced with venom, and Haya clenched her teeth. Despite his obvious contempt for her and the imposing nature of his close proximity, she refused to give way. All the time she kept her submissive posture though, head down, eyes to the floor.
It was only at the painful jab in the chest that she winced, a short breath escaping her.

“It was merely an advice, archer. Because the state you’re in even garners you the pity of a Dek.”

[Kovac]

Kovac sucked in an indignant breath. This Drudge perplexed him. He thought her brashness before was simply confidence amid the crowd of the festival. But here, alone, she still spoke her mind. The intoxicated archer could not help but admired her for it, but at the moment, his affected, angry brain did not want to admire anyone. He took hold of her thin upper arm, holding it tightly. He was satisfied that she averted her gaze, but Haya's demeanor was contrary to her poignant words. Kovac was not into politics, unconcerned with greater class struggles and etiquette. He knew his place in the order of things. His aggravation at Haya was not so much rooted in her challenging him as a Dek, but as a person. Her position in society simply made it easier for him to take his frustrations out on the woman. Kovac's other hand reached to take her chin. it was not as harsh as the grip on her arm, but he firmly forced Haya's head to tilt up enough for him to look at her. She was attractive, beneath the few smudges and stray locks that fell into her face, though a little skinny for his tastes. His narrowed, dim eyes waited impatiently until the girl's bright gold-green gaze finally met his. "I do not need your pity..." He seethed. Truth was, he knew he was pitiful. That is why he was drunk in the first place. But the reminder was not appreciated. Dropping his hand from her jaw to take hold of her other arm, Kovac stared at Haya for a breath, swaying ever so slightly. If she was so smart, maybe she could fix him....he scoffed sarcastically to himself. "You seem to know a lot about people behind that ragged shift and mop of hair. Why don't you tell me, Haya, why should I be pitied?" Though there was a seed of sincere interest in hearing her answer to his question, Kovac delivered the inquiry with thinly veiled menace.

[Haya]

Since long, others would decide what her actions should be. There was little in Haya’s life that was under her own control. But her words were still her own to choose, and there were times that she’d gladly risk a few bruises for the opportunaty to speak her mind.
However, at this moment the firm grip on her arm scared her. She´d heard the rumors about this man, and Haya didn´t feel much for testing the amount of truth in them.

She did not resist when Kovac forced her head up, but was hesitant to meet his eyes. When she finally did, she cringed in the face of his drunken anger. The look he gave her was unnerving, and it took her a lot of self-control to not try to jerk away from his touch. Not that it wouldn’t have been futile anyway.

She was taken aback by Kovac´s question though, eyes shooting to the side and back to him once again, unsure of how react. He was challenging her, that much was certain, see if she dared to provide him with an answer. But the menace in his voice had been evident and Haya was afraid that if she spoke her mind, it would evoke his fury. Although at this point, trying to get out of it with an apology would probably aggravate him no less. Maybe it was what he was looking for, an excuse to lash out, a trigger. Though he required none, really.

Her voice was meek when she gave the half-blood his answer, but this time she held his gaze, a slight frown curving her brows. “Because... all you do now is revel in your misery. There is no courage in that, it is pathetic.”

[Kovac]

At Haya's sharp reply, Kovac's hand raised, poised to strike. Even with the modest tone, the woman's words stung. Stung because he knew they were true. But to hear them from someone else, especially a Drudge, struck a dangerous nerve. She did not lower her gaze. Haya was quiet defiance, and it confused Kovac. He lowered his hand, still angry but conflicted. Few had the boldness to speak so trutfhully to him. Instead he grabbed a fistful of her garment in either hand and forcefully pushed her up against the wall. He drew his face near hers, inhaling the musky scent of her tangled mane. He pressed himself against her, his hands moving again to grasp her upper arms tightly. Kovac felt the need to lash out, to use this Dek to placate his frustration and self-loathing, to strike her, to drag her to his room. But even as he caught a glimpse of her gold-green eyes, he knew he could not. This was no nameless Drudge. He knew her, knew her name. She had poured him wine. Kovac stepped back, still holding her against the wall. He was not a monster. Guilty of being abusive, yes. But he was not a monster. He could not do to Haya the things that had crossed his mind. He released her, reeled back, appalled at himself. "Get out of here Haya, before you get hurt." He muttered, staring at the floor, his hand waving down the hall as he wavered on his feet.

[Haya]

Haya was completely overthrown when Kovac shoved her back against the stone wall. Breath got knocked out of her lungs by the rough force of his action, and her cane slipped from between her fingers, clattering loudly upon the floor of the empty hallway. The drudge stiffened, eyes widening in fear at the archer’s sudden invasion of her personal space. She could feel his bodyheat radiating through the thin fabric that clasped her frame, and for a fleeting moment there was the scent of labor and skin, quickly getting drowned out by the smell of alcohol. Strenght fled from the drudge’s legs, and she was almost gratefull for the hands that kept her secured to the wall. But eventually she was released, and liberated from the paralysing tension, she gasped for air.

Haya was true to her blood, a fine example of the nature of her people. She was afraid, very much so, but her emotional response to fear was as temperamentfull as could be expected of an Inarta. After most of the initial shock had subsided, she got mad. Furious even beyond caution.
She remained near the wall, the palm of her hand flat against it for support since not one, but both of her legs still felt like they would give out at any moment. Though when she spoke her voice was drenched with angry cynicism. “Oh, your concern is touching.” She spat. “Did you tell Sedele the same thing before you dragged her to your quarters?”

Thruthfully, Haya no longer held faith in getting out of this unharmed. It caused her to abandon all care, behaving rather like a cornered, hissing feline.

[Kovac]

Even in his wine-soaked state, Kovac's hand moved in swift reaction to Haya's barbed verbal attack. Without a thought, the Avora's open hand struck the Dek across the mouth, leaving a red hand print in her light skin and a split in her lip that already seeped a drop of blood. He regretted hitting her instantly. Yes, he had done as much to ....was it Sedele, and more. He never knew the Drudge's name, he had been worse that night, the worst he had ever been. It was he and Kalle's anniversary, or would have been. This Sedele was at the wrong place at the wrong time. It was a night he strove to forget. Haya had made the mistake of "drudging" it up. "You....." He struggled to find words. His hand pushed against her chest and he slammed her against the wall again. "You do not know when to keep your mouth shut! I warned you to leave!" He did not want to hurt her, really. He reluctantly liked her in a way, admired her boldness in such a dangerous situation. Afterall it was not her kind that had betrayed him. But he found it difficult in his inebriated state to control his stronger emotions. To his own surprise, Kovac leaned down and kissed her roughly, wiping her blood from his lips after pulling away. He stepped backwards unsteadily. Seeing the fallen cane, he picked it up and examined it. He held it in one hand while thumping it against the palm of the other hand. He eyed Haya's defiant gold-green eyes, raising the cane as if to swing it at her. Then he lowered it and held it out, offering it to the lame Dek. His eyes dropped from her gaze, his voice suddenly soft and lucid. "I never meant to hurt her. I was angry and extremely drunk. I am not proud of what I've done." The scowling archer suddenly appeared confused and sorrowful. "And I didn't want to hurt you. You do talk too much, and your mouth is going to get you into trouble. But...you have a backbone, I will give you that." It was a backward compliment, but from the sardonic Avora, a rare gift.

[Haya]

Though she hadn’t made a sound when he struck her, Haya could not help but let out a soft mewl when the archer clashed their mouths together. It was partly surprise, and partly because of the stinging pain in her torn lower lip. Where the man's previous actions had succeeded in intimidating her, this one only served to leave her perplexed. And as she was left standing by the wall, stunned expression on her face, she did not even realise he’d grabbed her cane. Until he raised it as if to strike her.
Haya cowered, if only a little, watching his movements with wary eyes. But the archer lowered the object, offering it to her instead.

Taken aback by this unexpected gesture of kindness, the Drudge’s fingers reached for the wood of her cane. But even before she could seek it’s support, her legs finally gave out and she slumped down on the ground, her back against the wall. Haya let her head fall back, eyes closed, her mouth reluctantly opening into a grin. She did not care the slightest about the fresh blood trickling down. With the Avora’s original malice gone, she could no longer hold up her own angry defences. She was confused as hell, and tired, and somehow the pathetic state they were in managed to amuse her.

When Kovac’s voice stilled Haya opened her eyes again, settling her gold-green gaze upon the half-blood’s form. His sudden change in attitude was remarkable, but he seemed genuine, and she appreciated getting to see this side of him. Haya wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, giving the avora a wry grin before speaking. Her question was sincere, and her words were no longer judging.

“Will you tell me, archer, what can make a man so angry he does things he´ll regret?”