Closed No Warrior (Noven)

[Arlana]

No Warrior
52nd of Fall, 514 A.V.

Arlana thought about how defenseless she had felt every time she was cornered.

She thought about how confused she got every time she was threatened.

How useless she felt when the fists start to fly.

Recently, she came with the realization that having no idea how to fight was an awful idea. Fleeing had always been the option for her. That was what she was skilled in. It was a whole less fuss than jumping head on into a quarrel. Less danger. Less injury. But then, with the hunger flowing in, Arlana had less and less strength to facilitate all the running and climbing she needed to escape.

The young thief then decided that she needed at least a little knowledge on how to throw a punch. On rare occasions, she had decided hitting someone would buy her precious time to escape. It was getting more and more obvious that she should know at least a bit about self-defense when things went wrong. And things went wrong a lot in her life.

But honestly, Arlana was not sure where to start. No one had time to spare to teach her and even if they would, it would certainly come with a price, something she could no afford. It would seem like she just had to practice from what little she knew. An idea of throwing herself in a midst of fighting had surfaced for a brief, but obviously it was set aside. The thief had always been a practical kind of student - she learned best by execution. However, it was too dangerous and Arlana wasn’t stupid enough to try.

She went through the streets early in the morning, carrying her lumpy pillow tucked under her arm - it hadn’t fit her bag. People stared at her, probably assuming that she had something precious stashed inside. Maybe because she brought virtually nothing else but the worn pillow.

She felt slightly foolish, but she was not about to go punching about a stone wall.

Just before she made her final turn, a boy appeared in her path. He looked young, seventeen at most. Like most children in Sunberth, he was skinny and his eyes carried a certain dread. They were close enough to the Orphanage that Arlana assumed this was one of Jillene’s kids. She wondered how the Orphanage was doing during the food shortage. Not to mention the fact that they had just experienced kidnapping. Things must still be bad.

“What do you have there?” The thief could tell that the boy was trying to act tough by the mild shakiness of his last word. Probably his first time trying to rob someone.

“You cannot be serious,” she softly cursed in her father’s tongue. Though she had imagined this happening, Arlana never contemplated that there was someone actually foolish enough to go around and think she was hiding something her pillow.

Arlana had little to no energy for a physical scuffle, not to mention she didn’t want to ruin her only pillow. Instead, she called on her djed. Once the food supplies were restored, she had finally dared to access her magic. The magic flowed into her mouth, to her lips as it shaped the words. “This is just an old pillow.”

The young man wavered, warily eyeing the woman. Common sense deemed that the comely woman’s words were true, but the desperation hoped otherwise.

Sensing the reluctance, Arlana spoke once again, “You are wasting your time, you know I got nothing to help you.” She trued implementing trust to her words and some doubt to feed the boy’s hesitance. “It is not worth it.”

The boy straightened his stance and looked away. Knowing that her magic had worked, Arlana walked pass the boy slowly. She could see the bones of his collarbone showing prominently and she pitied him for a moment. There was nothing she could do to help, though. The thief was barely hanging on when the hunger had struck. The boy should learn how to survive soon or he would end up dead in an alley somewhere no doubt.

So she went on her way, not sparing a glance back.

Arlana was not sure why she picked the same alley as the one Nov had used for the interrogation - it was just the first place that came into her mind. She could still remember clearly the sounds she heard, the things she saw. It was not the most pleasant experience - especially watching Nov do it. Arlana had always known the cook as a friend, even though they were not too close. Learning that he had the skills in torturing people for information was mildly disturbing.

Looking around, she found a place to prop her pillow against the wall, placing it at about chest height. This shouldn’t be too complicated, right? Just make a fist and punch. Did she even have to practice?

The thief heard some said that venting out your anger was useful in a fight. That should not be too hard. There was a lot to be furious about.

“Common.” “Benshiran.” “Hypnotism.”

[Noven]

For the first time in a long time, they weren't hanging by a thread, wondering which of the orphans would be next to succumb to starvation. Or having to decide who would get how much. Or sacrificing their own portions so a child could eat for another day. And despite the high price Noven had paid to make this peace of mind possible, risking his own life to take back what was rightfully theirs, he was afforded no privileges and sent right back into the kitchens at the crack dawn.

Leave it up to Jillene to show no mercy.

A day off would have been nice. Hell, maybe even two. The irony of it all never failed to strike him in moments like this. Even with the food shortage and general lack of things to cook, Nov felt like he'd spent more time in the kitchens this season than anywhere else.

"Petching rich, having to work still," the cook muttered to himself as he finished skinning the last potato. "After everything I did..."

Jillene's white-eyed gaze popped into view from the doorway. "Sorry, I didn't catch that. Did you say something, dearest cook?"

Nov stared at her with a deadpan expression. "No."

The Isur sniffed her approval, allowed the tiniest of smirks to peep through, and then marched away to discipline an orphan or twelve. Meanwhile, Noven exhaled a long, slow breath before tossing the naked tuber into a bowl. He'd just peeled no less than twenty spuds. All by himself. After having also prepared breakfast and served it to a stampede of ravenous runts. And what thanks did he get?

None. Nothing whatsoever. Sometimes, the cook was convinced his landlady meant to work him to death. Squeeze every last drop of usefulness out of him before he snapped and went on an orphan-crushing rampage. Course, she could knock him out cold faster than he could say 'sorry,' but that didn't mean Nov couldn't be pushed to try.

Getting up with a grunt, the man rose from the uncomfortable little stool and brought out a cutting board and knife. One by one, he sliced the potatoes into cubes, making sure they were of relatively similar size before dumping them into a large pot of water. He'd have to leave them to soak for a couple bells before coming back to cook them. With the additional food added to their pantry, there was more to be cooked, and therefore more to be prepped. At that point, Nov no longer possessed much will to complain. He just wanted to get this shyke over with so he could go outside and not work for a small portion of his day.

As soon as he finished dicing the potatoes, the merc wiped down both board and knife, threw off his apron, and headed for the doors. There wasn't exactly fresh hair to breathe in the City of Slums, but at least it'd make for a decent change in environment.

Noven pulled on his coat and stepped outside. He checked once to ensure his gloves were securely fastened before stuffing both hands into his pockets and heading down one end of the street. Normally, he tried to avoid going near the alleyway he'd tortured those two Daggerhands less than a fortnight ago. Not to mention it was usually where they left their scraps and refuse. But one of the runts had been crying foul play for the entire morning, insisting someone had swiped his precious rock collection and tossed in in a waste barrel. And what choice did the cook have, except to assure the furious child he'd go look in the alleyway himself, just so they could have a relatively uneventful breakfast?

Krysus. How he sometimes found himself yearning for the days when all the orphans had been too weak and hungry to make a fuss.

As Nov neared the alleyway, however, he heard a strange noise. It sounded like someone was...grunting. Exerting themselves. A casual rut? No, the man reasoned, there was only one voice involved. One that was alive, anyway. Slowing to a silent stop, he pressed his back against the wall to eavesdrop a few ticks more, then carefully peeked around the edge of a few upturned crates to see who was currently occupying the usually abandoned space.

What the...Arlana?

"Catch you at a bad time, kiddo?" Noven asked as he stepped into full sight, effectively announcing his presence. He quirked an eyebrow and grinned once he saw that she was beating the pulp out of a fearsome looking pillow.

"So what's the occasion...job gone south? Man troubles? Or just you bein' your natural, charming self on an empty stomach."

[Arlana]

All she had to do was let herself think about all the things she had lost. Her father. Her mother. Her twin. Her first love. Her life. Her hope. Her love.

She heard people say that time would heal her pain, her grief. But that's presuming her sort of grief was finite and for Arlana, it was endless. Everyday she would wake up, remembering the disappearance of her twin like an limb that had been gone for years. Arlana knew it was not there - that he was not there - but she could not help noticing her loss constantly.

Some, if they knew, would probably tell Arlana that she should let it go. Move on. Maybe act like everything was alright. She got the latter part already, but the thief could never get on with her life. Her loss followed her like an insistent ghost, haunting her. A few seasons ago, it had reached one of its highest points and Arlana found the need to disappear. To distance herself from everything she knew. It had worked and now she could bear the hideous city of Sunberth once more.

As she traveled, Arlana had thought of leaving Sunberth for good. Maybe start anew somewhere. It mayhap help her ease the grief that would not go away.

Arlana needed help. Her own mind was consuming her slowly. She knew that. She just did not know where to look. So for now, all she could find were temporary distractions. Sometimes anger worked. Sometimes pain worked. Sometimes nothing worked.

Even without realizing it, she was hitting the sagging pillow harder and harder. At that moment, she understood why people vent their anger with violence. There was a certain bliss and oblivion following the moments you lash out. She wondered if she should to this more often.

"Catch you at a bad time, kiddo?"

At the familiar voice, she jumped in surprise. Hastily, she whirled to greet whoever it was. She didn't expect to meet anyone and her mind quickly reminded her of the dead end that was trapping her. No weapon. Nothing. Only a lame old pillow.

It took another tick for her to register Noven's familiar face and relax. What a coincidence. It seemed like her earlier thought of him had summoned the young man. "You scared me right into Dira's arms!" She leaned against the wall, still slightly strung because of the shot of adrenaline.

Just like that, like a flipped switch, all her anger was gone from her features. Tucked in the deep recesses of her mind, pounding to be let out. So effortless. So quick. Maybe Arlana should have entered the business of theatrics.

"I cannot understand why you insist on calling me kiddo, Nov. You're not that much older than me," she pointed out olightly. He was still the same Nov she knew. Everyone had their own secrets - Nov's was just revealed earlier than hers.

"So, what's the occasion...job gone south? Man troubles? Or just you bein' your natural charming self on an empty stomach."

The thief just smirked at his questions. “Don't mention my empty stomach unless you brought me something, dear Nov. And men don't hang around long enough to cause me trouble.” She brushed away a strand that had fallen into her eyes earlier, her attention turned away from the cook. She should have remembered to tie her hair back. “Maybe I'm just showing off my astounding mastery in the arts of combat. ”

At her last word, Arlana slammed her fist much harder into the pillow. But this time, she must have did something wrong. Pain shot up from her knuckles and fingers and she found herself cursing mildly. Gods, did she injure herself? Cause that would be embarrassingly foolish.

After a few moments passed, she turned back to Nov, still shaking her hand for the pain to pass, “What are you doing here?”

“Speech.” “Hypnotism.”

[Noven]

It was fast, easy to miss. But Nov was sure he'd seen it. Tendrils of anger still clinging to her startled expression and body language, before Arlana pushed it all down into the recesses of secrecy so trademark to Sunbther's citizens. No doubt it had served to fuel her ruthless pommeling of the pillow, Nov reasoned. Though the source of her fury...well, he doubted he'd figure that out anytime soon.

"Why?" the cook responded with a wistful look, "Cause I can still remember the day you were tossed through Sunset's doors, not a season over ten and already more savage animal than little girl."

Some faint, nagging suspicion began to form in the back of his head that this was part of the reason why he hadn't left Amira on the icy, hail-stormed streets where he found her. Now that he thought about it, the two orphans shared some rather large similarities. Especially in the way they fought the others at any given provocation. Granted, Nov himself couldn't claim to have been any different...but he was around fifteen or so at the time, and Arlana just a scrap of a thing gnashing her teeth at anyone who dared to mock her.

He listened as she answered his query with quip after quip, as if these were the normal sorts of things people said to one another after almost an entire year of absence. And they were, as far as children of the Birth were concerned.

"Me?" Noven asked, wincing in sympathetic pain as Arlana shook out her stinging knuckles. "The usual. Looking for the butt of a prank."

No sooner had he said this than the edge of a wooden, well-cared for box buried beneath fresh heaps of scraps caught his eye. The cook walked over and batted away various junk before fishing the box out. It was an ordinary looking thing on the outside, but once he opened the lid he understood. Rocks of all shapes, colors, and sizes, some rather valuable looking to boot, were nestled within. Each looked like it had been painstakingly and lovingly polished over the span of entire seasons. It was no small wonder the boy had reacted the way he did.

"Yep, looks like this is it," Nov sighed, closing the small box and brushing it off with his gloved hands before sliding it into one of his coat pockets. "Some of the runts decided to play a prank on Loy. Poor kid. Children can be proper shyke stains sometimes."

He turned to face Arlana once more and nudged some of the fallen scrap out of the way with the tip of his boot. "I think the collection was his mother's, too. No way the kid could've polished that many on his own."

Even as he spoke, Noven never ceased wondering. Where at Arlana been all this time? What had happened? Why or how had she chosen to come back?

But, instead of jumping into an interrogation straightaway, which he knew would send his fellow orphan marching in the opposite direction, the man merely suggested instead, "So...I dunno what kind of arrangement you and Old Pillow Face have, but I've got some time to kill, and I think I'd make for a better target. Wudya say?"

[Arlana]

“Good thing you weren’t afraid of savage animals, huh?” the thief replied with a playful laugh, trying to keep the mood light. Despite that, Nov’s words touched her cold little heart slightly. She could not remember the fuzzy details, but she knew that Nov was one of the few people who didn’t treat her like shyke. When everyone was a petching bastard, those who were even only a little bit kind left with an impression.

Arlana couldn’t say she remembered her early days in the orphanage, but she knew she hadn’t been the most pleasant child. She could remember that she didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to show any weakness, but she had to express her frustration somehow. Anger was the easiest answer. It wasn’t hard to be angry all the time, especially when the other children liked to single her out so much.

Unfortunately, after seasons passed, that anger had slowly turned into desperation and hopelessness. It took a little longer for a little girl to realize that her father was never coming back, that he might even that, but she did. She had to say, she missed the fury. The consuming fire was better than the gaping maw of darkness that threatened to choke her. And once her fire had died down, nothing prevented the shadows from reaching her.

With Nov’s little comment about the past, Arlana couldn’t stop the memories from flooding in. Somehow, after all those years, Noven was one of the few constant features in her life. They weren’t closely acquainted, but they knew and understood each other well enough. It was odd of how in the Orphanage Arlana could go as far as considering him as a big brother – even developing an awkward little crush – and now, she wasn’t sure if they were friends. They must be, she guessed. Of course they mostly sought out each other for favors.

A sad smile tugged at her lips as she watched Nov pick the small box. Seemed like even after 10 years, Sunberthian children were still petching annoying. She could imagine a little kid looking for his precious stones, the only thing left from his mother - wherever she may be now. “Sometimes I wonder why you care for all those children so much.” Personally, the thief grew to find children extremely vexing. “You stayed at the Orphanage, I can never understand that, when I was dying to leave as soon as I could.”

Arlana had something from her mother too - a sword. She had gone through pains to find a cranny on the Orphanage rooftop to hide it. If someone was to touch it, she would have lashed out she was sure.

“So...I dunno what kind of arrangement you and Old Pillow Face have, but I’ve got some time to kill, and I think I’d make for a better target. Wudya say?”

“Never thought you’re into that kind of things,” Arlana teased, smirking, as she punched his shoulder lightly. “You know, I’ll never turn down a chance to punch you.” The thief straightened as she looked at the man up and down, considering where she should start attacking. “I’m not sure where to start honestly.”

“Common.” “Benshiran.” “Hypnotism.”

[Noven]

Noven was grateful he had his back to Arlana when she asked why he had chosen to stay. Unlike her, the cook wouldn't have been able to school his pain and anger into a mask of false cheer. He was a disaster when it came to lying.

That, and he just didn't want to explain...didn't want to admit that sometimes working at the orphanage was the only thing keeping him human.

When the lass cracked a joke and punched him in the shoulder, though, Nov was able to smirk back and redirect his thoughts toward more practical matters. It seemed Arlana was willing to swap her old pillow for a living target. Good. Said target was itching for some action himself, cooped up as he'd been in the kitchen for so much of his morning.

As Arlana considered where to start first, Nov carefully removed his coat and draped it over an empty, overturned crate, making sure the side containing Loy's box faced away from potential damage. Underneath, he was wearing one of his newer tunics--the dark red one Jade had picked last Fall--and his leather gloves. The cook found he didn't mind long sleeves so much. All he had to do was roll them up a little at the hems and they hardly ever got in the way.

Plus, it was a nice change from his old rags. Short sleeves were no good during the Winter, and the blood stains were getting stiff and crusty. It was like wearing stale flatbread for clothes. Stale, cold flatbread.

"You can start where ever you want," he replied, tugging at his gloves to make sure they were secure. The last thing Noven wanted was to somehow accidentally use his mark on an old friend. Which was unlikely, even as he thought about it, but better safe than sorry. "If it helps, imagine I'm some big, ugly nob who just tried to steal your mizas. Or, maybe the one thing standing between you and making it out of here alive. Take your pick, I've got no preference."

Nov cocked one eyebrow and grinned, bending his knees as he lowered himself in a defensive stance. It was a challenge, not unlike the kinds they used to throw at one another as children, and the etiquette hadn't changed since then.

He wasn't going to go easy on her just because she was younger, a friend, and a girl. Those were house rules all orphans abided by.

"Well, come on then," the cook coaxed. "You've got fifteen chimes tops to beat me."