Thread Closed
The moonlight was a fey and curious presence, casting cool shadows that caught at Vijako's attention and held it at odd, dazed intervals.
"Dint hire ya fer desertion!"
The voice came from above and slightly behind her, and she blinked rapidly at the sweet, pale light that illuminated dark stains on the gritty, rough ground of the alley. Dark corners leered at her, breathing rotten vapors that smelled of fish offal and waste. Her nose had already been rubbed in it. She struggled to rise, hip bursting fireworks into her consciousness, and under her flat spread fingertips was something slimy and wet over the stone. It stung. She spat blood; another viscous liquid to tango with the unidentifiable muck already there. The alleys could use a good rain, she decided.
"'Ey!"
Then a shin connected with the side of ribs that didn't hurt, and suddenly her whirling thoughts focused without exception on the second by second detail of how much her present situation sucked.
"No pay. . .no stay. I'd got no gil!" Vijako's strangled voice erupted from her.
"I tole ya nex' moon! Ya paid half, with orders ta stay solid, an' where I find ya?"
His words were punctuated by another prodding foot, and with a hiss her hands skittered out from under her, and she felt the already split skin tear further. She knew this, but it didn't hurt just yet. Godspit, it was by reflex alone that it was her cheekbone that took the brunt of her head smacking against the ground, and not her nose. Her indrawn hiss of pain sounded too aggressive, and her reward was another snap of her tormentor's leg, this one landing on the hip that already hurt.
She saw lightbursts that had nothing to do with the moon.
"Jiver's Den." His voice was disgusted now, but she was concentrating too hard on her whimpering breaths to pay much mind. She was trying to focus, and could only see one of her hands in front of her, splotched with greasy oil and sticky spatters of some foreign liquid. Her hands had been mostly clean at early moonrise. Soon they would begin seeping blood. The nerves in her skin were too shocked to begin hurting. Yet.
Impersonal fingers put an unwelcome pressure at the base of her back, and travelled up and down with an ease that bespoke practice. She was flipped onto her back, and they continued their journey, pausing only when the treasure, her treasure, was found and swiftly divested. Even as shockstruck as she was, she knew it was now no longer hers. She felt a trickle of something curve a path down her chin, but she couldn't be arsed to lift one of her hands to wipe it. Everything was raw and pulsing the promise of a greater pain come dawn.
She could assume the only reason she was still alive was that her double cross for higher pay hadn't been seen through. She was being beaten for desertion, not betrayal. That was cold relief.
She lay there, dazed, for an untold amount of time after the member of Fikker's Crew had left. The moon was preparing to disappear, but she knew she had to get back to the Jiver's Den soon, to tell the new masters of her fate what had transpired. Her body was crying out for rest, and she only gave a token effort to rising before the pain forced her moaning back flat against the sticky ground. Tomorrow. She would find the Jiver's Den again the next night.
She slept where she lay.
"Dint hire ya fer desertion!"
The voice came from above and slightly behind her, and she blinked rapidly at the sweet, pale light that illuminated dark stains on the gritty, rough ground of the alley. Dark corners leered at her, breathing rotten vapors that smelled of fish offal and waste. Her nose had already been rubbed in it. She struggled to rise, hip bursting fireworks into her consciousness, and under her flat spread fingertips was something slimy and wet over the stone. It stung. She spat blood; another viscous liquid to tango with the unidentifiable muck already there. The alleys could use a good rain, she decided.
"'Ey!"
Then a shin connected with the side of ribs that didn't hurt, and suddenly her whirling thoughts focused without exception on the second by second detail of how much her present situation sucked.
"No pay. . .no stay. I'd got no gil!" Vijako's strangled voice erupted from her.
"I tole ya nex' moon! Ya paid half, with orders ta stay solid, an' where I find ya?"
His words were punctuated by another prodding foot, and with a hiss her hands skittered out from under her, and she felt the already split skin tear further. She knew this, but it didn't hurt just yet. Godspit, it was by reflex alone that it was her cheekbone that took the brunt of her head smacking against the ground, and not her nose. Her indrawn hiss of pain sounded too aggressive, and her reward was another snap of her tormentor's leg, this one landing on the hip that already hurt.
She saw lightbursts that had nothing to do with the moon.
"Jiver's Den." His voice was disgusted now, but she was concentrating too hard on her whimpering breaths to pay much mind. She was trying to focus, and could only see one of her hands in front of her, splotched with greasy oil and sticky spatters of some foreign liquid. Her hands had been mostly clean at early moonrise. Soon they would begin seeping blood. The nerves in her skin were too shocked to begin hurting. Yet.
Impersonal fingers put an unwelcome pressure at the base of her back, and travelled up and down with an ease that bespoke practice. She was flipped onto her back, and they continued their journey, pausing only when the treasure, her treasure, was found and swiftly divested. Even as shockstruck as she was, she knew it was now no longer hers. She felt a trickle of something curve a path down her chin, but she couldn't be arsed to lift one of her hands to wipe it. Everything was raw and pulsing the promise of a greater pain come dawn.
She could assume the only reason she was still alive was that her double cross for higher pay hadn't been seen through. She was being beaten for desertion, not betrayal. That was cold relief.
She lay there, dazed, for an untold amount of time after the member of Fikker's Crew had left. The moon was preparing to disappear, but she knew she had to get back to the Jiver's Den soon, to tell the new masters of her fate what had transpired. Her body was crying out for rest, and she only gave a token effort to rising before the pain forced her moaning back flat against the sticky ground. Tomorrow. She would find the Jiver's Den again the next night.
She slept where she lay.