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Shithole of a Hideout
Posted: Thu Nov 18, 2021 6:42 pm
by Miki
On the precipice of the rare stone strewn throughout the desert a lone anole watched solemnly as the riders kicked up dust across the horizon. It licked its eye once as the loud, thundering chariots came near and darted into a skull within a bone pile. The bone pile rattled and blew back as the chariot screamed past. Disheveled, the lizard poked its head back out to make sure the coast was clear and scurried away with a lesson learned.
~~~
They had rode for days, only stopping for a short while to eat and snooze in shifts. Other than that they rode on and on into the endless horizon which only served to become more barren as the days went on. Eventually they got to the Imperial Badlands and everyone got off the hogs to get a drink. Fresh water was stored on Miki's chariot in a saddle bag to the left of the rear wheel. It would be right underneath Derek* who rode on the smaller chariot with Miki.
"Scorched earth."
Miki said while touching the cracked and scarred ground. They were certainly here.
"I need to blindfold you, we're almost to the hideout."
So far the boy was willing and so she tried putting the blindfold on him and Izul helped him back onto the chariot with Miki wasting no time in heading straight for the hideout. This would be their first time seeing the place, the new spot for the gang Hector had loaned them. Miki yelled to Derek over the roar of the engine.
"We're seeing our shithole for the first time, heard it was a death trap for his last contacts. We'll see how we fair, I guess."
Then revved the engine and sped far ahead Izul.
It was clear sailing up to that point, the women were making good time and would be to the shithole in just around fifteen minutes. That was when the wind started to pick up and small tornadoes of dust started forming. They both knew what this meant. Corruption. Miki could only hope that her navigations were correct. Going full throttle now the women said nothing, knowing exactly what to do. They would need to outrun the dust storm and make it inside with the chariots until the storm passed. It would be fatal to be trapped out in the storm.
They rode on, engines buzzing and roaring letting out great smoke as behind them and rapidly descending was a wall of dust and debris. They rode on faster straight ahead until up in the distance they could see a small dip with a flagpole tied above it. Izul went first and opened the doors, letting Miki and her charge inside before dragging her chariot in and locking the door with a long metallic clang behind her. To the observant the front of the storm hit just as the door slammed shut, letting only a puff of air inside the building. It was a single rectangular room with supply boxes lining the walls. A strange device from the bygone age in the middle off to the right against the walls. Everything was covered in cobwebs.
"HEE-HAW!"
Miki yelled, completely exhilerated from the experience. If the blindfold wasn't off by now she would take it right off the boy's face.
"Do you want a drink? Hector promised us there would be half a bottle of whiskey in here--"
She was cut off by the sound of a great groan then a crash as the ceiling farthest away from them in the back crumbled and the storm began blowing in.
"Get the tents!"
Cried Izul who started throwing things out of her pack to set up her tent. It was ripped from her hands just as Miki grabbed hers out. The winds from the storm had gotten inside, but so far the majority of the dust had stayed at the crumbled part of the hideout. Miki and Izul quickly assembled the tent and weighted it down with their chariots, then shoved the boy inside with them. It was large enough for four people and they were comfortable enough to have arm and leg room inside.
The storm blew well on. Eventually Miki broke the silence.
"Well, the tent might not do much. Do you think we'll get the madness?"
Izul shrugged and replied.
"It taints water. Did we bring our water supply in here?"
Both women looked at the young man before them, waiting for him to speak.
Re: Shithole of a Hideout
Posted: Fri Nov 19, 2021 4:06 am
by Arkash
The constant thrum of the engine was almost hypnotic. The continuous rolling sputter, the plumes of smog that erupted behind them like streaks of black ink on the desert's red sand. Arkash imagined they could be seen from miles away by the amount of smoke those machines created, and that was all he saw whenever he hazarded the attempt to look back on the way they'd come from; pitch-black smoke.
It had been exciting at first, to move so quickly, but Arkash was ready to get there already. He'd found the stash of water on their first ride there, and he'd already drunk most of it on the way just to combat the sun. Another three days had passed since he gorged himself on the meat of animals, he would have to feed again soon. It was curious how the timing of his feedings affected his energy and response to any given stimuli, as he surely would have looked on in awe and marvel at the desert if he'd recently eaten. Alas, all he felt was sick and tired... Hungry.
The youngest of the travelers wasn't accustomed to the constant noise, the rush of wind, or the heat. Perhaps he was whining too much on the inside, but he'd never known such noise or excitement. He often found himself slipping off into sleep while he clung to the chariot, only to be woken suddenly as some bump or disruption of bones on the ground disturbed him. Arkash took a deep breath, then looked out to his right.
The rolling waves continued for miles, contrasted only by the pale sky above. He watched the rippling shimmer of the ground as it clashed with the dust that the wind kicked up, and the occasional cactus that broke the shape of the endless sea. As they continued, Akash began to recognize other shapes in the dunes, other unnatural shapes. He sometimes saw the telltale remnants of some abandoned, dilapidated structure. Some mixture of a fortress, or a home. Broken boards and debris lay scattered around some skeletal frame, half suk in the sand. What had been, no longer was. That building, he wondered, might have been a refuge to some in the past. A lifeline, a shelter from the sun, and whatever sorts of storms stirred up there.
He sighed. He knew those that made a wreck a home, and a home a wreck. Nothing was forever he understood. All things would someday end, good and bad.
His focus began to falter again, and his gaze began to fade to black as he drifted once more, only to rouse awake when his head met the back of the driver. He shot up and widened his eyes with a deep inhale before calling a "SORRY!" over the howling rush of wind. The last thing he needed was to distract someone who piloted the machine he was on and accidentally steer her into a cactus, or some other dilapidated hovel.
Sometime later, Arkash had completely depleted the water supply, and his lips were still dry. His focus still wained and his throat cried out for more. They were given a brief reprieve from the bike ride, and Arkash took every opportunity to stretch his lanky limbs. He pulled on his arm as it extended overhead, then rolled his shoulders and extended his arms back to test his chest. All those muscles, every one of them had fallen asleep in the journey.
He looked about the different climate while he could, examined the broken ground and the dried foliage that dotted the land ahead of him. That same shimmer rippled the ground in spots, the heat of the sun. In the distance, he saw a pool of water, an illusion. The cactus looked pretty good, he thought. Plants were a source of hydration, no? Again, he yawned, and part-way through the stretch of his jaw, it was declared that he had to be blindfolded.
As he closed his mouth, he smacked his dry palette and turned to the two red ones. "Why?" he asked, his tone a drastic shift from the way he'd behaved around the campfire some days ago. He, himself, seemed to catch that, and he added "I mean I'll do it, but I won't lie, I might fall asleep," as if to assure he wasn't angry, despite how snappy his initial reaction might have come across. So, he let them blindfold him. Sight was never his strongest sense, at least in his True form, but the eye Taelian gave him could see further than his natural-born one. He wouldn't miss it too much, he thought.
He climbed on with their help and felt his rugged fingers with his thumbs. he exhaled through his nose, then quickly reached and took hold of Miki as the engine started. he clung to her shoulders, heart racing in his ears while he listened to everything. Driving blindfolded was... Much more stimulating. Terror seized his heart, and he could do naught but listed as the winds rushed by and the engines roared their destructive war cries.
"DEATHTRAP?!" He called, voice much higher than he'd intended with his heart in his throat.
It was all dark, so very dark. it wasn't the sort of darkness he could peer through, either. With naught but the sensation of moving fast and the noise to accompany him, no image to stabilize his senses, all he could imagine was falling from so very high, rapidly approaching a distant, certain death. Falling in the dark, however, was so much worse. He couldn't tell when the impact would be, or how hard it would come. Was he falling into water? Cobble? Hay? He couldn't tell.
He wasn't falling, of course, it was just how he felt while moving that quickly. If the driver was to make some sort of mistake, he wouldn't even know about it. He'd just be splattered all over the wall with no chance to bail. His fate was entirely out of his hands, and in Miki's. That in itself was terrifying to him.
They began to slow after a while, and Arkash had yet to release the shoulders of the shorter red one. The winds whistled around some shape ahead of them, and he began to piece together how it might look by listening alone. He imagined some large fortress-type thing, worn down by the barrage of storms and dust. As the sound of a metallic door creaked ahead of him, the image of that battered building only became more detailed in his head.
His hold tightened a little as they began to move again, and his jaw pressed hard. As a distinct echo surrounded them and the building winds were closed away, he came to realize where they were. They were in the death trap. He remained completely still; motionless. Even after the engine stopped, he dared not move. Was he surrounded by bear traps? Landmines? Were guns rigged to tripwires all around him? He let the girl go when at last she dismounted the bike, and his hands shot to the machine in her stead, clasping it for dear life. He smelled his surroundings, listened intently to the fall of her steps, the sound of the door closing. What was going on?
The shorter of the two called her declaration of excitement, but Arkash was trembling. Finally, his blindfold was removed, and wide-eyed Derek looked about in shock. No tripwires, no guns, no bear traps. He took a moment to squint and looked around all sides of the chariot. Land mines? Nothing? He looked up then to see the grody walls, missing patches of brickwork, exposed fist-sized holes in the woodwork, various shatters in the tilework. It looked as though some kids had gotten hold of the place and disrespected their surroundings. The floor was all but completely covered in a layer of sand, and he looked in the direction of a quiet squeak up in the doorway, and the scampering of a desert mouse as it ran by.
He grinned a little, he wouldn't starve at least.
"Whisky?" he started, but before he could refuse, that crash sounded, and with it, the call of the wind at the door. The entire building seemed to rattle, and Arkash could have sworn he saw some rivulets of dust pour from the ceiling as if it was due to give way in itself. "DEATHTRAP!" he called again, and panic set in.
"TENTS?!" He called, looking about frantically. His heart was in his ears, his teeth were on edge. He had to get out of that room, he had to go somewhere where the sky wouldn't fall on him, but he was too late. All at once, he was shoved in the tent. he didn't question it, but he did pull his legs to his chest and cover his head. The moment both of the red ones were in, he lifted his hands to press against the ceiling of the tent as if that would somehow stop them from being crushed under debris.
Though he expected the whole thing to come down on top of them, it might have been clear that he was overreacting.
He continued to hold up the ceiling of the tent with his knees flush to his chest as the silence dragged on, then looked between the two of them as they began to speak. "Madness?" he asked first, then looked to Izul. "What taints water? Oh..." The water he'd already drunk. "...Yeah I think the water is done for," he declared with an uncomfortable grimace. Hopefully, the corruption was also known to evaporate water.
"Okay so what the Bel is going on? Why' we hiding?" Arkash's arms grew tired while he held them over his head. "How long's it last? And that crash, was that 'part of the building? This place's worse than a DEATHTRAP! It's a SHITHOLE!" Arkash always knew that he'd die screaming, but he at least imagined it would be to some hero's blade, not some storm in a dilapidated piece of trash.
Re: Shithole of a Hideout
Posted: Fri Nov 19, 2021 1:52 pm
by Miki
The young man was yelling as Izul grinned and pulled out from her jacket the half bottle of whiskey.
"I found it,"
She said with the smile still teasing her lips,
"Rolled right up to my foot in the crash. Let's worry about the water later, for now let's take our mind off the storm and drink."
Miki obliged and took the bottle from her hand. Taking a large swig she flinched at the heat as it hit the back of her throat. Offering it to Derek she motioned to him with the bottle.
"Been awhile ain't it? Go on."
It was some mild peer pressure but in good spirit, she wouldn't insist if he declined. Miki answered the boy's questions then.
"You couldn't see but we outrode this dust storm by the hairs on our asses. Get caught up in that and it will change you, at the least. You say the water is gone? How do you know? No matter now, this place is tainted. We will need to leave as soon as it lets up."
He started yelling about deathtraps and shit holes again which earned an honest laugh from Miki.
"Yeah me thinks this place is under the weather, no pun intended there. I think we will be okay in the tents but only time will tell. HAHAR though, Shithole indeed. That's this deathtrap's new name. SHITHOLE!"
~~~
The storm waged on for hours with the three just sat in the tent listening to the whistle of the wind through the hole in the building. By then the bottle was long gone leaving Miki and Izul well drunk. They were playing cards in the tent, smoking it out with a cigar and laughing to themselves, paying the boy little mind at this time.
"So you think we'll really get the Raving?"
Asked Izul, she set down a card.
"I doubt it, this place is sheltered enough and we're out of the worst of it. Besides. I'm not coming back here until this place is cleaned up from corruption, if that ever happens. The purifying spire might do some good, by my calculations we're not far from it. We'll come back in some odd days and see if we can't patch this hole. SHIThole, from now on."
Izul laughed,
"Yee-haw! I heard that right, said it enough times and Hector wasn't lying."
The room the tent and their bikes were in was about sixt feet long and twenty wide, it was a huge, empty box. The left hand corner gave way but the dirt and rubble covered the opening enough where only a subtle amount of the dust storm blew in initially. Still the experienced women took their precautions and stayed well within the tent.
"Do you need to do your business?"
Miki asked innocently, knowing only in her mind it was a double entendre.
"You're not going to get very far in the storm. If you want to leave the tent just make sure to stay away from the dust and sand. You don't look well. Don't dally but feel free to go through the boxes for any sort of old food. I don't know what they possibly had, maybe glass canned goods? I'm willing to risk it if you check around the front of the shithole where we are."
She shrugged, and went back to her game with Izul.
Every time Derek spoke Miki's ears perked up, she liked listening to him talk. Something about him was so vibrant and emotional. Fresh. She had lost her spirit long ago, but the way he was so himself struck her as curious. Part of her wanted to pry into his life before slavery, he had loose lips about it before, but thought it would be too personal and possibly dramatic of a conversation for right now. He seemed different and she liked that, it was something she could truly appreciate about anyone. Still, she knew what she meant about doing his business and she wondered if he knew too. Feeling clever she was curious to see yet again what he would do when let off the chain. He wouldn't go far here, not with a wall of dust squalling above them, but she wouldn't let him get caught either if he was gone for some time.
No, this woman had plans for that information. Something told her she knew a secret and she was bound and determined to keep it, to see how far the rabbit hole went, let it fester before peeling back the scab and taking what she could from it for her own.
Re: Shithole of a Hideout
Posted: Sat Nov 20, 2021 4:45 am
by Arkash
Imminent death was... Not so imminent. He stayed there in the tent, ready to catch the falling sky with his gradually tiring arms held high. Meanwhile, the girls laughed at his expressed terror, and the name he'd bestowed upon the facility. Shithole it was called, and they loved it. 'These people are insane,' he thought to himself. 'This tent will be my tomb, and I'm sharing it with insane people.'
Just moments after that thought passed, Izul produced her whisky from her jacket. Arkash furrowed his brow. How didn't she find it sooner if it was in her jacket? Oh, because it was in her boot, to begin with. He made some face of confusion, how did that happen? He watched then as Miki took a swig, studied the curl of her features as she grimaced. It was a curious thing, how people poisoned themselves. Then again, it might have been his last day alive. Did he want to die having never passed a drop of booze?
"I've got too much shit to do to die," he spoke with a shake of his head, took the bottle in his hand, and peered long and hard at the neck. he looked up, then, at the two, half-squinted, then held his breath. He already knew by the smell that he shouldn't drink whatever was in that bottle, but he put the tip of the thing to his lip and knocked it back anyway. Bitter fire filled his mouth, and his eyes widened in shock. His throat closed. His entire face scrunched up in extreme discomfort; it tasted worse than he ever could have imagined, but he couldn't just backwash it, could he?
Uncomfortably, he swallowed and pulled the bottle away in time to feel the intense burn in his throat, rolling all the way down into his stomach, where it briefly settled. He swallowed again, dropping the poison in his guts with a full-body shiver. "HEGH!" he called, trying his best to dislodge the foul taste from his palette. No one could ever guess he was born and raised in the slum of the largest city on Atharen.
Two factors worked against each other in handling the drink; his thickened blood-soaked up a lot more of the toxin than a regular mortal might have, and his rapid digestion all at once dumped the liver-processed alcohol in his loaded veins. A wave of light dizziness ran over him, and he stared on as his head became light. he stretched his fingers, thinking it normal for the drink to so quickly take effect. What had he done? Liu would shake her head at him if she knew.
"The watah..." he repeated, smacking his lips. "Yeah, I did i'," he breathed in through his teeth in a brief laugh. "Fackin' Bel, I drank i' al d'nae?" He widened his eyes and cleared his throat. Why did he let his accent slip? Placebo, partly. "Soz, boss, didn' finks I woulda... Jus' wan'ed a sip. Guess i's good I did tho, inni'?" With that, he hazarded another sip. Why? Why not? In place of a sip, he took another gulp, and swallowed it with greater ease than he had before. Finally, he passed it on to Izul. In seconds, his lips and hands were numb, tingling. he could barely sit up straight.
In hindsight, it probably didn't help that he'd been bloodletting himself to keep cool and that he was already dehydrated and hungry before he started drinking. And because it was his first time, his natural tolerance was already nonexistent, and the belief that he was drunk also played an important role. Regardless, it had gotten him to stop holding up the tent, as he forgot the fear of being crushed.
The hours to come were carefree, light. He didn't really play Derek Egon's character with them, he behaved as himself, in a body he didn't recognize. He didn't bother to wonder if the person he became under the influence was really him or not, he only behaved in a way that came to mind in the moment, without constraint or inhibition. He had an excuse to be a little wrong, after all, a reason to blame if he became too much.
He laid there on his back while the two played cards. His entire face was numb, or was it his fingers? He couldn't tell, because both failed to report the presence of the other while he poked and pulled at his features.
So it turned out that some parts of Daravin were occasionally struck by dangerous storms of corruption, and they'd outrun one on the way into the shithole. What was corruption? He didn't know. All he could know was that it was bad, and they'd be struck with something called 'The Raving' if they became caught in it. "Wha's 'at liek?" he asked in regards to the raving. he couldn't imagine it was that bad, being able to let his suppressed rage loose without inhibition. Was it liek drinking? No longer in control of your thoughts or emotions?
Maybe he'd always had the raving and just didn't know? He did have the tendency to fly off the handles at times, especially when he was under pressure or stressed for whatever reason.
"Ulun bes' 'ope I dun' get i'" He slurred. "Paint 'is c'untry red.." Came his warning. He would. Like a storm of blades running from town to town, massacring and devouring everything that crossed his path until some mage managed to stop him for good... That or he'd dry up in the desert sun, so far from a drop of blood.
Later still, he was starting to come down from his inebriation. His quick metabolism worked to undo the effects of the toxin in his blood. A headache was starting, but nothing too severe; much the same as the dehydration in his head, the dryness of his tongue. At least they were in the shade, he supposed.
"Muh biznuss?" He slurred again, blinking slowly. A groan left him as he sat up, and covered one eye with his hand while the other supported the lift of his body. When did he last pretend to do his business? "Uhhh..." He started and licked his dry lips. Food. "Ah... Old food dun' do i' for me," he admitted. Not once did it occur to him that doing his business and getting food shouldn't have been put together in the same offer. It helped some, he supposed, but he hadn't really thought about the blood sickness since he started drinking with them. Did he want to wake it up? Worse, what would become of them if he touched some of the sand? They would be a buffet, calling out for his consumption. He squinted while he stared at the ground. He was hungry, just mentioning the food had his stomach churning. If he'd had enough water in him, his mouth would no doubt be rich with drool.
"A'tually, yeh," he added after a pause and some thinking. Food would at least take the edge off... And maybe he could snatch a mouse or something, too he'd heard one scampering around and squeaking for some time. If it was safe for the mouse, it was safe for him too, right? He was bigger than a mouse, and more durable by extension.
"Alrite," he nodded, then awkwardly clambered over their cards to the door, which he carefully unbuttoned before peering out into the room. "Soz," he spoke to the two, after realizing he'd disturbed their card game. The room looked largely unaffected, just that corner had given way, and some nasty stuff was piling up across the room from a gap in the debris. He squinted, then crawled out onto the tiled floor. With a hard clearing of his throat, he reached up to hold his stomach, then sighed as he crawled out fully. The fresh air hit him, and he wobbled on his hands and knees before sitting upright on the dusty tile.
The room spun again, and he just about did too. He had one- No. -Two objectives, find food, and not touch the dust and sand. Though he tried to focus on his keen senses, he couldn't. Everything was numb, the beat of hearts was lost to him and his nose was much too stuffy to smell. The billow of dust was hard, he'd have a hard time getting under it unless he crawled along the floor, and even then, he'd have a hard time getting through it fast enough to not be rained on.
He began to crawl toward the visible plume of dust, and steadily changed form. His arms withdrew in size, and his fingernails elongated to talon-like claws. The same thing happened for his legs as the shape of his head rapidly changed to something inhuman. He peered up from the ground as the fixture of his spine and skull altered drastically. He was made to look forward as additional columns grew from the end of his spine, and the flesh in the area elongated to house his extra bones. His new tail wound up caught in one of the legs of his trousers, which slipped free after ripping some fresh holes in the thigh area with his claws. His shirt was something of a problem, as it got in the way of his arms and prevented him from walking properly. As the last of his bones set, his skin ran in a wave, flipping in tiny panels to reveal scales below, then gradually filled like splotches of ink in water to become a dark shade of basalt, with a beige underbelly that ran up to his chin. His elongated mouth dripped with thick, viscous venom, and made a damp patch in his shirt.
After a moment of laying there, he said 'balls to it' internally and ripped through the shirt with deadly claws, discarding the broken rags. Then, he tested the grip of his claws on the tile and found he was a lot better off gripping the gaps between the tiles. He frowned, leaned back, then pulled forward with explosive force to charge through the gap beneath the billowing dust. He reached over where it fell and pulled himself through, but his tail was heavy, and dragged along the ground behind him. Timing it just right, he threw his tail as though he was striking , and flung it over the trail of corrupt dust. His whole body spun a little with the momentum, and his heavy til slammed the wall across the room with enough force to shake it. he blinked, then quickly charged through the doorway with a hiss.
A flick of his tongue pushed an elongated, black organ from the gap in his lips, pronged at the top. Those prongs gathered the smells in the air, and withdrew to his mouth, where they pressed to the roof and allowed him to differentiate the directions of multiple things. Mice were more to his left than his right. He began to crawl to his left, but drove his head straight into the wall there, then tried to climb up it with his claws, scratching up the surface with several swipes of his forelegs. He either tried to climb up it or turn around... And wound up falling on his other side as he turned in the narrow space.
It was a strange feeling, being too big to navigate a space properly. It didn't help that his Faunis form was almost completely blind, save for a foot or two of warped sight. Another flick of his tongue confirmed that the mice were in the direction he faced, and he began his trudge once more, dragging his heavy tail across the tiled floor. Every few seconds, he flicked his tongue, but it wasn't enough to stop him from walking face-first into yet another wall. he hissed again, then turned his head to the right to peer into the room there. he hadn't been there yet, but a flick of his tongue confirmed that it was loaded with mice. There was some sort of warren there. So why not? he'd take care of their pest problem and get fed in the process. Like some sort of monster, Arkash rushed in, swiping his tail at the scurrying morsels as they fled and snapping his jaws around one or two at a time. He held the door, they wouldn't escape. Fresh blood painted his palette, shortly before crunchy bones and ragged meat slipped into the void of his throat.
It became too much to stop all of them, as they desperately fled their homes to escape the invasive species, so he settled for grabbing as many as he could and whipping however many entered his range to death, only to snatch up their bodies with a scoop of his maw. A small torrent of mice had escaped, rushing through the halls he'd come from. Arkash turned his head in the direction and flicked his tongue. He'd find their scent again and pursue after he got his bearings.
Re: Shithole of a Hideout
Posted: Wed Nov 24, 2021 8:39 am
by Miki
"That boy is drunk haha! Listen to that accent!"
Izul had no claim to sobriety herself though, she was weaving her head in and out to some unknown song and humming very out of tune as she played her cards. So drunk in fact she didn't hear the kid admit to drinking all the water. Miki's brow furrowed but she didn't say anything, just listened to the two rattle on.
"Oi I was riding down through the dusty road! Ooohhh I had nothing but boots on my toes.~"
Izul was singing now. Miki had enough,
"Izul stop, shut up for a second, didn't you hear em? We're out of water. That liquor was the last for us all. Oh for fuck's sake guys. What's happenin' today? Boy, we'll deal with the water when it comes, we aren't far from Traphole we can get more there, if you were that thirsty you could have mentioned to me. Oh gods."
~~~
The next few hours were spent listening to the pair rave and watching them drink, Miki had enough to feel just warm and fuzzy but left the majority to the two who for all intents and purposes needed to unwind. When Derek asked about the Raving Miki gulped, it had been in the back of her mind about their safety the entire time. Izul was forever the optimist but Miki wasn't so sure they had gotten out of there scott-free by hiding in the tent.
"Well, it drives people mad you see. It makes them aggressive and resistant to magic, so I've heard. As well, I've heard it makes people eternal. Like immortal or something. Which would sound interesting but when you're an actual lunatic I'm not sure how much I would want to live forever in those confines. It seems to be working for Jorain though, the leader of Shitport. I've heard he has the Madness..."
Miki's monologue was cut off by the ramblings of Derek claiming to paint the country red. Miki looked very confused and perplexed by this statement, something about it reminded her of the time she caught him, or what she thought was him, as a lizard eating the bovine in the desert only days before.
"Hmm..."
Was her pensive reply. That was why later she suggested he "do his business". She was testing him and he was more than happy to oblige. The more inebriated pair had settled down for now, even Miki was feeling thirsty and the drunkenness had all but abated. Her head hurt and she was tired, but now she had her own "business" to attend to. Snooping on the strange Derek and his weird needs.
"Food doesn't do it for you? Interesting."
That was her only reply, said almost as an afterthought-- like she didn't really hear him and was just replying to say something. In reality though this was a huge breakthrough, getting him drunk was the perfect means to figure out what in Bel this man was all about. Eventually though he obliged and left the tent. Izul had by now started stacking the cards. She spoke as he left.
"Mmmk. Well I need to sleep that whiskey off, by the GODS that was delicious. A good celebration for our new Shithole. Haha! Shithole."
She snorted a deep grunt of a chuckle.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
Izul winked at Miki and Miki gave her a look that said she would kill her in her sleep if she could. Miki gave him space and patiently waited, burning inside to know what he was doing out there. Eventually the snores of Izul could be heard, deep drunken rumbling, and Miki thought about how to approach this situation. He might not have meant to but he already eluded to his "condition", talking about not needing to eat and painting the country red. The Moroi believed him completely. What would she do? She couldn't just poke her head out the flap, that would be too obvious. She could hear some sort of scuffling out of the tent but couldn't see. That was when she took Izul's eating knife and poked a tiny hole in the canvas of the tent. Squinting one eye closed and peering though the portal she gasped at what she saw.
'Drunk? Brazen? Is it not a secret?'
There Derek was in his lizard form, she watched him blindly bump against a wall and covered her mouth with her hand to stop another gasp. He was eating mice!
'Disgusting!'
She was utterly revolted and disappointed in him, but after all this is what she had asked of him. She saw his lizard head turn during his chomping, face covered in blood, and leaped back from the hole in the tent she had made. It wasn't her prerogative to confront him just yet as his lizard form was greatly intimidating to her. Something about him frightened her and she realised then he was right, lest he get the Madness and kill them all. Gathering her courage she called out to him innocently,
"Derek, did you forget about us? I'm, er, hungry too you know! I hope you aren't hogging the goods for yourself."
Re: Shithole of a Hideout
Posted: Wed Nov 24, 2021 7:36 pm
by Arkash
"Sorry..." The disguised rathor began, wincing a little before he drove his palm to his head as if he'd made some sort of mistake. It wasn't a mistake, though. He'd quite deliberately drank all the water. "I'll pay 'ew back, I swears it..." he slurred, rubbing over his left eye with that same palm. "Swear on me mum..."
Moments afterward though, he was back to his drunken stupor, laying on the floor and blathering on about something or other, including painting the country red. He seemed to listen closely to what the shorter of the two red ones seemed to offer on the wisdom of the Raving, then nodded his head a little. "How bad can i' be 'en, rite?" He asked at the mention of Jorain. "If Jowain can pull i' togeva', why can' we?" And in seconds, he was off on another topic.
It was difficult to maintain his focus, everything seemed to blur together, and he drifted in and out of his memory for the entire ride. A kind blessing of his dranoch metabolism meant that he would quickly reach the highest buzz from the drink, and he'd quickly recover, by extension. Unfortunately for the two red ones, Arkash was still on the way up when Miki offered his business. Seconds after he'd abandoned the tent, he entered a state of blackout drunkness; nothing that occurred there would commit to his memory.
So, he assumed whatever form he felt like, threw himself over perils, bludgeoned mice, and ate through critters like they were snacks. By the time Miki had peered through the tent, Arkash was holding his head high from the ground while he snapped his jaws around some mangled mouse chunks, chewing it despite the meager size of the critter before he swallowed hard. Red gunk hung from his maw as he kept his mouth open, exhaling the excess heat in his body through his lungs.
Those black eyes stared onward, empty and soulless in the terrible, unending hunger. It had been so long since he properly fed. Animals weren't enough. Soup wasn't enough. Sometimes, it felt like people weren't enough. Those scrawny weak ones who were made up of more bones than anything tangible. All of it threatened to pull him into a rampage, some blood-crazed fury in which he tore apart anything with a beating heart, and sated his long hunger. But how could he? There was nothing around to eat.
That was when she called, her voice mangled and distorted in his other form. He shut his mouth and pushed his tongue from his lips to taste the air. He tasted the tent, sweat, fear. All of those, bar the first, rang true for feeding to him, but there was something else. That voice, that familiar call... he didn't pay it any mind. What did it matter, anyway? he was starving off of soup, mice, and impala. He needed something with substance... Soon. A slap of his front leg on the floor brought his head low, and he began to crawl in the direction of the tent, dragging his body across the tile to reach her.
His tongue flicked every couple of seconds, feeling the air for his way until he reached the tent. His eyes stayed wide with a sort of predator glint to them. He took a moment to inspect it before lifting a claw to rip through the bottom half a few inches. Another flick of his tongue confirmed the presence of food beyond, so he dipped his bloodied maw, pressed his nose to the gash in the tent, and telescoped his forked tongue once more, testing the air inside. And as he'd hoped, it was rich with the stink of... Miki and Izul.
Miki and Izul...?
By the living, what was he doing?! All at once, the Rathor withdrew his gore-splattered muzzle, drooling all the way. He began to change shape again, reverting into his true form as he rose onto his hind legs and stumbled across the room. He sniffed, tested his jaw, then coughed. The room span as he widened his stance and swiped at his chin. Inspecting his claws revealed blood, and he looked to the tent in horror. Did he bite someone? Worse? In the time it took him to realize his chin was covered in blood, he began to notice a stinging sensation on his side, and looked to the cause to find that he was stood in the way of the corner, as it blew its toxic dust into the room, and onto him directly.
At once, he stepped out of the corrupted dust, brushed down his side, then looked to the tent again. What was wrong with him? He needed to sober up immediately. "Miki?" He asked with something of a reptilian croak, uncertain, then realized he was in his true form. panic ensued, and he looked about the room for his clothes, only to find his torn-up shirt, discarded blood coils, and burlap pants.
Quickly, he ran for the pants and began to dress his lower half as he focused his gaze on the shapes in the tent, the beating hearts... they were fine? A glance at his shirt confirmed it was ripped to hell, barely enough to cover him. How the hell did he explain that?
Before long, his reptilian features were no more, and his senses were gradually returning to him, combined with a hangover. Arkash furrowed his brow as he began to adorn his tattered rag shirt, as well as the blood coils. As he dressed, he realized there was something delicious on his chin for the second time. A swipe of his tongue indicated it was some sort of rodent blood. Different from Nivenhain's rats, but similar in the texture. Thoughtlessly, he wiped it off in his sleeve, then looked for the boxes she spoke of. That was right, he was supposed to collect rations, wasn't he? It was hard to think with his head in pieces.
A frustrated growl ran from his lips, and he squeezed his temples. "Fack... 'am sooch a mess, boss." He complained to no one in particular, then rubbed his shut eyes as he stepped over, walked barefoot through the corrupted dust, collected a box that felt sort of weighty, then turned to face the tent "'Ew says one box, rite? Or wuz it two?" he asked, uncertain while he picked through the contents, then swiped his chin with his sleeve in an effort to clean himself up.
Re: Shithole of a Hideout
Posted: Tue Nov 30, 2021 2:57 pm
by Miki
Miki dared peek out again to watch as he transformed back into a naked man, respecting his autonomy though, she averted her eyes after that. When she peeked out again he was in ragged clothes and she dared lean out of the tent and look at him directly.
"One box should suffice. Thank you."
He called her "boss" which she wasn't sure if was just a colloquialism or a sign or of respect. She wanted to think respect though, which steeled her nerves. Crawling from out of the tent she helped him bring the box back in and when they were settled she dared ask him a question.
"What happened to your clothes? Are you okay? It looks like there is blood on your sleeve?"
She tried to sound innocent enough but realized he was likely still drunk and possibly dangerous. This wasn't an ordinary slave.
A million questions burned in Miki's mind, curiosity flared rampantly but she quelled it. One thing at a time. She wasn't sure what edge she had over him through her spying but she wasn't about to give up on it just yet. No, she would bide her time and gain his trust, hopefully learning what she assumed to be a great secret about this Rathor. Whatever excuses he gave she would simply nod and smile, understanding like.
"I see, well as I said we can get you some new digs in Traphole. The storm will hopefully let up by morning."
Helping herself to the rations she opened a can of pemmican, using her finger to dig out the contents and eat.
"Would you like some?"
One of the glass containers was some sort of bean soaked in brine. She opened that next and roused Izul from her slumber.
"Eat fool, he brought some goods."
"Wha-huh?"
Came Izul's half awake reply, she was still drunk herself.
"Uh, what happened to his clothes?"
She asked as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
"First the water now he's ragged like an animal? Boy you have some tale to tell, you're quite the wild child."
Miki blushed then but it would be hidden by the overall red of her skin, Izul was stepping on her territory and Miki hadn't confessed yet to her compadre what she had seen. How would he react? Miki was unsure about this man completely and smelled the utter danger off of him, even with the storm raging above them she knew that the most dangerous thing in the room was not any Madness or Raving, it was the young man in front of them sitting with wild hair and tattered, blood stained clothing.
"Derek?"
Came Miki.
"You gonna be okay? Remind me never to let you touch the sauce again."
Giving off a quiet laugh she shared the food with Izul, drinking the brine water from the vegetables and offering some to Derek as well.
"It's not much and it's not healthy, Bel might even make us worse off in the end, but it should sate your pallet for now, I think."
Re: Shithole of a Hideout
Posted: Sun Dec 05, 2021 4:27 pm
by Arkash
"One box, gotcha.." he slurred again, then hummed hard through his numb lips as he pulled it from its resting spot with ease. The corrupted dust that covered his back tingled his skin; a sensation not unlike pins and needles ran quietly under the drunken stupor that clouded his senses. He thought it miraculous that he hadn't outed himself, but then, how hard was it really to fool drunk people?
Arkash looked to the beam of dust that poured through the hole in the rubble, then exhaled deeply. A drunken wobble saw him step to the far wall, then waddle around it on his way back to the tent. Quite clumsily, he set the box aside, then crawled back into the tent and pulled it through to set beside the shorter of the two, Miki. He was back in the safety of the tent, sheltered from the corrupted dust he'd managed to paint his back with.
"My clo'es?" He asked with a lazy squint and a furrow to his brow. Confused, he looked down at himself, then widened his eyes. His attire was torn to bits! Recognition struck him like a hammer did an anvil, and a discerning focus took his eyes. "Oh... I Uhh..." he stared blankly for a moment, focusing intently on his clothes. His eyes only returned to Miki's pupilless gaze when he had an answer "...Cut meself an' fell... uhh, fell first bu' there wuz a sharp rock innit, look," he spoke, then offered his scabbed wrist for proof.
His thoughts only loosely tied themselves together. Blood meant there was the presence of a wound, and he did have a wound... Just from the bloodletting days ago. It was a jagged, dark thing that tattered around the edges, healing. As for his clothes, well the sharp rock did it, didn't it? Never mind that the lacerations to his attire were numerous, he couldn't properly reason how that might have happened. "...Wuz a crazy fall, haha," he assured as he put his wrist away.
Carefully, he leaned back against the wall and breathed through his nose as he closed his eyes, he could just about fall asleep to the sound of the sandstorm outside, the idle thrum of hearts that surrounded him. In his half-drunk state, he found himself utterly at peace. There were no worries, no deadlines or goals to rush to, just the ride, the pleasant warmth of drifting to and fro'.
She seemed to accept his explanation, and Arkash didn't look much further into it. How did he even get blood on his sleeve again? Oh yes, he at those mice. Well, it didn't matter. It was unlikely Miki would even remember the exchange, he thought. He'd just have to sway the blood away before they were sober again.
The look of the dried meat in the jar caught his eye, and he looked with a certain degree of attentiveness that was almost out of place on one so inebriated. A nod followed her offer, and he reached out to collect the jar with a nostril-flaring breath that preceded an exhausted sigh.
The hunger never really went away, whether he ate a herd of impala or a pack of mice. He was always empty, always hollow. Still, the handfuls of dried meat and berries he promptly shoved past the threshold of his lips helped ease the pain in his core. It wasn't unlike a candle's warmth in the pit of a glacial cave, some small ember of light in the eternal dark... And just as fleeting.
Comfort was not for the nameless, until death, they would struggle and fight.
His dusty hands were reaching for the last bits of food in the jar when Miki woke the Orkhai, Izul. His lithe fingers reached with strain as his comparably large hands pressed at the rim of the jar, all but shaking as he tried to force his hand deeper.
The Orkhai immediately took notice of his broken clothes, the blood. Arkash, just a bit soberer than when Miki had asked, stammered, caught off guard. "T-the rocks, i' was," he explained. "Lo's of 'em, glass to'," he added, then extended his hand, jar stuck around his wrist as he lifted his sleeve to show the scab. "Nasty fall, too..." He paused, recognizing the wound on his wrist before he quickly withdrew and lowered his sleeve, taking the jar with him. "Healin' good 'o, innit?" He spoke with a nervous smile, then looked between the two.
Internally, he cursed himself. What in Bel was he talking about? Had he changed his story, too? He didn't know. Arkash was scattered and uncertain.
"Yeah?" he spoke quickly at Miki's ask, and turned to face her. Rampant paranoia had quickly filled the void left in wake of the pemmican. "Am fine, Boss," he answered quickly. "Just uhh... Gotta get me 'and out," he spoke with a curl of his nose and his lips, a diversion directed to the jar that he pulled against. At least he had the last little bits of food in the jar, but the clench of his fist around the morsels seemed to block his hand's withdrawal. Even so, he stubbornly clung to the promise of a little comfort.
When his fist popped free, his arm flung back toward the roof of the tent, then promptly shoved the meat into those jaws of sharp ivory. There were still some crumbs at the bottom of the jar, he recognized while he chewed and swallowed. The sight just made his hunger all the worse, but he didn't really want to go through the effort of shoving his hand in again. What if he just broke the jar?
Then, Miki offered him the brine, and he looked up at the offering before following the trail of her arm to her eyes. Quickly, he looked down at the brine water, then looked between them again. "Dun' ew bof wan' it?" He asked, uncertain. It wasn't much, of course... But "I did go an' drink all 'ew watuh... But if 'ew dun' wan' it, I wun' say no."
"Til dawn, huh?" he asked with a deep breath, then leaned back against the tent again. His focus was internal, trying to suppress his roused hunger. During his internal reflection, he realized that he was well for the first time since setting off on their entire journey. All the water they'd stowed did well to hydrate and nourish him, and even though he'd drank it all, they weren't that mad at him. He imagined most people would have attacked him or left him for dead if he'd done that in the middle of the freaking desert of all places. But no, they still shared their food, they still offered their kindness and treated him with respect.
Why did such only occur to him while he was inebriated?
"You'a good people," he declared when he found a window of opportunity. "Am sorry I drank 'ew watuh, I am. You've bo'f been real propa' t' me, even tho' um slow an quiet like," he voiced, sincere. He looked down at his hands, squeezed them into fists, then lifted his pale gaze to look between the red two. "I'll make i' up to 'ew on 'is hunt, dun even need t' gemme new digs or nuffin'," he assured. "I o'ready owe 'ew bof, so coun' on me faw sum propa' shootin', orite?"
"I like 'ew, bof of 'ew," he continued, whether they were listening to his tipsy ramblings or not. "Haven' known 'ew long, but... No one ova' than 'ew two 'as been tidy to me since I got 'ere..."
He only vocalized the points that came to mind when he tried to reason with himself why he was fond of them. It helped to recount what others did for him, just so that he knew he wasn't being tricked or manipulated.
A sigh escaped him as he lowered his side to the floor and rolled onto his back. "Soz faw bein' a pain," he spoke, whether they listened or didn't. "An' thanks faw bein' nice t' me," he spoke with a slight smile, then exhaled deeply through his nose again.
A hand came to rest on his empty stomach while he laid there, and he stared drunkenly at the top of the tent for a spell while he listened to the two. Only when the conversation died down a bit did he allow himself to fall asleep, comfortable enough to manage such quickly.
The corrupted dust that latched onto his back receded to the background of his memory while he laid there, and the tingling eventually quelled too. By the morning, he would have forgotten all about his exposure to the corruption.
Re: Shithole of a Hideout
Posted: Sun Dec 05, 2021 4:59 pm
by Miki
"Mmmm..."
Was Miki's only reply to his rambling.
"Must have been a big rock, I'm sorry you fell. Didn't want you to get hurt."
She lied, just outright lying to his face now. She watched him through her peering, alien yellow eyes and resumed her meal in silence. Her thoughts were preoccupied. He really seemed to be hiding this from them, she wondered why. Without understanding the in's and outs of Bloodmagic she has no idea what she had stumbled into. Dranoch were something she had heard about, yes, but was wholly unfamiliar. She didn't understand the danger she could be in lest the boy properly feed. Right now collecting intel on him was more of a curiosity, an edge, something she wasn't sure if she could use against him but was open to it. Use against him how, who knew. But she did recognize his hunger, they way when he was left to his own device he... fed... like an animal. Without understanding Rathor either she could only guess maybe the two were connected, she didn't want to think of an alternative. Something more sinister and dangerous. In her mind she was the elder and could outsmart him like the best of foxes, which she was.
Miki tapped Izul after she spoke, shaking her head slightly no. A movement that was conscious between two best friends, something that said, "I need to talk to you." It was time to come clean with what she had seen of the boy, but it would be hard with him always in their company. Maybe during their time in Traphole they could let him off the leash so to speak for a moment, just the barest moment, so she could confide in Izul what she knew, what she had seen. Izul flashed her a look before returning to the boy,
"Quite the fall, man! I really think that scab looks like hell. You sure you're oka--"
Miki elbowed Izul and cut her off.
"Don't worry about the digs or anything, we'll get you cleaned up in Traphole. I need to warn you, it's not the tidest of places. Not like your home in Greater Daravin at all. I'll need you to keep your wits about you while we're there."
She was trying to change the subject and it would seem it had worked, Izul laid off the teasing and the boy ended up declining the offer of water. The girls were more than happy to split the brine, leaving none for Derek at all.
As they laid down to wait out the storm the boy's thick accent was hard for Miki to understand. Her ears twitched and she flicked her tail while he spoke, enraptured by this alien, nodding in and out of his explanation of his gratefulness of their treatment.
"You're not my slave, and as I said before I need you in peak condition to fight the wurm. Don't sweat it."
Was her only reply. And she meant it, she would treat anyone like a person because it was their right. She didn't own slaves, had no need, but fealty was different. Slavery demanded subservience but to Miki there was no point in that without loyalty. Sure she could treat a slave as a friend but then what was the point of the chains? There was none. It wasn't enough dogma for Miki to want to free slaves, they were property like any other animal, but the main thing was she treated others with honor and dignity. Nothing else, it's what she expected for them.
They laid down that night as the room became dark as pitch. The storm raged on above them as they slept, a dull hum full of danger coaxing the trio to sleep. Miki dreamed that night she was a mouse running from a skull in the Wastes. She ran on into the morning sun looking for a place to hide but there was none. A figured blotted out the warmth of the day. In terror she looked up just as the maw of a great lizard took her in, swallowing her whole.
Re: Shithole of a Hideout
Posted: Fri Jan 07, 2022 2:41 am
by Nyx
Thread Review
Arkash
Regular Experience: 8 EXP
Magical Experience: N/A
Injury/Ailments: Minor dehydration, fatigue, and aggression for the remainder of the season
Awarded Lore:
[*] Negotiation: Offer to repay your keepers for drinking their water.
[*] Negotiation: Perform simple tasks as a means of alleviating someone you've wronged
[*] Hunting: Mice
[*] Hunting: Mice: By smell
[*] Hunting: Mice: Use your tail to bludgeon them
[*] Hunting: Mice: Snatch them when they're down
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[*] [PC] Miki: Wasn't mad at you for drinking all the water
[*] [PC] Miki: Very friendly toward you
[*] [PC] Miki: Gave you food
[*] [PC] Miki: Offered you water even though you drank the rest of it
[*] [PC] Miki: Witnessed your first sip of booze.
[*] [PC] Miki: Smells delicious
Loot: N/A
Miki
Regular Experience: 8 EXP
Magical Experience: N/A
Injury/Ailments: N/A
Awarded Lore:
Stealth: Poking a hole small enough to see but not be seen
Deception: Pretending to be friendly to get what you want
Deception: Withholding information
Deception: Getting someone drunk
Deception: Offering something in innocence
Mount: Riding a long way
Mount: Badland's Chariot: Out running a storm
Mount: Badland's Chariot: Riding with another person in tow
Loot: Shithole Acquired
Comments: