Closed The Long Road Ahead (Belugnir)

[Zavya]

9th Day of Winter   518 AV  

Zavya was a sullen shadow at Einar’s side as they stepped up to the faceless tavern where the sellsword had been staying. The Kelvic’s face was wrapped in obscurity, a deep-cowled hood pulled low over her head to hide uncomfortably recognizable features, while her hands remained shoved behind her cloak to keep the telltale black sun unseen. She had no idea where all Ryker had sent his goons in search of her, nor how many ears had heard her description. The tigress would take no chances.

She was all nerves when the unlikely pair entered the building, fidgeting anxiously as she followed Einar through the crowd. They had to get supplies, he’d said, but she was ready to simply bolt into the woods and hope for the best. Supplies? What the hell did they need supplies for? Between them, surely they had enough experience in the wilds to survive on what they found out there. They had no time for picking up supplies! What if her master’s men were tailing her from Caldera Manor itself?! They had to go now!!

As soon as she had the thought, however, she knew it was foolish. Did she really think herself that invincible? Her other form was a wild beast, indeed, but a wild beast who’d lived forever in collars and chains. Zavya’s excursions out past the Lakeshore were always under the wing of an experienced hunter and survivalist, one who’d protected her as much as, if not more than, she’d protected him. She knew little of Einar beyond that he was stubborn and insufferable, and from the looks of him, had survived more than his fair share of things he should be lying in the ground for. That was a small measure of comfort, if nothing else. The man knew how to stay alive.

But whether or not he would keep her alive was what the Kelvic was concerned about. Shiress had seemed confident he could, and Zavya thought she ought to trust her, but what did she know? Should the tigress trust him just because someone else seemed to?

She lifted her lip at the thought. Of course not. Life had taught her that much was true—no one could be trusted, not completely. Especially not some filthy vagabond of a human. Who was to say he wouldn’t hand her over to the highest bidder, no matter what Shiress said?

He didn’t let you die when you faced that nightmare in the woods, a quiet voice in the back of her head reminded her as she snarled vaguely at Einar’s back. And he very well could have.

Zavya rolled golden eyes at her own inner self, bidding it to silence. Ryker was there. He didn’t have a choice.

That same voice retorted, He yanked you out of its paws long before Ryker showed up. Have a little faith.

Never.

Nonetheless, she stayed close until they were back in his room, keeping her head down and watching his feet and her own to make sure she didn’t bump into anyone. When they reached the room, she shut the door behind them and took a deep breath before releasing it with a shudder.

Pushing her hood back, Zavya looked at him with a twist of her mouth. “I’m not happy about this arrangement,” she muttered in her raspy voice, her face reflecting that sentiment. “But it would seem you’re my only hope right now.”

She didn’t look much thrilled about that either, but carefully schooled her face back to neutrality. “So, tell me what to grab and where we’re going, then let’s get out of here. I’d like to be out toward the lakeshore by dark.” The tigress cut her gaze his way. “I’m sure you understand.”

[Belugnir]

The five folk occupying the tavern in the ground floor of the wooden structure could hardly have been called a crowd... and save for the brief, knowingly dirty glance Ein received from the old innkeep, the pair's ascent to the sellsword's room was wholly uneventful.

''I didn't ask if you're happy, girl.'', Ein replied dryly, moving straight for the solitary window within his modest room to take an obligatory glance upon the dock-streets visible from it. He'd had plenty of time to come down from his own initial dissatisfaction with the new state of affairs on the walk back from Caldera manor... and then plenty of time to get annoyed with the attitude of the woman behind him, whom he could nearly hear fidgeting and turning nervously this way and that along their stride... Yet then again, he'd had weeks prior to spend concluding that peaceful, stagnant days, endlessly pouring into each other to form a mundane, straight creek of uneventful life was not something he decidedly wanted to get used to... As he'd had those same weeks to begin pondering the assumption that constantly being a bitter, unrelenting bastard to everyone crossing his path may have not been the healthiest thing for anyone involved.

So it was he leaned a hand onto the wall beside his window with a thoughtful, apologetic sigh. ''But I understand plenty.'' Time was a wasting indeed, and if they could get a move and begin leaving the city proper before noon, it would be rather convenient, for that ought to be when the crowds around the city are the most plenty and when an uncanny pair of renegades would have the best chance of being inconspicuous.

There would be an ounce of silence as he'd finally decided on one of the courses of action he'd been pondering on their way to the inn. It was a lengthy, quiet while passing by as he'd turned back to face the girl and size her up and down again, before striding over to her, nonchalantly reaching behind her head to gather her wavy locks together into a sloppy pony tail, pulling it atop her head and lingering to take in the appearance it gave her. A moment afterward he'd stepped around to the side of her, placing his own foot beside hers for brief comparison.

''You, however, won't be going anywhere, not yet.'', he grunted, pulling the cloak off the girl's shoulders and tossing it into the nearest corner. ''Not whilst looking and fidgeting like a startled slave girl on the run, anyway.'' Once again he sized her up and down as he'd gestured over toward the solitary bed in the room whilst making way for the table in the other corner where his belongings, weapons and all, were laid, kindly arranged into a messy, unorganized pile. Eventually he produced from it some lengthy linen straps, made of cleaned discarded clothing and meant for use as bandages, and hurled them over to Zavya.

''You'll be getting out of Shiress' wear and tying your tits to your chest with this so they don't go hanging about.'', he stated bluntly. ''The more I walk you around town looking as you do now the likelier we are to end up in your master's cellar within the day, so you'll stay locked up here, while I will be going to gather up some food, clothing and lantern oil.'', the last thing on his brief list was mentioned with a pointedly deepened voice, certainly the girl would catch on... albeit EIn's tone also betrayed an ounce of deep-rooted excitement which he had no mind to display or indulge to begin with. Yet it was there... ''Meanwhile you will stay here, so try to get your shyke together, practice not glancing left and right like a lost, startled toddler every five steps you make...'', he'd strode over to her side again, pulling the crude, sheathed dagger from his belt and tucking it into her hands. ''...And if any whoreson other than me comes baring down on that door while I'm gone, you put this in their throat.''

It was apparent in his tone and mannerism that the man had plenty on his mind, yet concern did not seem to be among them. Not as much as it ought to have been, perhaps. ''Play along and we might even be setting up camp out in the lake shore woods by nightfall.''

...On his way out, however, he did stop and turn about to add something that felt rather obligatory to point out, all things considered.

''And girl, just so we're in the clear.'', there was no second guessing the purpose of his pause and the look he gave her in the breath that it lasted. ''You make a mess of things, try and pull one up on me, try to run like you did in the woods... and I'll be putting your head through that wall. Good?'', his tone remained mundane as anything while giving his brief presentation. And he would give a nod and conclude the answer in her stead before she'd ever had gotten a chance to retort back. ''Alright.''

With that, Ein would leave Zavya alone within the space occupied by a single bed, table, one good chair and an empty, cold hearth, along with all his weapons, clothes, scraps of armor and equipment. Yet without any real way of escaping without causing an attentive scene. For a window that she would hardly be capable of fitting through and a single story fall separated her from the street, and there would be the unmistakable sound of a key clicking within the door as Ein took his leave.

[Zavya]

Zavya reflexively flinched when Einar’s hands gathered up her hair, grimacing at her own reaction. Before Shiress, no one ever touched her aside from her master, and his “tender” caresses had never been a sensation she desired. The reluctant Kelvic supposed she would have to get used to it eventually, but having the mercenary so abruptly reach his hands around her head made her far more uncomfortable than she cared to admit.

It was with a great force of will that she held herself motionless, her golden stare blank as she looked up into his face. A startled slave girl on the run… how did he expect her to look like anything else but that? It’s what she was, after all. It was hard not to betray her nerves when her next step could be the one that sealed her fate.

But you’ve always lived that way, that ever-present voice at the back of her head reminded her, the one that kept her alive and relatively sane even in the moments that should have broken her. Where your next breath could be your last. How is this any worse? At least now you’re running away from him instead of with him. Properly chastised by both herself and Einar, Zavya offered only a nod instead of the scathing reply she might have spat out otherwise. It was the closest thing he would get to acquiescence.

The next tick had her hair billowing back around her shoulders and her cloak ripped from them, this time managing not to jerk away. He gave her another one of those assessing looks, and the Kelvic was unsure she liked the thought of what it might foretell. What was going on behind those mismatched eyes? Did she even want to know?

It was with a wary gaze that she watched Einar rummage through his belongings before tossing her several lengths of cloth. You'll be getting out of Shiress' wear and tying your tits to your chest with this so they don't go hanging about, he instructed her, the tigress glaring at him in disbelief. He had some kind of nerve! Opening her mouth to tell him so, she closed it after listening to him speak further. His blunt wording made sense and even if it made her bristle and release an annoyed huff, she had to admit, at least to herself, that it was better than the underhanded dishonesty and double meanings she was normally surrounded by. Almost… refreshing, even if she’d never say so.

At his pointed mention of lantern oil, Zavya grimaced again. Yes, lantern oil was a good idea. After that inky, shadowy nightmarish beast they’d faced on their last meeting, she never wanted to be in the woods without fire again. Her gaze still fast on his face, the hint of a frown crossed her brow as she watched something like excitement flit across his features. Did he really relish the idea of coming across one of those things again? Was he mad? At this point, there wasn’t much evidence pointing to the contrary.

Molten eyes took a long look at the dagger he then placed in her hands, fingers automatically closing around the hilt. She offered another nod to show she understood, her grip mercifully steady as she lowered it to her side. Put it in the throat of any who came through the door. He didn’t have to tell her twice.

Einar’s deliberate threat as he made his way out the door pulled a snarl from her at last. Did he really think she was stupid enough to try something when she was quite literally on the run for her very life? “Put another rope around my neck, and you’ll be treated to the same,” she retorted with a growl as he closed the door behind him and turned the lock with a distinguishable click.

Dagger held fast within her grip, Zavya snarled again and began to pace the length of the room. She wasn’t overly fond of the idea of being left alone here, but he was right. It was too dangerous for her to go along, and it wasn’t like she was pining much for his company, anyway. In truth, she missed Shiress, and regretted more than anything that she couldn’t have stayed longer in that little isolated oasis of joy they’d shared over the past several days. To have it ripped away so suddenly and so cruelly set her heart on edge, and she hated the weakness it provoked.

Can’t afford to think about that right now, she told herself firmly, jerking her thoughts away from the sweet girl she’d left behind, and halting in her pacing to grab up the makeshift bandages Einar had thrown her way. Ridding herself of the too tight shirt she currently wore and doubtfully eyeing the length of cloth, she picked up the first strip and wrapped it as tight as she could around her torso before tying it off. The next few strips followed in quick succession, and while there was nothing that could make it lay flat completely, her bosom was at least reduced. It was uncomfortable, dreadfully so, but, begrudgingly, she could see the benefit of trying to hide her gender. They were on the lookout for a slave girl, not a boy.

Surely it won’t matter once we’re out of the city, anyway, she assured herself, tugging at one of the knots holding the bindings in place with a wrinkle of her nose. Won’t have to keep wearing them out there. With a sigh, she threw the discarded cloak back around her again and paused at the window, watching a faded red figure disappear down the canal.

The next several chimes, maybe a bell, who could really tell… saw her pacing again, the silent trod of her feet threatening to wear a groove in the beaten up floor. Zavya hated this waiting more than she even hated the running, and part of her wished she’d insisted on going along with Einar, if only to have something to do. The Kelvic thought she might go mad with the anticipation of his return, her mind carping at her all the worst possibilities of what could happen to him along the way. What if someone had seen them together and was waiting for him to pass by? What if they found her next?

Every creak of the stairs was a Valdinox goon sent to carry her back home, every voice from the common room one demanding her death. She sweated heavily beneath the borrowed cloak and tossed it aside again, growling at herself in her frustration. Pull yourself together, Zavya! she silently told her face in the mirror, watching the panic flit across her features. You’ll never make it out if you don’t!

Once more, she heard footsteps come up the stairs, heavy, deliberate ones that seemed to aim straight for her door. Breath held in her throat, she crouched and crept toward the threshold, dagger gripped painfully tight in a clumsy fist. Keep walking, keep walking…

Closer they came, and Zavya’s heart sped faster, one hand on the knob as the other clutched her weapon. She’d not be caught off-guard, no, not this time. She’d fought too long and too hard for this moment to have it stolen from her by some vagik in a nameless tavern.

A pair of twin shadows were visible in the crack under the door, the tigress not even daring to breathe as the knob started to jiggle in her grasp. Her eyes widened, her grasp tightened on the dagger, and adrenaline started to flood her limbs. She heard a mumbled curse pierce the wood and the sound of a key being shoved into a lock before the knob started jiggling again. She hissed softly, sure the next move would have the stranger come crashing through the door.

“Wrong petching room,” she heard at last, followed by a loud burp and the shadows moving from under the door. A stumbling shuffle continued down the hall until it receded from her hearing, and Zavya’s shoulders slumped with relief. Just some drunk.

She half-leaned, half-fell against the door as she released the shuddering breath she’d been holding. “I’m going to lose my mind before this is all over,” the Kelvic muttered under her breath before retreating back to the bed and sitting down heavily. “If I don’t lose my head first.”

[Belugnir]

Unaware hints of an endearingly smug smile crossed Ein's face at the holler Zavya retorted with while he locked the door behind him. And regardless of how it might seem to the girl in the midst of her anxiety and paranoia, the southerner would not be away for long.

In fact, it would be less than a bell before he'd come back, loaded as if he were a beast of burden, with bundles of clothing and packs of oil and food, sobered up an ounce by the fifty and some gold Mizas he'd relieved himself of... and muttering bloody murder at the realization that the door he'd just unlocked wasn't budging as it ought to. Hopefully, Zavya would have gotten her wits about her and her ass off the floor to make way before Ein's urge to kick the thing in came over him.

If she's gone and done a stupid I will slap her upside down and into the petching lake... But the door would give in, having pushed the girl away in its wake to a degree dependent upon the swiftness with which she'd reacted. And it would quickly become apparent that the girl seemed just as unnerved, if not more so, than when he'd left her. The backpack of oils and linens was lowered, the sack of food chucked beside it, and the bundle of cloth hurled over bedwards, while Ein spun on his heel, glaring either way down the hall he'd just come up from. Nothing... and the old drunkard regular who'd been staying here since cocking forever stumbling into their own room... Good. Finally, he'd turned back toward the girl with a disapproving squint as the key clicked in the door behind him again.

''You were supposed to get your shyke together, not lose it twofold.'', he remarked off-handed, moving over to where he'd chucked the bundles of newly bought apparel. ...Suppose I ought to settle for not being pounced on with a dagger... Calmly, Ein proceeded to produce a pair of boots, some rather expansive, broad and baggy trousers, a shirt and a coat of gambeson from the unwrapped bundle. In a real Ravokian spirit, any color, so long as it's black, or a close variation there of. Ein went on to toss them all onto the ground, and then slowly step over the clothes and rub his foot along the way, before picking each piece up and half-heartedly dust them off. It was as good of a worn look as a man belike him could conjure with less than a chime to work with. Finally he would look up at the slave lass again.

''No ropes to go around, I'm afraid.'', he sought to jest, deciding not to linger on his own remark after a moment. ''...You'll want to ditch her trousers too and start gearing up.'', once Zavya got busy getting into her new trousers and the socks Ein tucked her way, the mercenary went about filling the bottom of the heavy knee-high boots with some folded linen wraps. Together with the thick soles and slight elevation in the heel, it'd serve to provide a couple inches of height for the girl once she was fully geared up. That being said, most of the things she'd received for her new apparel was an ounce above Zavya's size, for there was only so well a man could decide on proper sizes of another's clothing from scarce memory. Regardless, with eventual aid from Einar, Zavya would be donning the dark gambeson vest over slightly loosely hanging shirt, and once the thing was buckled and secured about her torso, Ein would complete fitting it to the girl with an old belt about her hips, emphasizing the illusion that the clothing gave of her upper body possessing greater bulk.

Finally, he'd reached up for her hair again, gathering it all together at the back and top of her head, and reaching his other hand out.

''I'll be having that dagger back now.'', his intent could hardly have been more obvious, as could the fact that he wasn't going to bicker over it. And with one purposeful pull and slice, the greater part of Zavya's locks would remain severed in Einar's grip. Unceremoniously, he'd chuck them to the side and point over to the bed again while turning away to look upon the table for a whetstone, before bringing the thing to his dagger for about a chime. ''Take a seat and keep your wits about you.''

Once the dagger was sharpened an ounce, Ein would step back up to the girl, and bid that she tilt her head slightly to the side.
''Whoever the twats looking for you are, they won't be on the lookout for some mean, raunchy lad... Now be still and I'll see to it that you still have your ears where they ought to be in a chime.'' Finally, he would get about the lengthy errand that would end with shaving away the hair from the sides and the back of the girl's head. And in the meantime, Ein would lower his voice as he went on to speak.

''I know how frightening all of this shyke can be. But you can't afford to let it show...'', ounces of hesitation were witness to the fact that Ein was far from used to handing out pep talks. ''From what I gather, you'd beaten the piss out of that pretty boy twat before making a run for it. And though my mind was in the gutter, I do recall you giving that freak in the woods what for for a good while... So we'll need you to be as you were then. Only without them claws and maws and paws, alright?''

[Zavya]

When Einar pushed open the door, Zavya thought she might lose her wits all over again. She was on her feet in less than a tick, hissing and baring her teeth until she realized who it was. The hand not clutching the dagger raised to her face with a shuddering sigh while the other lowered back to her side, turning on her heel and walking away from him.

“There was someone at the door,” she muttered in explanation at his admonishment. “Drunk arsehole started clattering the knob, thought it was his room.” The glare she cut back at him was half-hearted as she continued with bitter sarcasm, “Forgive me for being paranoid when one of the most powerful families in Ravok is out looking for my head.”

The Kelvic watched with detached interest as he dumped brand new clothing onto the floor and dirtied it, raising her eyebrow before he tossed it off to her. His joke about the rope was met with another sidelong glare, the tigress not exactly in the mood for his particular style of humor. Perhaps she’d have a bit more of a reason to laugh once the city of chaos and the threat of discovery were far behind her.

She looked at the clothing he handed her with a wrinkle of her nose, setting it on the bed before undoing the ties that held her borrowed trousers on her hips. Zavya didn’t bother trying to hide from his scrutiny as she tossed them to the side; in their last meeting, he’d seen every inch of her, and they were to be companions for gods knew long, so doubtless he’d see it all again. What did it matter now?

Pulling up too long pants over scarred legs, she sighed and leaned down to roll the cuff enough so that she wouldn’t trip over it. The ties on the pants were knotted as tight as she could, and it was all she could hope that they wouldn’t simply fall off during their trek. The baggy shirt followed and was tucked in next before Einar was pulling the padded coat over her torso. She fidgeted nervously as he assisted her with all the various buckles and knots, uncomfortably aware of his proximity. At least this time he didn’t smell…

“I’ll never be able to get this shyke off if I need to shift,” she muttered in complaint when he wrapped a belt around her waist and secured it. The boots came next, Zavya holding briefly to Einar’s hand as she stepped into them. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she blinked rapidly and sneered. She looked like a child trying on their father’s clothes for the first time, as she’d seen Ryker’s little niece do a few times before. “I look ridiculous,” she declared before hands were gathering up her hair and a grizzled voice at her neck was demanding his knife returned.

Instantly, she tensed, her grip unconsciously tightening on the hilt of the blade. It was clear what he meant to do, and the look that crossed her face could in no way be described as friendly. While she was not particularly attached one way or the other to her hair, Zavya wasn’t too keen on the idea of him making such a decision for her while he held a weapon so close to her head.

“Can’t we just pin it?” she asked uselessly, his hand still extended in front of her in silent demand. She stubbornly held out for nearly a chime longer, but it was clear Einar wasn’t going to let go of her head until she put the dagger in his hand.

The tigress gave in with a growl and handed it over, her fists clenched tight at her sides as she felt the first shear cut clean through the locks he held. Eyes screwed shut, she stiffly sat down when he ordered it, and took deep breaths through her nose. The sound of the dagger against the whetstone did nothing for her stirred-up anxiety and when he tilted her head to the side, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Each gentle scrape of the knife against her head had her hands clenched tighter, nails drawing little half-moons of blood from her palms. Zavya didn’t dare move an inch, but the tension in her body would have been visible from miles away. Past experience had taught her a man with a dagger so close to her flesh was not something to be taken lightly. Gruff and rude as he might be, she had to keep reminding herself Einar was not Ryker, and that he was here to help her, not hurt her. Even with her own self assurances, it still did little to endear him to her.

However, the words he spoke next caught her off guard, her hands loosening as he took the knife away. Was that… a compliment? Seemed as close to one as she was ever likely to get from that man anyhow. Shaking the loose hair from her head and shoulders, the Kelvic stood and turned to face him with an inscrutable look on her face.

A few ticks of silence passed between them, Zavya’s much lighter head tilting slightly to the side as she regarded him. “I can’t promise I won’t be… afraid,” she finally said, just as haltingly as he’d spoken. “I’ve never been… free. I’ve never been able to make choices of my own. And even now, even this wasn’t my choice.” Her mouth twisted up as she considered her next words before continuing, “I beat my master because I had to. I fought that thing because I had to. I don’t… I don’t know who I am without ‘had tos.’”

Zavya looked down at her feet and bit her lip, having said more than she meant to. But even as she spoke the words, she knew them to be true. There was more at stake here than just her escape. Her life was changing completely, and the tigress would have to at last learn who she was at her core, who she was without chains. It was terrifying in more ways than one.

When she looked back up at him, her face was different, fiery gaze filled with a steely determination that would give a glimpse into just who she truly was, even if the tigress herself didn’t know it yet.

All she did was nod, an affirmation that once more, she would do what she had to. She would fight and she would rage, and she would stay alive. Even terrified and sick with anticipation, she would keep her head down and press on. That nod wordlessly said what she didn't have the speech for, the simple gesture and look that accompanied it speaking just as clearly as words ever could.

I’m ready.

[Belugnir]

Ein hardly cared to gawk as he went about dressing his ward up into a mercenary's clothing. He was no swine, and he'd seen plenty of folk naked, including her, for that matter. Albeit he was rather content Zavya refrained from acting all prudish, albeit the grumpy remarks that came as her new apparel was fully arranged were to be expected. And at first the only replies to her dissatisfied comments were a seldom gentle yank of adjustment to make the slightly over-sized clothing fit better about her.

''If we'd get to where you need to shift, we'd already be encircled by a platoon of whoresons with halberds to begin with.''

Hair'll grow back, lass, the head on ye shoulders won't..., he nearly heard himself speak, instead merely shaking his head at the memory of how he'd received the gnarled scar that ran a jagged circle about his own neck.

Yet instead of dismissing and rushing her toward sternness, Ein did quiet down and listen once the girl began to speak and open up an ounce, even though she seemed regretful of the scarce extent to which she did so. Finally, when Zavya rose up with an expression that stood the opposite of frightened, Einar nodded in return, both in acknowledgement and with fond disregard, he gave the girl a dismissive couple of pats on the shoulder and moved to adjust the collar of her gambeson so that it would hide her ladylike neck poorly as opposed to not at all. Newborn confidence could sure as all hell feel good, and it sure as hell would topple over in a breath as soon as some bugger a head taller and two heads broader than her came looking for a cuffing. He needed her to be able to fool more than a downtrodden worker or beggar.

''Free or a slave, life's mostly one vast pain in the ass, I can tell you that much.'', he'd remarked, taking a moment to dig up his old wolf hide mantle and dust it off, before moving to wrap the thing about the girl's shoulders, framing her head with a menacing, messy pattern, hiding most of her neck and giving her upper body a much better impression of greater bulk. Soon enough that was followed by introducing her to the only pieces of armor Ein still held onto from his ruined old set, and a pair of steel gauntlets would be pulled upon her hands, held in place rather well by the gambeson that went underneath them about her wrists. And though they would take a toll on comfort and dexterity, they would hide that stupid brand on her hand... and be plenty useful if push did come to shove and she needed to knock someone's jaw loose.

Finally, Einar retrieved his polearm and tucked it into the woman's hands, taking a step back before demanding, his tone a mere step below outright aggressive:

''Now. Put your cockin' back up straight and convince me that you are a mean merchant's meaner bodyguard... Holler something profane while you're at it, too.''

And had she hesitated, he would rather quickly make a point of stepping up and giving her a taunting shove in the shoulder, along with a sneering: ''What's wrong, little man?''

[Zavya]

“And if we’re ‘encircled by a platoon of whoresons with halberds,’ I will be much more capable if I’m able to shift,” Zavya countered with yet another side-eyed glare, grumbling under her breath as he continued to adjust her over-sized clothing to his satisfaction. “Most humans don’t react well to a tiger suddenly appearing in front of them. So much easier to tear off a limb when they’re caught by surprise.” She made no attempt to hide the pointed look in his direction, remembering well how the man had come within inches of killing her when they’d first met. Even if had been more or less her own fault, it still piqued her nerves.

“Pain in the ass or no, life’s better without someone else controlling every tick of it,” she said, a little more serious than before. “At least that’s how I see it. People… people take the little things for granted. Little things like deciding what shirt you want to wear that day or what you want to eat for breakfast. If you even get to eat breakfast. ” With that, she clammed up again, shutting her mouth and looking away. It wasn’t like he cared what she thought, anyhow. No one did. Except her.

Her sigh was almost wistful as Zavya once again forced her mind away from where it desperately wanted to go. Now’s not the time to get caught up in some self-pitying daydream.

The Kelvic looked back at Einar as he picked up what looked to be an old wolf pelt. When the mantle was settled around her shoulders, Zavya turned her head to the side to give it a couple sniffs before wrinkling her nose. It felt strange to be wearing fur that wasn’t hers, and she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about it. Her only friend in the KRI had been a rather large dire wolf and to be wrapped in something close to her skin felt… strange. Almost disrespectful.

Sure she’d rather you wear it than freeze, she thought to herself with a roll of her eyes before watching with a raised brow as gauntlets were slid over her hands. Wiggling her fingers with a grimace, she winced.

“How the petch do you even move when you wear all this?” the tigress complained, metal clad fingers rather ungracefully plucking at the gambeson that swaddled her. A disdainful glare was spared for the movement-restricting steel before finding her hands filled with the hilt of quite a different weapon than before. Her change in expression was almost comical, awkwardly holding the poleax away from her body so that she wouldn’t nick either one of them.

Now. Put your cockin' back up straight and convince me that you are a mean merchant's meaner bodyguard... Holler something profane while you're at it, too.

Zavya did straighten her spine, if only with irritation. “I don’t know how the petch to use this thing. How do you expect me to convince anyone of anything with it?”

Instead of answering her question (which she thought was rather reasonable), Einar darted forward and shoved her. He earned himself a searing look in the process, Zavya reflexively swinging the pole part of the ax in his direction. Her clumsy thrust didn’t even come close to hitting him, but at least there was fire in the gesture. “Petch off!”

With a huff, she stepped closer and angled the pointed tip of the weapon toward his face. “I actually am a bodyguard, you know,” she growled, pulling herself up to her full height and offering him a glare. She pushed the ax a little closer to his head. Or I was. Among other things. “You really think I don’t know how to be mean?”

She flashed her teeth his way before she thought better of it, growling again and lowering the polearm. Then again, perhaps some of her normal tactics of frightening others were a little too… feline for their current predicament. Sighing, she set the butt end on the ground. It was strange to imagine protecting herself and thinking less like a tiger instead of more like one.

“All right, Einar,” Zavya said, her resignation and her determination both clear as day. “Teach me how to fool them all.”

[Belugnir]

''Well you've certainly convinced me that you wouldn't last twelve sodding chimes out that door on your own.'', Einar sneered bitterly. Her complaints seldom sat well with him, and though he was hardly shallow of mind and heart, being patient in face of someone mouthing him off, and belike a toddler at that, was not among Ein's very scarce virtues. Nor was being kind and considerate. And so it was his tone changed rather swiftly. He took an unfazed step backward when the polearm's handle was jabbed at him, yet he seemed to feel entirely without threat when it came to the pike that ended up pointed his way.

''You speak of others taking things for granted, girl. Do you think free folk don't go hungry? That we can ever choose to do as we fancy? What to wear? Where to sleep? That now that you're 'free' you won't have anyone breathing down your neck? You think there's children out there who don't go vainly begging for a collar 'round their neck just so they don't starve and can find a roof over their head that won't cave in on them at the first knock of petching rain?... Freedom is a filthy, pus-ridden whore and a half.''

And I am just talking out my ass now... Taken after the bloody nordlings. It was a long and heavy sigh Einar took. This was hardly the time to start trying to preach and do right by the righteous nonsense his caretakers had once been so hellbent on instilling in him... Nor was it time to recall some of the most petched up scenes he'd witnessed as a child.

''Here's a cockin' teaching you ought to take to heart.'', he spoke, bringing his head still out of a feverish shake. ''Don't babble on like you know shyke about the world when you's spent your life in some spoiled cunt's pen.'', he wouldn't linger debating whether or not the jaggedness on his tongue had been justified, and he'd put up a steadfast hand to any attempt Zavya might have made at bickering back and forth over his outburst. Thankfully the girl seemed to have begun embracing the sheer depths of shyke she was in, and that digging herself out wouldn't turn out to be a light-hearted stroll.

''If I could walk around as a humongous predatory cat, I too, sure as all fuckin' hell would prefer that.'', he made bitter attempt at bringing up the mood briefly, adjusting the highest buckle on the woman's gambenson for the final time, before his hands lowered to harshly guide her own onto the polearm in a grip that had the weapon resting horizontally before her, thumbs fists about the handle facing each other inwardly. ''Most humans wouldn't react well to a... tiger?... popping out of nowhere by their side. Which is why most of them black 'uns who patrol the streets wouldn't think twice before they gut you on sight. And as soon as you'd shift anywhere near this stupid city, there'd be batches of the cocksuckers clogging together. And being twice the size you are now only means twice as many places to get buggered in by a hunk of steel. So 'till we's out past the lake shore, I don't want to hear another ounce about shifting from you.''

There was a lengthy, quiet while in which Ein seemed to debate just what the sodding hell to actually explain to the woman when it came to using a polearm. He was a mercenary and a vagabond. Not a bleedin' instructor... so instead he decided upon remarking something else, arguably more important.

''You need to still yourself as best you can, lass. Keep a humble frown, maybe a slight hunch in your neck... But don't move so much, don't flinch, don't gawk around like you's expecting someone to be spying on you. The more you budge about pointlessly, the more you growl without acting, the more you show any brute worth their salt just how frightened and uncertain you are... And we don't need you to be 'mean'...'', he repeated her phrasing with childish mockery. ''We need you to be vicious. But as a human, without five times the muscle that you'd prefer. And you must do it confidently.'' There was a brief quiet as Ein reconsidered some of his previous advice. ''... And as a matter of fact, keep the profanities out of it. You catch someone giving you the eyes, you keep a stiff lip and glare back at them. Most folk'll avert their gaze that way... and if they don't, you know they's trouble.''

Finally, looking down with hands held over Zavya's upon the handle, he pulled the weapon up, mimicking a quick horizontal jab with which she could easily send someone stumbling backwards once they're uncomfortably close, a moment afterward guiding her to retract the weapon and hold it in front of her relatively close to her chest with moderately bent elbows. ''You don't want folk getting up to you when you's holding a polearm. Just like you wouldn't want some bugger on top of you if he had a knife and you were a bulky, bare cat. And you don't want to flail a poleaxe around like it's some cockin' wooden birch. So you keep it close enough that you have control over it and can quickly transition into doing multiple things, so you's not obvious as a toddler once push comes to shove.'', an amused brow perked up at his own words there at the end, before pointedly clearing his throat and guiding Zavya's left hand forward while pushing the other back, showing how lightly and quickly she could make a move and bat someone on the side of the head with the poleaxe's weighty handle.

''When you's giving someone a whack with either side, you try and keep the other one between you and another threat as well as you can, and if they come at you regardless...'', he simply pulled her hands into performing the same move, only with the actual head of the weapon being involved this time, namely with the hammer end being aimed for his cheek, before letting go altogether and nodding toward the butt of the poleaxe. ''One end to give them a concussion and send them crying home to ma'...'', eyes moved knowingly to where hammer, axe and pike met together in half a pound of cold steel. ''And one end to send them to that Rhysol cocksucker they like praising so much.''

[Zavya]

The Kelvic turned more subdued when Einar reprimanded her, watching the fury written across his features that told a story all its own. In truth, she’d never thought about the possible plight of the free folk; her experience with freedom was the nobility around her and the general paradise that Ravok seemed to be for most of her citizens. It wasn’t like she’d ever spent time outside the city beyond brief forays into the wildlands, and they were not exactly rich with human populations struggling to survive. Zavya spoke from a place of ignorance and her own narrow worldview; freedom had been a goal for so long that she never thought of what might happen once she achieved it. Would her life continue in the same struggle it had always been? Surely it could only get better?

I’d rather starve and get rained on than be used like an object for the rest of my life, Zavya thought to herself, though this time she kept it silent. She’d caught a glimpse of something in Einar beyond that gruff veneer, and for the first time since she first met him, she wondered what sort of tales might linger beneath. Instead of trying to provoke his anger further, she stood quietly and nodded. He was right. A large cat suddenly appearing within the city would not bode well for either of them. Especially with the guards already on the lookout for that very thing.

He instructed her instead to remain quiet, to glare and frown, to pretend as if she wasn’t in the dire straits she was in. Zavya nodded again. She could do that. It was no different than what she’d done for most of her life, anyway. Only this time, the stakes were just the slightest bit higher.

Shove it aside, Zavya, she told herself firmly, watching his hands move to adjust hers and shift the position of the pole in front of her. Pretend. Exist. Do what you’ve always done. He’s right. You are the predator, not the prey. Make sure they know it.

The hands encapsulating hers were warm and rough, the Kelvic momentarily distracted by the feeling of a touch that was neither cruel nor derogatory. She blinked rapidly before turning her attention back to what he was attempting to teach her, listening intently. He showed her the different ways to counter an attack, Zavya watching closely so that she might perform those actions on her own when the time came. The weapon still felt awkward and heavy in her grasp, but surely she could fake it enough to at least beat someone back while she ran. It was a small thing to strive for, but, hopefully, it was enough.

He threw a bit of her own irony back at her, golden eyes glittering with nearly the hint of a smile. “My face was singed for a week after you kicked those coals at me,” she remarked as he commented on his rather unsubtle attempts (which had ultimately worked) at forcing her to attack when they’d first met. “My mast-Ryker was furious. He never liked my face to be marked, even in his more… creative punishments. That someone else had done it nearly sent him spiraling. It was almost funny, even if I was the one hurt.” Remembering the angry red lines that now disrupted her cheeks, she grimaced. “He got over it, though,” she added shortly before quieting again and turning her attention back to Einar and the poleax.

When he released her hands and the ax hung solely in her own grasp again, Zavya attempted to emulate the motions he’d shown her. Carefully, she held it parallel to her chest, elbows bent and close to her body as he’d shown her. She pushed outward like he’d done first, a defensive move that might counter someone who thought to rush her. Her quarry was engaged now; imagining Ryker’s head in front of her, she swung the butt end of the ax up first toward where his face should have been. Rather clumsily, she shifted her grasp so that she could then bat with the other end, crying out sharply as she did so. She overreached herself with the swing and stumbled forward, the pole nearly falling from her grasp.

The tigress snorted in irritation and shifted her grip on the weapon before attempting the swing again, the motion this time a little smoother. “Better, yeah?” she asked Einar before pivoting the poleax in the other direction.

“It must be strange to have to rely on weapons,” she commented absently, repeating the motions again. She wasn’t sure why she was talking so much, but she figured they would be seeing a lot of each other for gods only knew how long. Even if she wasn’t sure that she could ever come to like the man, she figured it was better not to fuss at every turn. It wasn’t like he was any happier about all this than she was.

Zavya went on, “I never liked fighting as a human. Always felt like… something was missing. Fighting with fangs and claws always came so easily and so naturally; without those things, I felt… feel… crippled.” The Kelvic brought the weapon back to a standing position, gazing curiously up at the metal tip. “But I guess a weapon’s sort of like a metal fang.”

A strange gleam was in her eye when she added, “Except you can’t taste the blood when you bite.”

[Belugnir]

''Aye, masters seldom hold on to their attachments when a slave gives them just dues.'', Ein murmured in agreement, as if thinking out loud. He hardly intended to voice ought in reply to Zavya's rambling about that Ryker bugger.

He caught hold of the poleaxe's handle when Zavya flaunted and failed her first attempt at repeating the motions he'd shown her, shoving the ash shaft back at her to set her back on her feet.

''Don't reach out as if you's two feet taller than you are, girl.'', the critique came as he stepped away and out of reach of the polearm, nodding as she repeated the jabs and swings again. ''Better. Shoddy but better. You will do, I suppose.''

He began arranging his scattered equipment and leftover clothing to tuck them into bags as neatly as sloppy whoresons could, listening off-handedly to the girl as she babbled on... and finding it in him to comment back.

''You'd have to be daft in the head something fierce to like fighting as a human.'', Ein grumbled, yet this theme was something rightly close to him, so he went on. ''Humans are easy to break and twist the wrong way... Which is why we rely on weapons.'', he straightened up, slid his arms from his robe, letting it hang loosely upon the belt that held it to his waist, making it easier to strap the holster of throwing knives about his upper torso over the studded doublet he wore underneath, before struggling clumsily to pull the uncomfortably folded clothing back over the added encumbrance again. ''And humans end up relying on teeth and nails plenty, too, you know? You just learn to appreciate every ounce of armor that weighs you down once you get used to the luxury of not busting a knuckle whenever you loosen some daft twat's jaw. It begins to feel like a proper second skin when you realize you have to worry only half as much about some mad cocksucker shiving you in the side.''

Her last comment didn't seem to sit well with him, however, and he found himself staring blankly at the girl for a brief while, uncertain whether to take her remark seriously or not...

''Course I'd end up dumped together with some petching man-eater...'', the words vacated him without pardon. ''Let's get something cleared up, lass.'', he stopped going about his chores to wholly turn toward the woman, straightening his uneven posture. ''You don't go about killing anyone unless it's to save your own arse from dying, you only point that polearm at folk whom you know want to shank you already. And you do all your teeth gnashing out of others' sight... On the other hand, if you's a glutton for blood, you can do all the hunting once we's out of town...'', this next pause came with a sneering grin. ''Just keep away from other travelers and their horses, eh?'', he would of sought to end his scolding on a jest... but instead of turning around to finish packing his last bundle of equipment up, Ein lingered, recalling that he ought to add another ounce to his rambling lecture. ''And lass, if you so much as grin funny and startle old Finnard, you's getting slapped upside down and back into the city. That pony has been through enough shyke without you bothering him, understood?''