Closed [Cubacious Inn] Facing the Future

[Noven]

Winter, Day 24, 514AV

Noven sat at the edge of the bed, forehead buried in one hand, defeat weighing heavily on his shoulders.

"I couldn't find her," he admitted wearily.

For all of yesterday morning and as much of the evening as he dared, he had scoured the streets. Or at least he had tried to, getting lost several times along the way and coming home with nothing but a few petching candles to show for.

"Looked everywhere I could, but this gods damned city...always changing..."

His hand shifted, rubbing at tired eyes before raking back some of the hair shielding his face. A full day of searching with no results. If Melody was in some kind of trouble, there was nothing either of them could do at this point. But that wasn't even the worst of it...the worst of it was that it had been a full twenty four bells since he last Vexed her. Which meant that the headaches had begun in earnest, and shooting pains in his limbs would be quick to follow.

He hadn't been this knee deep in shyke since his first few days in Zeltiva. It was starting to cloud his mind with panic, leaving his brow permanently furrowed as he struggled to find an alternative.

No, not her, he chanted to himself. Ever since Melody's escape, the phrase had looped itself endlessly in the back of his mind. Not her. Anyone but her.

"But finding Melody can wait, believe it or not," Nov added after a short pause, hating himself for even bringing up the unsavory subject of Vexation. "It's my mark that's become the real problem."

Looking down, he stared at the crimson veins webbed across his left hand and flexed them absently. How he had reveled those first few, blood soaked days when he had discovered the power of his mark. And how he had come to hate it over the years, despising himself for the need that it had instilled in him. That it had shackled him with, following him where ever he went, completely inescapable.

It felt like he had just gotten Mae back. Only to find himself at the crossroads again, questioning whether he should be involving her a second time in his trouble-riddled life. Bad enough that she had escaped enslavement, only to immediately land straight in the path of Blondie the jealous, aspiring murderer. Now she had a Vexer to deal with as well. In a foreign city shrouded by illusions and strangeness, not less, and without a copper to her name to boot.

Nov had tried his best not to involve the Isur. But there was no one else to turn to when he'd discovered that Melody's sleeping form was all smoke and mirrors. And now, he had invited her into the room he'd shared with the waif for half a fortnight, to do...what? Discuss matters at hand? Allow her to witness him loathing himself a little more?

The man made an impatient sound as he brought his gaze back up to the red headed gadgeteer. He had offered her a seat on the couch so generously included in their apartment and noticed only then whether she'd taken it or not.

"I have to Vex someone, Mae," he intoned somberly, "and it can't be you. Or the dog."

Somehow aware that he had just been mentioned, Wick perked up from his side of the couch and wagged his tail. The Gibbat then jumped from the couch to the bed in a single, soundless leap, landing by his human's side and licking the cursed hand once before he curled back into a ball. Sometimes it made the human wonder whether Wick was part cat. Wick just let him continue to wonder.

Meanwhile, Noven was staring down at his hand once more. He closed it into a fist, the streak of Gibbat saliva still glistening on his browned skin.

"But this...isn't the only reason I asked you to come here," he confessed after a moment of silence. "I've been meaning to ask you...what do you think of the city so far? Are you happy here? I know you've been picking up your craft again, and that's good."

Nov looked up, a pained, poorly hidden sort of dread flickering in his eyes. Partially from the growing headache, and partially from the question he was about to ask.

"You ever...think about staying here?"

[Amael]

It was difficult to contain the desire to reach out and place her hand on his shoulder. So much between them had been effortlessly familiar in the past, yet so much had changed. Amael leaned against the doorframe in spite of his invitation to sit down, as if she were too leery of coming any closer.

The morning light as it filtered through the dirty window cast a penumbra across her eyes. Her slight form was eclipsed in light and shadow. Watching him agonize over Melody wasn't easy. There was a part of her that wanted to leave right that instant and take up the search, just to relieve some of the terrible burden that weighed upon him. But it didn't seem to be what he needed from her. The cold viper of dread slithered in her gut.

"You never told me about the mark," she reminded him politely. In order to understand exactly what was bothering him, she needed all of the information. It wasn't enough just to see the god-magic, as she'd seen it a few times before. This was something he needed to explain. Which deity bestowed it and what exactly did it mean to 'vex' somebody?

He noticed that she hadn't yet come in. With a sigh, she came in and sat on the couch, first closing the door behind her. It hadn't escaped her notice that Noven had elected to share a room with Melody. Regardless of how things were behind closed doors, the fact remained that the doors were closed. It wasn't difficult to give someone the wrong impression.

A wide smile relieved her grave expression once she caught the eye of the dog. She called out to Wick affectionately in the hopes he'd come and let her scratch him behind the ears. The Gibbat pup had been her only real joy in the initial mire of disappointment and confusion.

It was right then that the conversation took the turn she'd been expecting. Mae knew him well enough to know he preferred to handle his own problems. He wouldn't come seeking her help unless he absolutely needed it. No, this was to be a conversation about what her plans were, obviously. At the question she felt slightly winded, as if his words had struck her right in the stomach. She dropped her gaze, unable to look at him any longer.

"I don't like it here," she said. Her own response took her by surprise. Until that moment, it wasn't something she'd attributed much thought to. Uneasily she looked back up to face him, features visibly conflicted. The thin, pale scar across her nose caught the light as it filtered in through the dirty window.

"I've been to Alvadas before. It isn't a place I plan on staying, though you're welcome to." The serpent uncoiled, loop by loop, until cold fear slithered through her veins with impunity. She could feel her throat tightening. Of all the scenarios she'd dreamed of during her enslavement, this was the last one she'd been expecting. Two years was a long time in their world. Even children lived and died in shorter time frames. But here they both were, reunited.

"I'm going on the Mischief, like it or not." There was a hard edge to her words, as if she anticipated resistance on his part. She had no intentions of going home to Sultros City but likewise, had learned her lesson living in Sunberth. The couch groaned as she shifted her weight, folding her legs underneath of her.

"You don't have to feel responsible for me." As she began saying it, her eyes began to burn. "You owe me nothing." She swallowed, hard. With everything in her, she resisted the urge to cry. Each time she spoke to him, it shot a little pin through her heart.

"I won't bother you," she continued. "We can make the voyage in separate cabins and all. I don't want to get you into more trouble with Melody that I already have." Guilt lanced through her and in tandem with the dread, she felt positively awful. Amael was no doubt the reason she'd run off in the first place.

Whether it was out of tenderness or a newly cultivated masochism, who could say? In spite of her heart's aching, Mae softened. "I know you don't want help," she added, "but I'm going to go and look for her once we're finished here." After all, it was the least she could do. In spite of her own selfish desires, what was most important to Amael was Noven's happiness. She didn't blame him for her enslavement or for moving on after she'd gone.

"I'm sorry for being a lot of trouble," she offered, smiling weakly.

[Noven]

Noven cast his gaze down, eyebrows drawing close. Of course he hadn't told Mae. There hadn't been time, and he'd been far to distracted by...well, now was probably not the best time to reminisce.

Not that he was given much of a choice as the Isur sighed and finally elected to properly enter the room. He glanced up just long enough to track her movements across the room, memories dancing back and forth in his mind, before his eyes flicked down to find renewed interest in the wooden flooring. Loosing an inward sigh of his own, Nov clasped one hand in the other as he listened to the rest of Mae's response. It wasn't as though he could blame her for hesitating to come in. He had chosen to share a room with Melody knowing full well what people would assume. And he had let them assume, even let the blond troublemaker spout whatever outrageous claims she pleased, because the truth was so infinitely worse.

It wasn't anyone's fault but his own that Melody clung to him as though he was the last piece of floatsam in a storm ravaged sea. How were people supposed to know that he wasn't just a source of her pleasure? That her pleasure was not pleasure at all, but in fact immeasurable, goddess-cursed pain?

Yet, even as his mind spiraled down into troubled depths, there was a small length of mercy to hold onto. It came in the form of Mae's words, laid out with such conviction it took the Sunberthian completely by surprise. He looked at her then, resisting the urge to flinch away, focusing on her fervent, green eyes and not the faint scar across her nose. They both bore permanent reminders of their pasts on their faces now, Noven realized. The very fact sent another pang through his chest; he had wanted nothing more than to keep her hopeful face free of such marks, but life always had a way of dishing out exactly what he dreaded most.

It spared him this one time, at least. The tight coil of fear slowly loosened as Mae spoke her piece. He would have laughed in relief, had the weight of Melody's disappearance not remained a burden for both of them to bear. Nov knew he could tell Mae a thousand times it wasn't her fault, but she would refuse to believe otherwise. Stubborn to a fault when she believed in the cause. A trait he found he was grateful hadn't changed after all this time.

Though it couldn't hurt, he reasoned, to try and convince her one more time.

Leaving Wick's tongue-lolling side, Nov moved to seat himself beside Mae. He felt for all the world like a bull too big for his pen next to the five foot nothing Isur, all hot air and troubled thoughts without a shred of grace in his bones. But it seemed more right this way. He couldn't explain it, only that her insistence over being some kind of enormous burden left him with this terrible itch he now furiously needed to scratch.

"If we go on the Mischief, we go together, Mae," he stated in a tone that brooked no argument. "And how could you ever..."

Turning away, Nov clasped his hands tighter together as he breathed heatedly through his nose. "How could you ever think...ever believe that you are the one who's been trouble? After everything that's happened..."

He shook his head. Perhaps showing would be better than telling.

"I'm...glad. That you don't want to stay," he continued, vaguely but altogether sincerely. "And since you'll be coming with us, then you have to know the truth."

Slowly, the Sunberthian unclasped his hands and shifted so he could lay them out before the Isur. He had chosen not to wear his gloves that morning, knowing he would have to expose himself sooner or later. "The red veins on my left hand mark me was a Vexer. I am slave to Krysus, goddess of murder and pain, and all that her power forces me to pay. If I touch a person's wound and call on my mark, I can make them wish they were dead from single cut or broken bone. But if I don't use my mark every day..."

Nov curled his hands into fists, crimson veins thrumming at the very mention of being called upon. "...I start to feel the pain myself. Day one only gives me headaches. That I can manage well enough. But those headaches turn into pain that runs up and down my arms and legs on Day Two, and by Day Three my skin splits open and begins to bleed." He pointed to the scar along his cheek. "I had to learn the hard way the first time I went that long without Vexing someone."

Letting his hands fall to his lap, Nov then scoffed. "Day Four isn't even worth describing. I'm dead by then, one way or the other."

And of course, he had saved the best for last.

"So to save my own skin, I turned Melody into my permanent victim."

He dove into the subject as quickly as he dared, fearing that if he waited he would lose the will to burden Mae further with this morbid knowledge. But she had to know if they were all to survive. There was no way around it.

"I've seen a lot of Melodies in my life, but this one...somehow she's more broken than most. Empty inside with only hunger to drive her." Right then, a pulse of pain erupted in his skull. Nov dug the heel of one hand in his eye, but he refused to stop there. "When I had first come to Zeltiva, I was running for my life. I had no idea how I was going to keep my mark fed. If Melody hadn't turned up when she did, and if she weren't so desperate to know what living felt like..."

Nov had spoken this much in ages, but now that it was tumbling out he could scarce stop. "If the pain didn't make her feel so alive, I would be dead. Simple as that. I try to Vex her as little as I can, but she begs for it every chance she gets like a hungry runt for an extra piece of bread. Only I'm never worried about the kind of appetite bread feeds."

"She is trouble everywhere I go," he went on wearily, the flood of his confession dwindling to a mere trickle, "but she's the only kind of trouble that keeps me alive."

His gaze met that of Mae's once more. "And now you know the truth."

[Amael]

When he got up to sit beside her, she felt her whole body tighten. It was hard to say whether or not it was his proximity or the actual situation, but either way she was all too aware of how close he was to her all of the sudden. There was a nervous flutter in the pit of her stomach that she did her best to ignore.

Watching as he struggled to speak was not easy. Amael was coiled tighter than a spring. Even though it wasn't something she understood just yet, the tension rolling off Noven was palpable. As a result she felt it seeping into her, as if taking on some part of the burden would relieve it from him somehow.

The more she listened however, the more his words didn't make any sense. He was relieved that she'd be coming along? Her ridged brow furrowed, lending her a stern quality. Clearly, there were details she was missing somewhere. It was her hope that in the explanation of the 'truth,' he mentioned, she would be able to piece the nature of his relationship with Melody together and determine just where things stood between the three of them.

What she found however, was altogether different than anything she could have expected. Her brow lifted, ironing out some of the wrinkles in her forehead. He spoke of being marked by a goddess of murder and wretchedness. He was tasked with sowing the seeds of pain wherever he went as an act of piety. Otherwise, he'd eventually reap all that he'd sown until one day, he'd die.

The weight of this realization was devastating. Noven would see it, if he cared to look. There was no future for a man like that. The hope in her eyes guttered. Grief began collecting in her throat. He would never have a chance to grow old and infirm. Anyone who loved a person like that would be cursed, knowing their lover was always just a hair's breadth away from destruction. They would always wonder when the time would come when they left and never came home again.

"Oh Noven," she whispered, feeling the emotion dewing in her eyes.

When he carried on, he explained that Melody was his victim. There were so many small details that all fell into place. Amael had noticed an inequality in the nature of their interactions. Noven's treatment of her was altogether too harsh to assume they were lovers. There was some part of her that suspected he might have changed over the years, that he might have become more sadistic but the way he'd treated her so far contradicted that fact.

Noven wasn't exactly fan of Melody, but he tolerated her because she was his lifeline; a lifeline that at the moment, he no longer had.

There were so many feelings. Amael sat quietly for a moment as she let the sensations run through her. The jealousy and the heartbreak were all gone, replaced with worry and desperation. Anxiety was replaced by the leaden weight of outright fear. There was a sense of disapproval at the notion that Noven would use somebody, but a few things occurred to her on that front. First, it was obvious that for whatever reason he treated Amael with a rare courtesy not reserved for the rest of the world. Second, what choice did he have? If he were to survive, there were very few alternatives.

The tears that had welled previously fell but quickly ran dry. If he was already suffering, then they had limited time. If they were to do anything, they had to act.

But Amael got lost in those caustic eyes of his. Her temperature rose just to look at him. There was a growing lump in her throat, but she ignored it. Instead she dropped her gaze, reaching out and taking hold of Noven's marked hand. She begun to trace cool fingers along the lines she found there. Her eyes drank in the details of the mark, as if she were trying to commit it to memory though in truth, she was really just trying to think things through.

He'd already forbidden her from volunteering from the outset. It was hard not to grin, at that. He knew her too well.

"I didn't know you had to live with such a terrible burden," she finally said, turning his hand over to look at the lines of his browned palm. As compared to her hands, they were massive. With an enigmatic little smile, she laced her fingers in his. The contact sent a warm wave of pleasure through her chest.

"You're not alone. I'm not going to leave you," she reassured him, as if this was what he was really asking all along. Amael finally allowed her gaze to travel back up to meet his, uncertain what she'd find there. Her eyes were awash with a myriad of emotions. Color rose faintly to her silvery cheeks.

"I promise, I won't martyr myself either," she added with amusement. "As you seem to know me better than I thought."

She gave a nervous little laugh. Touching him caused her to tremble, just a little bit. Amael could feel the surge of the electricity between them.

"We have to figure something out though," she finally managed, weakly. "Quickly."

[Noven]

He was lost in that foggy grey between guilt and truth. Too wrapped in the ugly, skewed shades of his situation to see there was compassion behind the horror in Amael's eyes, though he could hear the pity in her voice as she breathed his name.

He might've pitied himself, too, had he not chosen this path of blood and pain.

For a while, they sat there together in silence. One swimming in a sea of new information and emotion. The other, willing all of the tumultuous waves to die back down to stillness. Neither said anything for what couldn't have been more than a handful of ticks, yet the moment stretched and stretched, till Noven's skin began to crawl with anxiety and his eyes burned with the desire to tear themselves away. He didn't know if he could bear it, should it come, the condemnation in Mae's gaze. Nor could he forget the last time she had looked upon him this way, so many seasons ago, and all that had followed after...

A mix of relief and disappointment washed over him when the Isur broke their gaze first. She broke the silence as well with words of consolation, but Nov's attention was drawn toward something else. Something soft and pale wrapping around his hand, tracing the crimson veins webbed all across as she spoke.

The Sunberthian stopped breathing for a tick. Raw emotion shuddered through him, immobilizing every muscle on his body. So long...it had been so long. Too long since he felt the comforting touch of another human being. He couldn't even remember the last time someone reached for his hand as a gesture of nothing more than reassurance. To lend him warmth after he had been all but drained dry. Not since that one, unexpected day in the woods. Just a single memory to sustain him through the nights, with ale and the sweetness following a Vexation to fill the rest of this ever growing void.

Noven suddenly felt himself racked with greed. And with every finger Amael entwined around his own, that greed only grew.

No... he told himself, like a thirsty traveler stopping himself from gorging on river water. No more...you've taken too much...

But try as he might, he could not make himself pull away. He let his hand grip hers just a little tighter, feeling the smoothness of her skin compared to his, unable to stop himself from indulging in the sensation. Involuntarily, Nov's eyes closed as he soaked in her nearness. He thought he could almost smell her scent in the small amount of air left between them and it filled him with contentedness, even though the crease of worry between his eyebrows remained.

When he opened them again, he was surprised to find himself looking straight into Mae's sea green eyes once more. Only this time, they were beacons of feelings that had naught to do with disappointment or scorn. He felt something inside of him stir. Her cheeks were colored a faint, rosy hue, and Nov wanted nothing more in that moment than to feel that gentle heat beneath his thumb.

No, too much... he tried to dissuade himself. You've put her through too much...she isn't yours to touch...stay away...stay as far as you c--

But then a second, far more vicious voice cut off the first.

Or you could break her fingers and sate yourself. Right here, right now. It'd be easy. She wouldn't even have time to scream. You'd do it fast, and it would feel sooo gooood...

A series of firm knocks suddenly rapped against the door.

Noven flinched as if something had burned him and he pulled his hand away. Every inch of his being protested the deprivation of Mae's warmth, but he ignored their pleas.

"Who is it?" he growled. Wick was alert as well, both paws out in front as he laid flat against the bed, rabbit-like ears perked forward as all four eyes pinned themselves to the door.

"It's me, dear," an voice answered from the other side. Relief rushed out of Nov's lungs as his shoulders visibly relaxed. Wick's tail wagged furiously.

Giving his Isurian companion a tired but hopeful glance, the mercenary replied, "Come on in, Miss Delner. It's just me, Mae, and Wick."

The innkeeper slipped in a moment later, closing the door behind her with a neat little click. There was that usual, knowing smile on her face, even as she looked in Noven's direction and tsk'd soundly. "How many times have I told you to stop calling me that, you ruffian? I'm old enough to be your nan, and it's strictly Georgia to all my lovely customers." She seated herself down on the bed, placidly but by no means feebly. Smoothing out her skirts with nimble hands, she beamed even wider at the two travelers, and rubbed Wick fondly around the ears.

"Well?" Nov asked, getting straight to it whilst trying--and failing--not to sound completely desperate. "What have you heard? Have you found where she is, Mi--Georgia?"

The old woman gave him another half-hearted look of disapproval and shrugged a little shrug. "And what if I have? You've yet to keep your end of the bargain." She shifted her cheery yet slightly mischievous gaze to the red headed Isur. "You should know that a happy Georgia is an accommodating Georgia. And there is something I am rather keen on knowing."

Sighing, Nov turned to Mae as well with an apologetic look. "She wants to know..." He glared at the innkeeper for a tick, who was currently feigning perfect, grandmotherly innocence.

A clench of the jaw later, he continued testily, "...she wants to know how we met."

[Amael]

‘Knock, knock, knock!’

The sudden noise set her teeth on edge. As Noven snatched his hand away, the spell was broken. Amael looked away, to the far side of the room where she could get lost in the patterns on the wallpaper. There was just too much left unsaid. It’d been wrong to touch him, like she somehow knew who he was. After learning about the gnosis and about his curse, it suddenly occurred that she didn’t know the first thing about him. She rubbed her fingers absently against the heel of her hand. Color ran from her cheeks and for once, her silvery skin was a neutral canvas.

Ms. Delner was the sweet and simple lady that ran the Inn. Since their arrival, they’d had a few encounters. Amael’s lips twisted up into a smile at her voice, secretly relieved at the interruption.

”Good evening, Georgia.” Mae said. Conflict still flickered in her cerulean eyes, even if her smile didn’t show it. The spry old woman made a place next to Wick, who obliged her happily.

As he asked, Noven did his best to mask the desperation in his voice, but to no avail. Anyone with a functioning pair of ears could spell it out. This was the leverage that Georgia needed or so it appeared, as they’d already struck some sort of deal without her knowing. The revelation of yet another secret did nothing to improve the feeling of distance between Mae and her mercenary friend.

”How we met?” She echoed. Was that all she wanted?

The look in Noven’s russet colored eyes was endearing, for all its hostility. There was so much at stake that she couldn’t blame him. Not to mention the pain he so obviously endured. Endowed with fresh insight, she could suddenly make sense of the way he moved, the way he'd wince or how he held his body sometimes. In spite of it all, she was compelled to help him. It didn’t matter if she really knew him or not; it never did. Maybe that was what kept getting her into trouble.

”Sure,” she said, lips twisting into a wry grin. The memories came rushing back to her.

”The first time I saw him, he was peeping through my window.” Amael fixed him with an arch look. It was no wonder he let her tell it. Were it to come from him, he would’ve sounded like a lecherous dog.

”He had work for me and at the time, we both lived in Sunberth. Dangerous place, you know. He had to make sure I wasn’t some ganger’s girlfriend with razor blades in my skirt.” For some reason, this was a cherished memory. His chargin at being found, the way he stammered out his reply; these were all the comic details of a very simple, but heartwarming story. Minus the whole plot for murder, of course.

”Anyway, when I caught him looking, he was so embarrassed he nearly fell to his death.” At that, she couldn’t help but chuckle. Amael did her best to avoid looking at him while she spoke, but every so often she glance over to see his reaction. Some part of her wanted to see if he felt as she did even a little, to see if there was still something there in spite of the leagues of time and space they’d been apart.

But Melody. That sudden thought cooled her ardor. The warmth slid from her eyes.

”He had a job for me, so he told me about it. I did the job, though I never did get paid.” She offered him a feeble smile, then turned her attention to Georgia.

”So what of the girl?” She prompted, suddenly eager to change the subject. ”Melody? Have you heard anything? It’s very important.”

There was no sense in getting caught up in the past. Noven had moved on. Whatever the nature of their relationship, this Melody knew more about him than she did. Further, his wellbeing came at the fore as far as she was concerned. She’d figure her own feelings out later, when she had the time.

”I’d be happy to add any details I might have forgotten.” She tacked on, as an afterthought. She stole another glance at Noven. Worry lined her face.

”We really appreciate your help.”

[Noven]

Krysus, here it comes...

The half-Myrian could scarce believe how grateful he suddenly was for his darker heritage. Somehow the room had grown twice as warm, and his ears now burned so red he swore he could feel the heat radiating from his own head.

To make things worse, it seemed his already pain-addled mind had made a mission of revisiting only the most inappropriate of memories, triggered by Mae's fairly innocuous retelling of the past. Nov made good habit of forgetting as much as he could on a regular basis. But for reasons he felt wholly unwise to admit, he could remember what precious few days he'd spent with the Isur with excruciating, minute detail. He could see, even without looking at Mae herself, the gleam of her molten hair by candlelight, the tempting swells of her curves through her smallclothes, the contrast of pale, silken flesh and hard, glistening gemstone as her arms moved to discard one piece of clothing after another with careless grace.

The mention of work almost--almost--brought him back to the grisly reality of what they had originally sought out to do. Almost. Then the word skirt entered his brain and it was all he could do not to physically beat it back out.

Mae laughed lightly. Having forgotten how to breathe and swallow at separate times for the past ten ticks, Nov nearly choked as he was jolted back to the present. Thankfully he did not, and instead cleared his throat in a masculine yet non-intrusive fashion. His face felt like he'd spent one chime too long peering into a kitchen hearth. What was it that Mae had just said...not getting paid? Were they at the end of the story? Was he supposed to say something?

A ghost of a smile played across her lips as she glanced at him again. Noven answered it with an awkward expression stuck somewhere between chagrin, amusement, and guilt. The first, because his mind had been swimming in heated memories only moments before. The second, because he knew exactly why Mae had not gotten paid immediately following the completion of her end of the deal, which was related directly to the source of his guttered thoughts.

And the third...gods above, how it made his blood boil and fingers curl just thinking about what they had done to her. What he had inevitably led her to because of her involvement.

As he struggled to cobble together some semblance of composure, his flame-haired companion pressed on, inquiring about Melody and her whereabouts. Nov thought he sensed something cold and aloof in the way Mae spoke of the waif, but he couldn't be certain. All he knew was that the worst of his humiliation was over...hopefully...and that Georgia's satisfaction was still yet to be determined.

As the gentle looking innkeeper soaked in their little story, he caught Mae's sea-green gaze aimed at his direction once more. He looked back to find lines of worry etched in her face. The fugitive must have mirrored those lines in his own, for the Isur to be prompted in urging Georgia on. Not that he could blame her. Anxious anticipation was starting to drive him a little mad, sending tiny ants of fire crawling up his legs and spine. Every chime spent without Melody was to become a chime of agony and frustration spent searching for a new victim. Sodding hell, how he sometimes regretted having ever saved the lass's skinny arse from a bar full of violent drunks. The irony wasn't lost on him, that a girl as careless with her own well-being as Melody had become so crucial to the survival of a doomed man like Noven still stubbornly clinging to life.

After another eternal chime or two, Georgia finally spoke.

"Well, deary, that was quite the lovely story." Her eyes crinkled in amusement, though there was no smile turning the corners of her mouth. "I thank you for sharing this little piece of your history together. I'm sure there's much more to be told, but I think I'll leave those gems for another day to be discovered. As for the reckless child you've been hunting..."

Something akin to sadness tinged Georgia's grandmotherly gaze. "It seems she does not wish to be found. And this may come as a surprise to you, but the city seems to respond to her wishes because she belongs to it." Letting her two guests digest this information, the innkeeper paused for a length before pressing on. "She was born and raised here. For a while, anyway, until...well, only Ionu knows what might have led that child so far from home and hearth. I don't imagine it was all too pleasant."

A small sigh and slump of the shoulders signified this was all Georgia had. "I'm sorry...this was all I was able to find. There may still be family remembers living in these parts, but I doubt she would have resorted to an unexpected reunion."

By then, Noven's head had become mostly buried in his ungloved hands. He didn't even care that the innkeeper could see the crimson veins marking him as one of Krysus's chosen. Half of him just wanted to murder Melody. The other longed to shout and break things and wreak general havoc on everything within his immediate vicinity. It was the only way he knew how to deal with fear of this magnitude.

"Thank you, Miss Delner," he managed after a stretch, not looking up. The innkeeper didn't bother correcting him this time; the tension in his shoulders and fists was clear enough and she took it as her silent cue to vacate the room post haste.

"Let me know if you need anything, my dears..." she offered as a cautionary goodbye, concerned eyes lingering on the Isur, before shutting the door behind her.

Meanwhile, Wick had flattened his ears and opted to find sanctuary beneath the large bed. Noven's desperate anger was filling up the room for the sensitive canine, to the point where it was almost palpable, tasting acutely metallic as it roiled forth wave after wave.

He could have cursed her. He could have hated her. But in the end, he knew it would do him no good, and he had only himself to blame. Melody was about as reliable as a piece of driftwood and as equally predictable--and empty--in temperament as the wind. He'd known this since the first day he'd bashed their way out of that kelp beer hell hole.

"I could kill her for this, if I ever got my hands on that little vagik," he seethed. Not particularly loud, but with enough wrath to light even the weakest of kindling. Then he gave a sort of delirious half snort, half laugh. "But what would be the point?"

The thought of wringing someone's pale neck, however satisfying and futile at the same time, suddenly struck a second, more urgent thought...

Noven abruptly stood up, a somewhat crazed look in his eye as he stared intently at the door. "Our neighbors next door...the couple that does those petching expensive shows every night."

His gaze of rampant rust swiveled then to meet that of borderless sea foam once more.

"They've got a room full of snakes." The Vexer's voice grew more intense as he repeated himself. "Snakes."

A plan, half hatched and desperate, was starting to form in between the pangs of headaches and now tingling needles shooting up his limbs. He left the rest unspoken, hanging ominously in the air. Words finally caught up with thoughts. Nov grinned then, though it was more of a somewhat ferocious expression half mired in madness than anything else.

"And you know what snakes don't do, Mae?...

...Snakes don't scream."

Created by Sybel