Sticky Situations [Cugacon, Sama'el]

[Issima]

Being left behind was uncomfortable for Issima. Well, it wasn't left behind as much as safely stowed for a few days. She knew Sam needed to go, and she even put on a brave face and insisted that everything would be fine. She was hardly the rebellious sort and she did not feel the need to tempt the gods, anyway. She wasn't about to go out in that beautiful, exotic, frightening place all alone. Not and risk life and freedom to be a breeder for the enormous race that stalked about the place all the time. No, thank you. She had loved her time in Riverfall thus far, but that had been with Sama'el at her side. In fact, she'd enjoyed that more than she had expected, too. It was fun to pretend, to play at being more than just a friend to him. They'd held hands, often, in the winding streets. Eaten together, laughed together, slept in the same room so that she could listen to his breathing until she drifted off as well. There was a familiarity to it that she'd never shared with a male who wasn't a relative, and she liked it. Not generally, either. She didn't like the idea of being so intimate with someone else. She liked Sam. The way he'd fix her with a secret smile in a public place, the way one of his arms always ended up draped over his eyes as he slept, the way he knew just how to make her laugh. Sam, she was learning, might just be as perfect as Menali had said. Now, though, Sam was rushing off to collect his little pavilion, and she was staring at the ceiling. Solitude didn't bother her, though she did miss having Sam around. She enjoyed silence, time to think and consider. There was still so much she wanted to focus on - to pick up and weigh a million precious memories and roll them over in her mind, keeping them fresh, keeping them close. She didn't want to forget. The day before had came and went peacefully enough, and she had no reason to expect that tonight would be any different. The sun had only set half a chime before, and with it came the rain. A lulling, peaceful sound that fell upon everything in musical pitter patters. Issi enjoyed the smell of it as it wafted in the open window on a cool breeze, the peacefulness of everything. She might have drifted off, even, were it not for the sound that cut through the calm. It seemed far away, fuzzy, but it chilled her to the core and she sat up quickly. "Aponi?" Issima rushed to the window, and in a moment she heard the sound again. He was a brave, strong horse and Sam had ensured that he'd be taken care of in her stead while he was away. She had no doubt that he had done so. Why, then, was her beloved strider making a noise that was all fear, or agitation, or something of the sort? Issima had not felt trapped until that moment, as she glanced from window to door, and bit at her lower lip. Sam had made her promise not to leave the safety of the room, and she did not want to break the first promise she'd given him. But what was she, a Drykas woman, to do? Abandon her strider to the unknown? Issima groaned at the conflict, even as she knew already what she must do. Sama'el would have to forgive her, if she wasn't snatched up before he had a chance to even become angry. Issima was in too much of a hurry to gather a cloak, and so she simply set out in the simple dress she'd spent the day in. She had no weapon on her person, nothing to protect herself with, but love and protective concern drove her onwards. She slipped as quietly as she could through the place, garnering little attention as she made her way towards the door and out into the rainy night. The droplets were frigid, even though it was only early fall, and she shivered at the onslaught. She didn't hesitate, though, to follow the direction of her horse's cry and the place where he had been stabled. Quickly and utterly drenched, she tried to make herself seem smaller as she ran in bare feet towards her Aponi. She had nearly reached the shelter, fully prepared to simply burst in and find her strider, before she noticed the figure which, compared to her slight frame, was enormous. He stepped out of the shadows, apparently looking at something in his hands instead of her. The problem became that his path intercepted hers and, in fact, the blue warrior blocked her way. Issima begrudgingly came to a halt. She had yet to speak to one of them, for the duration of their visit. Sam spoke for them, and she appreciated it, because fright rather paralyzed her when they looked at her. This was no exception, though this Akalak had an ostentatious amount of tattoos. He was covered with them, and when he finally noticed the drenched girl standing some five feet away, he smiled. There was no sunshine, as in Sam's smile. No kindness. It made Issima feel as if all had gone awry in that breath, and she was struck with the sudden urge to run. Run back to the room, slam the door, and huddle on the bed until Sam came back. He was supposed to be back soon, wasn't he? Before she could find the courage to do just that, Aponi whinnied again. With a somewhat pained expression she looked past the blue shoulders which had squared. "My horse," she said, trying to sound brave. She gestured with one hand beyond him. "I need to check on my horse." Before she realized what was happening, the man had taken a single step towards her and captured her outstretched wrist. He glanced at it and, finding it empty, picked up the other. As if it held some significance that she couldn't understand. Issima made a sound and tried to wrench her wrist away, but that failed miserably. Aponi made a noise, thunder shook the ground beneath her, and a flash of lightning made the smile fixed upon her all the more terrifying. "Let me go," she bit out, angry through her terror. "I belong to Sama'el of the Watch, and he will be back for me soon."

[Cugacon]

The weather certainly wasn’t the best for being out, and Cugacon could have wished that he had brought a cloak with him, if only to keep from getting drenched. Being wet was a common enough state of being for the humter. But this night he was bound for the home of an acquaintance, to discuss a matter that had recently taken on much significance for Cuga. If he showed up soaking wet, he would only make his friend’s home and furniture a mess. It couldn’t be helped now, though. He had come straight through the city gates from the plain, and to go back to his own home would take too much time. So he pressed on, hurrying a bit as much for the food that awaited his empty stomach as the shelter of a roof. The streets of Riverfall twisted and turned, weaving in and out and up and down on both sides of the waterfall. Though the night was dark, and visibility even less for the rain, Cuga could have negotiated his way blindfolded. His destination lay no more then a few minutes away, when he heard the cry.

It wasn’t exactly close by. He thought he could place it a street or so over, in the direction of an inn and the stables that were a bit removed from the building itself. Slowing, he listened, having categorized the sound as human, female and one of distress, though it was not a full out scream. It was more of a cry of frustration. It could be anything, he told himself. Any woman, vexed for any number of reasons. Two more long steps and he heard it again, though the tone was different – higher pitched and with some element of anxiety – or pain. Then – very clearly over the drumming of the rain on the surrounding rooftops – Let me go!.

Already his feet were moving, back in the direction in which he had come. There was no easy throughway close by – and he couldn’t very well climb over the tops of the buildings around him. His ears strained for more sounds, more calls, but none came, which seemed odd. Still, he knew what he had heard, and he ran now, finally reaching the corner and turning to loop back to where he thought the source of the cries had been. Well used to hunting in dark and rain and worse, his senses were alive and processing his surroundings, searching for anything to give him a clue as to where the woman was – and who was with her. He had already reached the stable, but – nothing. The street was clear, empty.

Cuga came to a stop, looking about, considering, when yet another cry split the air. This time it was a rending shriek – but not of human origin. Spinning on his heel, striding over to the doors giving into the dimly lit interior of the stable, Cuga heard the horse whinny again, and again, as he cautiously pulled one of the doors open enough for him to listen, look, sniff, and gage what lay beyond.

[Issima]

The situation had spiraled from bad to worse. Issima did not know enough of the Akalaks, their city, or their culture to recognize that she had run into the very worst sort of blue warrior. The colorful tattoos on his face, his form meant nothing to her. Underinformed and frightened, Issima had done well to make a great deal of noise as she was dragged unwillingly into the stable itself. The rain was gone, at least, and the dull glow of a lantern cast an orange hue on everything. He was no less frightening. He spoke to her, but she didn't understand his language, his words. Issima scrambled for words, scrambled to protect herself. She was failing rather miserably, of course. He was simply too big, and too strong. She still couldn't see Aponi but she assumed he could see her, because he had become all the more frantic. His animalistic cries were no longer for his own benefit, only. His concern had shifted to her, too. She thought she could hear him thrashing. Perhaps trying to get free. But everything was happening so quickly. Talking, was that laughter? And then her face was pressed to the splintered wood, the rest of her body trapped between the hard body of the warrior and the frame of the stable. Life swirled to a suffocating halt. Or a near halt, at least. As if it were all in slow motion. She could hear Aponi, frantic, somewhere near her. She could smell the earthiness of the wood, the oil of the lamp, the sweetness of the rain. She could taste the tang of blood, where her lip had been busted, and the salt of tears she hadn't realized were trickling along her cheeks. She could feel his hands, like a vice, trapping her, touching her. Somehow Issima knew that this would be the moment of her ruin, and so every sense she had was vibrantly alive to seal it to memory. As if she needed more misery.

[Cugacon]

With the very limited view that Cuga had of the interior of the stable, he couldn’t see what was causing the horse to thrash and whinny so vigorously. Since hearing the sounds of the female that had brought him running, he had heard no more of her cries. But standing as he was, he suddenly heard a voice – though it was no woman. The words made his teeth clench in displeasure, his muscles tensing as he considered how best to do what he needed to do and yet not have the female caught in the middle of it. Instinctively, he reached to tap the gnosis mark on the back of his neck, hoping his soon-to-be opponent would be too distracted by his vile aims to be utilizing the aura sensing mark himself. Or that, as was likely, this lowlife was not possessed of the mark of Wysar’s regard.

It was impossible to slip in through the cracked door without opening it wider, and he did not wish to alert his fallen brother to his entrance, if he could help it. Swiftly, then, Cuga slipped away from the front doors and around the corner, searching for a second entrance or a window. Stabled horses meant a need for hay and straw, and some place to store it. Sure enough, on the very far side of the building, which had been carved out of the cliff itself, was a large opening, giving onto the loft, where such feed and bedding could be easily forked in from the road way which was on a level with the top story of the stable. Cuga leapt up the steps giving onto the road above three at a time, stepping lightly into the dark loft, and quickly finding one of several openings in the wooden floor through which the dried grasses could be passed to the stalls below. This one gave onto an open stall, and bending down to peer below, the Akalak could see what was about to take place. Without hesitation, he dropped silently, keeping close to the partition. He had already seen that it was a Cerulean that had the woman pinned against the wall. Without waiting, lakan drawn, he launched himself, as silent as a wraith.

His intent was not to kill, immediately, though he would if necessary. With the element of surprise on his side, he was able to viciously yank the other Akalak backwards, Cuga’s hand clamping over the Cerulean’s throat, already squeezing, while the lakan flashed its warning in his face. If it was heeded, the other would only stumble back and yield, and Cugacon would have ended it there. But, of course, such was not to be.

Caught off guard though he was, the Cerulean still reacted with lightening reflexes. Pulled off balance, as he went down backwards, his hand gripped the one around his throat, trying to take Cuga down with him. At the same time, he brought his leg up with incredible strength, kicking for the razor sharp lakan.

With Wysar’s mark, though, Cuga was able to anticipate both moves, and his hand on the Cerulean’s throat yanked harder to the left, bringing him down at an angle, while his other hand sliced downward. The blade cut a neat slice across the bundle of tendons in the Cerulean’s inner elbow, effectively disabling any further use of that hand and forearm. As it continued its path, the lakan encountered the kicking foot. At the last moment, Cuga’s grip shifted slightly. The lakan wavered and, despite the deep cut to his arm, the Cerulean managed to kick the weapon from Cugacon’s hand.

Still, the Cerulean could have quit, and lived. Perhaps he did not care to. Perhaps his body had gone into rage mode and he could not draw it back. Perhaps the fact that he had disarmed his opponent encouraged him to fight on. As he hit the floor of the stable, on his uninjured side, he twisted like a snake, using his hip as a pivot, rolling and leaping and taking Cugacon down under him. He was bigger than Cuga and, despite his wounds, pinned him, though Cuga managed to keep his hand on the other’s throat. This time, it was the Cerulean reaching for his own lakan, though with his off hand. Cuga, sensing the other’s move, thrust the heel of his free hand up, hard, smashing it into the Cerulean’s face, to the sound of crunching bone, blood raining down on Cugacon’s chin and throat. “Yield!” he hissed into the tattooed face, though he knew full well that this would be a fight to the death.

The Cerulean’s hand had found his own weapon, though. Drawing it up, its edge grazed Cugacon’s thigh, cutting through skin and flesh as easily as if they had been water, or air. Sensing its trajectory, Cuga relinquished the death grip he had on the Cerulean’s throat – throwing his hand out to intercept the lethal swipe aimed at his neck. Realizing that his grip on the Cerulean’s forearm would not keep the lakan at bay forever, Cuga tried to concentrate his energy into torso and arms, and gave a mighty shove, trying to throw the Cerulean off of him. But his foe had too much of a weight advantage. For the moment, with no other arm to use, the would be rapist sunk his teeth into Cugacon’s collar bone, clamping down as hard as he could.

Feeling his grip on the Cerulean’s arm giving slightly, the lakan wavering closer to his throat, Cuga made a quick decision. With a concentrated force generated by long years of training, Cuga smashed the heel of his free hand into the Cerulean’s temple, feeling the fragile bone there give way, driving the shards in to do whatever damage they might. Heaving upwards with as much strength as he had in him, Cuga was this time able to roll the Cerulean over, ending up on his chest. Even as the head lolled back, the injury to the temple effectively disabling his foe for the moment, Cuga reached once more for the throat, this time with both hands. Heaving himself up, he straddled the tattooed chest, and gripped with all his might, feeling the flesh and cartilage give way to his fingers. Squeezing, he watched as the face contorted and then finally relaxed, the head falling a bit to the side and the body underneath his thighs spasming slightly.

With a grunt, Cugacon sat upright, releasing his grip, then looked to see what had become of the woman.

[Issima]

The woman, as it were, felt much more like a girl as she stood with her back pressed tightly against the wall. Her lovely eyes were wide, her face frozen in a state of horrified shock. The sea of grass was dangerous in it's own right, and she was no stranger to violence and death. The men of her life, of her race had managed to keep her greatly sheltered, however, from the horrid details. She had never watched two men fight to the death and, even though the victor had apparently stepped in on her account, it was mortifying. Her entire body quaked as crimson blood ran free, making blue skin slick and dark in the dimly lit space. There was a thump, the dead body falling to earth, and then a pregnant pause. Issima heard panting, the sound of labored breathing, and for a moment did not realize it was her own. Too shocked to move, she only stared at the blue warrior who was now moving, unfurling his impressive size from the ground beneath. Hay stuck to the sticky blood in places, but his attention was wholly focused upon her. Her heart thudded wildly in her chest. One, two, ten quick beats. The silence was torn asunder by the rumbling quake of thunder. Aponi, who was still agitated, let out an angry whinny, and a flash of lightning illuminated the darkness behind Issima, if only for a second. The sudden intrusion of light and sound somehow broke the spell that she was under and, with a strangled noise of abject fear, she turned to run. Help. She had to get help. For Aponi, safety for herself. But how, in this city of men? She didn't know what to do, except to run back to her room and curl up with the shattered pieces of her peace, and wait for Sam. But how could she abandon her strider so? Issima ran blindly. She only knew that she must. The image of the dead Akalak was burned into her mind, coupled with the feeling of his hands upon her body, his breath upon her skin. And what of the other, the living blue man? What was the cost of this provision, this protection? Had he helped her out of decency, or because he wanted her instead? She didn't know how to differentiate between one Akalak and the other, so Cugacon, despite his service to her, was equally as frightening as the other. The rain was torrential, though Issi was already soaked when she ran into it. Cold, it bit at her flushed skin as she ran. The dark, pretty hair that Sam had loosened from confining braids was darker, clinging to the skin of her shoulders where her garment had been torn, to the sides of her pretty face. She may have been crying, but it would have been impossible to tell for all that the rain covered her. As she ran, she was heedless to anyone who may have been around her. It was a very short distance, indeed, to the Inn. If she could only make it back to her room, then she'd figure it out. How to help Aponi, without sacrificing her own self for the effort. A single glance back was all it took. Aiming to ascertain whether or not she was being followed, Issima had cast her gaze over the slope of a shoulder which would soon hold a bruise. All she saw was darkness, and the illuminated doorway she had left behind. She heard Aponi cry out over the storm, and she bit back a whimper of misery at her own flight, her cowardice. By the time she turned her concern and her gaze back to the path her feet would take, it was too late to alter her course. She ran directly into the body that had somehow materialized in her path. Her first reaction, of course, was to recoil. She scrambled back as quickly as she can, putting distance between herself and the other party. As she squinted up through the downpour, though, she recognized that face. Issima had always thought Sama'el handsome, but never had he been more pleasant to look upon than in that moment. He, too, was soaked - water trailing along the fine boning of his beautiful face, spilling off of his fingertips. And, despite the ambiguous expression he wore, she had never been so relieved to see someone in her entire life. "Sam!" And she was back in his arms again, her slender body pressed as tightly to his as she could manage. Her arms were relentless as they wrapped around him, her face buried against his shoulder. Even with the rain, he smelled like fire and grass, like Sam and home. He felt like safety, whether he hugged her back or not. For the few scrapes and bruises she'd managed to get along the way, as well as her clearly torn clothing, the words she'd sobbed into his throat weren't for her own concern. "Aponi, Sam. Something is wrong and I can't get to him. They were there."

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

The journey back to Riverfall had been a difficult one. Rather than coming alone, he had an entourage, including a pregnant mare and two juvenile Semes. Thus slowed, he chafed at the wait, but tried to remain calm all the while. Once everyone was safely stowed at the Sanctuary, he ran into the city, grateful for the chance to stretch his own legs and wanting to give Horse a well-earned rest. Then the weather had finally done what it threatened and he was soaked to the bone only to find her room empty. Once more into the rain and she came running into him, and that made him feel a bit better but for her obvious distress and the screaming of her Strider over the rain's din. His hands stopped in their chafing of her arms and then he switched over into Watchman mode. "Go to the room," he said, giving her a nudge in that direction. Of course, even with his attempt at leadership, a real Drykas wouldn't abandon her Strider in need. He didn't even pause to adjust the scimitar strapped to his back; he just bolted for the stables at full tilt. Issima was safe, but Aponi was as much a person as any human Drykas.

[Cugacon]

He had found her easily enough. She was pinned to the wall of the stable, this time of her own accord, though. Her face was the color of bleached cloth, her eyes huge and staring. Her mouth was open like a landed fish, panting for oxygen. Cugacon rose easily from his position astride the dead Cerulean, his thought being to go to her and ask if she was injured. His mind was already working to think where he might find the nearest healer, and of course the image of Kavala leapt into his brain. The young woman said nothing – indeed she looked like she was in shock – but the silence was broken by thunder, and then the horse once more squealed in agitation. Cuga looked towards the stall, wondering if it too was injured somehow, or just upset, as lightning lit up the barn. He saw the thing rear up, its head crashing into the low hanging beams of the loft above. Instinctively, he made a small move towards it, then looked to see if the girl had noted her horse’s behavior – but she was on the move, heading as fast as her feet could carry her towards the stable door. Another squeal and Cuga looked quickly at the horse. Somehow, it had managed to get its halter ensnared on a loose shard of wood on the manager, and its head was tilted up at a crazy, flexed angle. Cursing, Cuga’s gaze went to the door and then back to the stall. Why did the girl have to run – out into the storm? Out into who knew what other danger might be waiting for her? The horse whinnied again, its frenzy mounting as it feet thrashed in the straw.

Cuga turned to the stall door, wanting to yank it open, but forcing himself to move slowly and calmly. With his voice a steady, low croon, he made his way warily towards the frantic beast. Narrowly avoiding the flailing hooves, he reached for the neck, patting it soothingly. This only seemed to infuriate the horse, though, and it struck out at him, the hoof catching him soundly in the thigh.

It felt like the damn thing had broken his leg, but Cuga used the horse’s immediate and momentary withdrawal to reach for the bottom of the halter. One hard yank, and he thought he could have it free from the wood that seemed to be only holding on by a small shard. He thrust a momentary thought of where the girl had got to aside, focusing instead on not getting trampled by the agitated animal that was screaming in his ear.

[Issima]

The footfall of the smaller Drykas girl fell in naturally just behind Sam as he darted towards the barn, towards the bleeding body and the cry of her horse. He was the very best sort of help she could have hoped to find. While she hadn't had a clear plan of action when she bolted away from the barn, the essence of her motivation had always been to return. To find someone, somehow, who would help her. To rally some sort of support in this foreign place and to fight back through towards her beloved Strider, the last bit left of what had once been her beautiful, loving family. Sama'el showing up solved that problem for her. She trusted him implicitly and knew he would protect Aponi with as much vehemence as he might protect her, and so she didn't even think twice about whether she'd disobey him (again, technically) or follow after. She lagged just behind him, not quite as quick as those long legs of his, when he entered the barn. The sight of that tattoo covered face bleeding out in the straw made her stomach lurch, and she quickly glanced elsewhere. Towards Aponi, where he was thrashing and calling out against the other blue figure - now lurking directly in his stall. "Aponi!"

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Once inside the stables, the roar of the rain diminished somewhat, and Sama'el took quick stock of the scene. A dead Akalak, a living Akalak, and the frightened horse. He frowned; this could certainly mean trouble for them. "Issima, calm the horse down," he ordered, a man of the Watch even in Riverfall. Though he had more training with horses, she was Aponi's soul-sister, and there was no counterfeiting that. To the Akalak, he demanded, "What happened here?" If this was a sticky situation, the more he knew, the better he could extricate them safely. He didn't want to have to hide in the Sanctuary or flee the city -- the fact of the matter was, they would soon be on a ship of all things -- but he had to be prepared for any eventuality.

[Cugacon]

There was a yank and then he was struggling to hold onto that halter long enough to reach the stall door and turn the agitated animal loose without getting his ribs staved in by those flashing hooves. His ears picked up immediately on the door of the stable opening wider to the sound of the downpour outside, but he dare not let the horse go. Not – quite – yet . . Finally, his back brushed against the partially open half door and he released the halter just as he heard the stern male voice behind him.

The girl was with him, and at his words was already slipping around to approach the horse – and Cugacon necessarily as he stood in her path. But he moved, happy to let someone else deal with the still squealing animal, and he stepped closer to the man – a stranger, just as the girl was. The Akalak did not entirely appreciate the tone of voice underlying that demand that barely passed as a question. But he supposed it could have been worse. Clearly the man and the girl were connected somehow. He might have found himself yet again having to fight for his life, if the man had misconstrued the situation. So, considering the circumstances – and that this man had no idea what had just transpired – Cugacon decided to answer directly and succinctly, the quicker to put the man’s mind at rest.

“I am Cugacon Rama, a hunter of Riverfall. I heard cries – your woman.” He nodded in the direction of the stall. “And the horse as well. She was beset by a Cerulean.” His gaze went to the dead Akalak sprawled on the floor. “He was trying to rape her. I intervened. I would not have killed him, but he would not yield.” Cuga’s voice was calm. Death by violent means was no stranger to most of the inhabitants of Riverfall, as in other parts of Mizahar.

His eyes rested on the man for a moment and then went to where the girl was quieting the horse in its stall. “She is unhurt?” He asked Sama’el. “I don’t think he had time to do much . . . damage.”