Shakune was relieved for the endless broken bottles and shattered glasses that littered the street. Though she could not visually keep up with Seeger's darting movements, the crunches and cracks of glass indicated his whereabouts. He would buzz closely to her, then step away to the left and to the right, like a fly fluttering around a pile of shit.
Still, she listened closely to his words, her eyes narrowed in concentration. The man failed to reveal a name for either the Bull or the Dragoon, so Shakune would have to simply guess. The latter had ties to the Sun's birth, and this filled her with some hope. How had Goldfinger referred to Veruss Deshire? A friend of mine. Perhaps such a friend was a fellow member of the Sun's Birth? It was a frivolous association to base all her hopes on, but it was the only lead Shakune had
A question formed on her lips - something about a dragon tattoo - but the words never formed. Another voice interrupted Shakune's thought processes, and she turned away from the bony man to face a woman who was starkly the antithesis of Seeger. She was large, impressively tall and broad shouldered, built solidly like a small hut. Within a tick of seeing this woman, Shakune could imagine her as the true champion of the Blood Pits. A living legend is in my midst, she thought wryly.
All sources of Shakune's humour dissolved when the stranger spoke. Though her words had been addressed to Seeger, her piggy gaze had been focused solely on Shakune. The narrow-built courier writhed under the hungry stare. Suddenly she could empathise with exactly how a baby deer felt before being torn apart by a pack of wolves. When Seeger broke the tension, she was both relieved and thankful for the skinny man's presence.
Her nose crinkled in response to the words Little Girl; they dripped with sick perversion, the kind that was found in the grown men that lusted after young boys and girls. It was only when he said your master that his true intent was made clear.
In an instant Shakune's demeanour altered. Her eyes - which were otherwise bright, but endless - narrowed into two hard little black stones. Her spine straightened, her arms crossed and drew into herself like a dog bringing its tail between his legs in response to a threat. Her body language conveyed one single message; defence. When Shakune opened her mouth, she prepared herself to speak in a voice that would be cold and detached to emphasise her very independence and freedom. But she was unarmed, unable to defend herself against the beastly woman and her tree-trunk legs, and more critically her spiked club.
Her statement of freedom would never leave her mouth, however. For the second time in less than three chimes, Shakune found herself interrupted. This time it was by a skin-crawling scream that erupted out from nearby the Pit. Though she knew her eyes needed to be trained on the two slavers closing in on her, the Courier instinctively glanced to the source of the shriek. The sight that greeted her almost bought Shakune's breakfast back up from the depth of her digestive system. Blood, pooling onto the stones and leaking from the throats of the two guards who had earlier seemed so strong, so invincible. The crowd began to wash into the Pit like the tide flooding into the ocean, and for once Shakune wished to drown amongst it all, to disappear.
She began to move cautiously to the left, heading towards the closest bulge of people that she could hide amongst. Seeger, fortunately, seemed too distracted to pay attention to the half-breed, but his beast of an accomplice had regained her focus. Before Shakune could do anything, the woman's club stroked the air and flew downwards. She threw herself down before any contact was made, lunging onto the glass shards that covered the pavements. They sliced into her skin to create a thousand little red scars that peppered her hands and forearms. The pain was sharp, it made her wince.
But it was nothing compared to the deep agony that followed. The club itself did not touch Shakune - otherwise her legs would have been smashed like the glass shards she lay on - but the nails embedded into the surface of the club scraped down the length of her left calf. It drew a bloody deep gash down from her knee to her ankle and ripped through her cotton trousers like a knife through butter. The pain was hot, but it also felt dirty and contaminated, like something poisonous.
She felt nothing but the pain. It consumed Shakune in a single gulp, and shat her out into a helpless pile of ripped flesh and blood. She had to get away. Through bleary eyes the courier crawled across the bottles and glass, her torn leg dragging pointlessly behind her. The shards nibbled away at her skin, and when Shakune finally stood up - it felt like a bell later, but was more likely only a tick - she had was covered in those tiny little red scars.
Where was the beast woman? Where was Seeger, that pitiful excuse of a man who had thought her to be a slave? "I am no slave." She murmured darkly. It had been those four words that Shakune had planned on telling the two slavers before the world had been ripped in two. She said them now, repeating them as if they were a mantra. The words kept her anchored to the world and stopped her from floating away on a cloud of her own pain and blood. Shakune had found herself amongst the tide of people carrying her into the Pit, and she didn't stop until the daylight was behind her and she was inside the lowly building. A shove pushed her to the side of the crowd, and Shakune half-collapsed against a damp wall just within the Pit. With a whimper she reached downwards and stroked her left leg, feeling a slice that was almost as wide as her pinky finger embedded into her calf. The courier did not have to look at her fingers to know they were stained with her own blood.
Helpless, but miraculously still alive, Shakune hobbled further into the Pits.
A snake tattoo, that was all she needed to find. She would throw the letter to the first man with a petching snake tattoo on his forehead and then she would be done.
Still, she listened closely to his words, her eyes narrowed in concentration. The man failed to reveal a name for either the Bull or the Dragoon, so Shakune would have to simply guess. The latter had ties to the Sun's birth, and this filled her with some hope. How had Goldfinger referred to Veruss Deshire? A friend of mine. Perhaps such a friend was a fellow member of the Sun's Birth? It was a frivolous association to base all her hopes on, but it was the only lead Shakune had
A question formed on her lips - something about a dragon tattoo - but the words never formed. Another voice interrupted Shakune's thought processes, and she turned away from the bony man to face a woman who was starkly the antithesis of Seeger. She was large, impressively tall and broad shouldered, built solidly like a small hut. Within a tick of seeing this woman, Shakune could imagine her as the true champion of the Blood Pits. A living legend is in my midst, she thought wryly.
All sources of Shakune's humour dissolved when the stranger spoke. Though her words had been addressed to Seeger, her piggy gaze had been focused solely on Shakune. The narrow-built courier writhed under the hungry stare. Suddenly she could empathise with exactly how a baby deer felt before being torn apart by a pack of wolves. When Seeger broke the tension, she was both relieved and thankful for the skinny man's presence.
Her nose crinkled in response to the words Little Girl; they dripped with sick perversion, the kind that was found in the grown men that lusted after young boys and girls. It was only when he said your master that his true intent was made clear.
In an instant Shakune's demeanour altered. Her eyes - which were otherwise bright, but endless - narrowed into two hard little black stones. Her spine straightened, her arms crossed and drew into herself like a dog bringing its tail between his legs in response to a threat. Her body language conveyed one single message; defence. When Shakune opened her mouth, she prepared herself to speak in a voice that would be cold and detached to emphasise her very independence and freedom. But she was unarmed, unable to defend herself against the beastly woman and her tree-trunk legs, and more critically her spiked club.
Her statement of freedom would never leave her mouth, however. For the second time in less than three chimes, Shakune found herself interrupted. This time it was by a skin-crawling scream that erupted out from nearby the Pit. Though she knew her eyes needed to be trained on the two slavers closing in on her, the Courier instinctively glanced to the source of the shriek. The sight that greeted her almost bought Shakune's breakfast back up from the depth of her digestive system. Blood, pooling onto the stones and leaking from the throats of the two guards who had earlier seemed so strong, so invincible. The crowd began to wash into the Pit like the tide flooding into the ocean, and for once Shakune wished to drown amongst it all, to disappear.
She began to move cautiously to the left, heading towards the closest bulge of people that she could hide amongst. Seeger, fortunately, seemed too distracted to pay attention to the half-breed, but his beast of an accomplice had regained her focus. Before Shakune could do anything, the woman's club stroked the air and flew downwards. She threw herself down before any contact was made, lunging onto the glass shards that covered the pavements. They sliced into her skin to create a thousand little red scars that peppered her hands and forearms. The pain was sharp, it made her wince.
But it was nothing compared to the deep agony that followed. The club itself did not touch Shakune - otherwise her legs would have been smashed like the glass shards she lay on - but the nails embedded into the surface of the club scraped down the length of her left calf. It drew a bloody deep gash down from her knee to her ankle and ripped through her cotton trousers like a knife through butter. The pain was hot, but it also felt dirty and contaminated, like something poisonous.
She felt nothing but the pain. It consumed Shakune in a single gulp, and shat her out into a helpless pile of ripped flesh and blood. She had to get away. Through bleary eyes the courier crawled across the bottles and glass, her torn leg dragging pointlessly behind her. The shards nibbled away at her skin, and when Shakune finally stood up - it felt like a bell later, but was more likely only a tick - she had was covered in those tiny little red scars.
Where was the beast woman? Where was Seeger, that pitiful excuse of a man who had thought her to be a slave? "I am no slave." She murmured darkly. It had been those four words that Shakune had planned on telling the two slavers before the world had been ripped in two. She said them now, repeating them as if they were a mantra. The words kept her anchored to the world and stopped her from floating away on a cloud of her own pain and blood. Shakune had found herself amongst the tide of people carrying her into the Pit, and she didn't stop until the daylight was behind her and she was inside the lowly building. A shove pushed her to the side of the crowd, and Shakune half-collapsed against a damp wall just within the Pit. With a whimper she reached downwards and stroked her left leg, feeling a slice that was almost as wide as her pinky finger embedded into her calf. The courier did not have to look at her fingers to know they were stained with her own blood.
Helpless, but miraculously still alive, Shakune hobbled further into the Pits.
A snake tattoo, that was all she needed to find. She would throw the letter to the first man with a petching snake tattoo on his forehead and then she would be done.
