Fantasy Gifts From A Moon God

[Malhyanth]

The werewolf grumbled deep in his chest as she pressed against him, his abdomen tightening slightly at her movements, and he kept his hand on her hip to try and keep her from moving too much. His head leant back against the rough hewn, cool wood of the headboard. His red clad dreadlocks clacked a little as he moved his head back and forth in a gentle shake of the head, eyes focused on the ceiling to try and redirect his brain, and his inner Wolf. Her body was so enticing, but he held back, and listened intently to her questions as she nuzzled into his chest.

"Zhey cannot separate us easily. Zhat is why they zhrew zhat blade." His hand at her hip rose to rub at the inflamed blade entry point. It wasn't deep, but the blade hadn't been large; it had not been intended to kill, whether he had stepped in front of it, or allowed it to hit Panyin. It was a test, and one he had both failed, and passed. It had been the proof they required to know Panyin was both important in the control of the Wolf, and in other ways. They'll have noticed her vials, her belts of alchemist items; they'll know to rescue the life of a werewolf whom had gone into a situation expecting to die, she would have skills that would bring such a beast from the brink. They were not stupid; they will have done their research.

Wy'Ziot bowed his head a little as she spoke of not dealing with the feeling she experienced. He remembered those days; the time when he was young, trying to get to grips with his Wolf. He began to work with her hair again, gently teasing and rubbing his fingers through it to calm her, and himself. She was so soft! "Zhe Volf... 'e vas vonce alvays in control. Ve Born Verevolves are alvays in competition vizh our Volves. Some are more Volf zhan Man, and chose to stay as zheir Volf more. Ozhers, like me, stay more as Man." He thought for a moment, and stopped stroking her hair, taking her hand into his, marvelling at how little of his palm was taken up with her hand. "As a child, I ran most of zhe time as a Volf. Moons above, I vas an annoying kid."

Wy'Ziot chuckled to himself, fingers playing with her's for a moment, before trailing down into her palm, then to her wrist and forearm, tracing patterns as he had with her back. His other arm and hand supported her lounging body, hand rested on her thigh. "But I realised, if I vanted a chance to see zhe Vorld, I 'ad to learn to live vizh my Volf. 'E vas a child, too. So I learnt to live vizh 'im. Learnt to differentiate our zhoughts. It meant I could learn more easily vhen 'e needed somezhing. Vhen 'e vanted to come zhrough. I learnt 'ow to 'old 'im back, vhen 'e got angry, because of zhings ve saw... experienced..." His voice trailed off, and a low growl rumbled his chest. His hand stilled on her arm, and pulled back, to rub his chest, soothing his own feelings. He could feel the Wolf, not wanting to discuss what they had experienced, not yet.

"Suffice to say, 'e still suprises me sometimes vizh 'is ferocity to some zhings." He gave a sheepish smile, and placed his hand so they were both on her thighs, which still straddled his own. Her sudden change of topic caught him off guard, and he accidentally pulled s coy smile, and pursed his twisted lips in a playful smirk. "Ah, djou noticed. Volfman... Volfie... zhat is 'ow zhey know me. Few know my real name zhese days. I 'ave alvays been Volfman. It used to be endearing, from friends I 'ad vhen zhey found me as a young man, gave me and my... condition... a purpose." He rested his scarred cheek upon her hair, and closed his eyes, feeling tired with all the questions and thinking he was having to do to assuage her curiosity.

"Zhe issue is zhey know I am not easy to kill. And zhat if zhey try... if zhey try zhey could anger zhe zhing inside zhat makes me the legend I am to zhem." He frowned then, and his smile disappears. "I am not a legend for vhat I do... or 'ave done. I am nightmare itself for many of zhose killers. And inspiration. Zhe Volfman. Somezhing zhey aspire to be like. None of zhem can come close. Most vill never live as long... Zhey never live as long..." The werewolf's hands tightened a little on her legs, and his head dropped back against the headboard of the cot again, and he breathed deep. "Djou are not a veakness. For zhe most part, zhe Contractors are people 'oom 'ave come togezher because zhey 'ave nozhing else. Ve're family. Dysfunctional, sure. Zhere are zhe bully kids, and zhose zhat get on vell. But zhe Contracts... and zhose 'oom dish zhem out... zhey do not stand for zheir people fighting, and vill put a stop to it, vone vay or anozher." He smiled again, and squeezed gently once more, hoping she was still awake.

 

[unais]

They cannot separate us easily. He seemed adamant. She heeded him.

The little tugs along her scalp trickled soothing feelings in her head. She lay on him, listening to his stories.

She had a smile. One without caution. Unknown and natural.

The relationship between the man and werewolf was a push and pull of balance. Wy'Ziot had chosen to be more Man.

She wondered... if that was not what he had wanted. If it were a decision of necessity, more than of desire.

Normally she closed her eyes and wished away the history people had laded on her. But here she could see him. Feel him. His past came to her in disjointed pictures as he spoke. He heard her snuffed chuckles as he recalled himself, as a kid. Her hand was small compared to his. She shook her head, disapproving.

He trailed as his history turned to his torture. His enslavement.

"Do you regret seeing the world...?"

She didn't know. When the world opened up to her, if she found it in herself to accept it--that the world wasn't as vile a place as where she had woke. Been for years. Yet she never found a way to shake her history. And as she traveled, she always found the worst parts. Things always traced back to where she was before.

They came and went again and again. Reminder her. As if that were where she belonged.

A dreg of society.

Her mouth removed its smile as she listened seriously to his story of his moniker.

Frowned.

It was a family... some... kind of family...

Her mouth pulled. It hadn't seemed so. Respect was hardly exchanged there. Perhaps it was a begrudging camaraderie?

But he said what he said. And she seemed relieved.

She knew this was odd of her. For the words of someone to enter her heart and not be besieged by caution on all sides. Bombarded to nothingness by paranoia. Wariness so deeply inset in her that all she knew was that people lied. To themselves. By themselves. By accident.

But she believed him. Her perspective would be prepared the next she went.

He seemed tired, as his voice had slowed.

She looked up and confirmed his eyes were closed. Her mouth smiled.

Her head thumped down on his chest heavily. She inhaled, prepared herself to get up. Her brain was allayed. She was satisfied now, and could prepare to sleep.

Panyin made her way to the shelf near, bringing the pouch of his kit. She sat on the bed next to him. Quiet. Letting him a moment to prepare. She worked the powder in her fingers, the moisture of the air letting it clump. It would be easier. The wound had already sealed itself, and she was not keen to open it now, as she was the fresh wounds before.

She smiled a little, as if that were assurance, and looked down and began. She pressed the powder along the gap, loading thickly it into the wound so it would go inside as deeply as the powder would allow.

She left to wash her hands, and crawled back into bed upon her return. He stank of sweat and and the poison that had burned through his body, leaked through his skin. That beneath his skin was now neutralized, and coursed harmlessly through his veins. His body would get rid of the leftovers, eventually.

She sighed, content. "I could sleep now... My mind is not... restless." She paused. "If I should." She opened one eye at him. A cat smile at her lips. "Should I...? What will you do?" But it faded, and she seemed to settle more into the bed. "Do you need more rest...?" Then she propped herself up a bit, readying to leave. "Or do you want to walk around the city together...?"

Night was coming. It would be good to look around with him. In daylight, she knew the threats hid further beneath.

But they had time. A lot now, it seemed.

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy'Ziot remained quiet to her question about being sad to see the world. He could not say that; he had wanted it. What he hadn't wanted was for it to be forced in the way it had come about. Man, and his insistence on killing all that didn't fit their norm. The murder of his Tribe, and he, taken as a prize, and thrown in the pit when he refused to be tamed. The strung up until he could retaliate. He'd been just as awful as they in his massacre. He still couldn't recall if he'd left infected humans to turn, alone, and very scared. It was nothing but what they had deserved. And it had been his first taste of murder.

As his eyes drifted, he felt her weight shift, and leave. He mourned the loss of contact, and he opened his eyes to see her with that pouch. His mouth lowered in a frown, his eyebrows raised pleadingly, not to do it. The wound was nearly healed as it was!! But still, she say herself down, and ministered to the wound. His long nailed hands gripped the edges of the bed, threatening to snap the wood. But it survived, and the werewolf gave the girl a bit of a death stare. As she drifted off to wash up, the werewolf settled back, realising he was drenched in his own sweat. His eyes followed her, admiring her curves, taking in the sweep of her back, the length of her leg, the grace of her movement. He just wanted to use his teeth on that shirt and remove it!

He held back, though, and she snuggled up with him again. She offered a walk. He scoffed. "Panyin, I may be strong, but a valk after vhat I 'ave been zhrough, djou are a sadist!" He watched her, daring her to comment.

 

[unais]

"Pft." Panyin laughed at his face. Giggled even.

This girl.

Perhaps she was punishing him, a bit, for using this powder over her potions. There was a vain hope that, one day, fed up, he may ask to take her potions instead. She doubted that.

But his mixture remained a neat little trick. She was interested in it. Watching it, studying it. So she didn't mind. She would administer it as much as was necessary. And to stave off infection, the sooner cauterized, the better.

"Then I'm going to sleep." She stated. She closed her eyes. "Goodnight."

She slept less than fitfully. A miracle in itself that came often lately. They had two beds here; she would have been wise to sleep in her own. If he moved, rolled in his sleep, she would have woken. She needed the sleep. Unbroken sleep after what they'd been through.

But had preferred to stay there.

Morning came, again; as it always does.

Panyin was up with the sun. She performed morning customs; for the city. Washed her face, her nails, but not much else. If she were returning to the Contractors soon, she suspected things would not be remain clean until it was settled. Soon enough. And she would not clean up for them. But she did go through her pack and dig out a small hand brush of boar bristles to straighten her knots. It was usually fine to look like a traveler, but it helped not to look like a hick in the city. Her hair splayed out with static, the straight tresses now organized to blow freely like wheat fields from the plateau. Not clump like seaweed after the tide.

She brushed down the static with her hands, walking out to find Wy'Ziot awake.

She looked at him. Smiled, a little. Smugness crawled in. All these different smiles of her came up in his presence. She didn't notice.

"They said it should lay you up for two weeks… and now look at you." All better--just exhausted and hungry.

Panyin sat heavily into the chair near the table, her things were out, and she prepared to get her pantlegs on.

Holding onto them, she grabbed something from the desk and looked at it. It was another bottle. "This would restore your strength if you wanted it…" she paused, holding it up. And tossed it at him. To do with as he wished. She suspected he might just plop it back on the table with her lab.

Her pants were slipped up her legs and tied to the belt which held them. The city was oddly warm, with its constantly hustling parts. One linen under her vest would do, and the tunic on top, which obscured her form. She took a moment to relace the sides of her braaes, while a particular waft of warmth coursed out from the lab beside her. Something was bubbling away.

It smelled hot, fragrant. Peppery.

She wondered what it smelled like to him. What he would say it was if she asked. She picked up the vial at the end, as a drop collected precariously off the nodule. Looked at it through one eye. Then at him. "Do you want to try it?" Distilled down to the finest, unsatisfactory contents she could manage right now.

He didn't look impressed.

"…Aphrodisiacs." She took a sip. It was spicy. Hot on her tongue, like heated cinnamon apple spice and jalapenos. It went back under the dripping nodule with a clink. "I owed Mina a favor after getting you back here using her help… I denied all her other ones, but she asked for aphrodisiacs. For… maybe slipping into the drinks of…" Shrug, "potential clients." She felt barely a tingle. Panyin was immune. "But they don't exist. So I'll have to come up with…something."

There was a tingle. She was getting as close as she could. She wasn't sure if it was because she made her way by eating poisons and potions so what she made must now did nothing to her. She knew right now would would do more to other people. Perhaps she was already there with the potion.

She didn't believe in aphrodisiacs. But she would be damned not to make a tolerably good one.

She could not stand to leave challenges unrisen to. Making a disgusting poison for the use of the Contractors; that which's use was for only one person? She had to try it just because she needed to know she could do it. Creating aphrodisiacs the likes of which have never been proven to be exist in this world? She would eke out an existence for them.

Panyin stood from the chair.

"I'm going out to the market…" She had gone yesterday. Stared at him in thought, now. "I'll pick up something for you to eat." A big something.

She was out the door, and made it into the street. She wandered down the bright, cobbled paths, past the bakeries just putting out their morning batches, and made it just to the first edge of the market street before she felt as though a great weight were following after her.

She turned to look out for him. If she would find him, it'd be a smirk.

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy'Ziot struggled against sleep for a bit, just enjoying the silent companionship of the sleeping woman. He noticed things were still bubbling away in her kit, and wondered what she was doing, but he didn't care to move, not at this time. He allowed his muscles to melt, his eyelids to become heavy. Although he'd slept for so long already, his body screamed to be allowed to slip back into it, and he allowed it, piece by piece, to drift off. Panyin's warm body pressed against his hot and sweating one, which he had to admit was quite gross, allowed him to relax further, and soon, dreamless sleep carried him off.

It was her stirring that roused him. He realised he'd not even moved once in the night, had stayed flat upon his back, the fiery redhead upon his chest, and probably snored his way through the night with not so much as a turn of his head. He slowly allowed his eyes to open, and watched Panyin buzz about going about her morning chores. She had found a brush, it seemed, and he itched to get his hands on it, and brush out her red hair, just feeling it beneath his fingers. He smirked at her in response to her own grin, realising she was doing a lot more of that it seemed, compared to the sultry thing that had first appeared in his doorway. He realised, he, too, had changed a lot from that first encounter; he'd been aggressive, and threatening, but only as a means to an end. She just seemed to be pouty.

When she offered him the vial, he took t between his fingers, sniffed at the stoppered top, and slowly placed it down in the bedside table. He could see the disappointment in her eyes, but he didn't believe in these concoctions; they weren't for him to use, not willingly. He was a wild creature, and accepted that which was given to him, and he recovered under his own steam; besides, these things would have little effect. She tested them in a mostly human form, to which he was not. Though he might outwardly look human, his body metabolised things in a completely different way, and it was likely to just give him a bad case of the runs, or make him vomit, neither was overly appealing!! If she wanted to test on him to create werewolf specific potions, he was happy to assist.

When she offered him something to taste, Wy'Ziot leant forward, interested. He was about to flick out his tongue to taste, just as she said what it was; his face paled to something whiter than white, and he threw himself back into his bed, trying to avoid it like the plague. "Ahh, djou von't catch me vizh zhat stuff! Mina 'as played more zhan enough tricks on me vizh stuff like zhat!!" He remembered one particular incident with a love potion that left him stuck in his tavern room for three whole days, trying to avoid anything that moved. Whatever she'd fed him had seriously affected his Wolf, and it had been a dangerous and scary experience for him.

When she spoke of heading into the market, he nodded, agreeing it would be a good idea, however, his tunic needed cleaning, as did his poison stench body. She prepared herself, and did not wait for him. She set off, alone, towards the first stalls to open on the markets across the vast city. He managed to stagger himself down to the inn keeper, and requested a bath be drawn for him in his room, using the largest tub they had. The man in the tavern simply nodded, and went about warming water and gathering the required components. Wy'Ziot returned to his room and watched the man flurry to and fro, and as soon as the bath was drawn, wasted no time stripping off and sliding into the ferociously hot water.

He sat there, for a fair while, initially scalding his skin to a lobster red, beforen it cooled and he started to use the soap bar the man had provided to wash down his body. The man had also provided a shaving set; some shears, and a straight blade. Again, hating the idea of being completely clean shaven, the werewolf took up the shears and trimmed close to his cheek, chin, and jawline, the bristly white hairs that grew. He stayed in the water for a few moments longer, his skin pruning, before he stepped out and rubbed himself down with the provided soft, fluffy towel rag. He wrapped this around his waist as he leaned against the window frame, staring out over the roads that were starting to fill with people.

Clothing himself, grabbing his belt with his coin purses and other items, he checked when he had on him, identifying some items that he needed to replenish. His tunic was wrecked, so he left without it, leaving his now clean frame bare. He'd head for the clothing district, find something new to clothe his chest. He let his belt hang lower on his hips, as they weren't cinching in a tunic, and he left. The inn keeper would take care of the bath. In the middle of his chest, where the dagger had thunked against his sternum, it was dark edged, where the poison had stained him under the skin. It would take a few weeks for that to fade. He got very few looks in this City. That's why he liked it. He wasn't even the tallest! It made a nice change, and he swaggered about, happy to be able to go about his business.

The first stall he visited in the clothing and armoury district held a smart, form fitting black tunic, with padded leathery armoured areas in the chest, back and shoulder areas, laced together with goat leather for flexibility. He liked the look, and brought it, without visiting othe stalls for other options. What he liked most was a tribal wolf face motif on the right shoulder pauldron. Feeling fancy in his new clothing, and hoping it would last the day without needing stitching, he made a point of purchasing thread and needles so he could patch any clothing... or body parts... that required it. He also purchased a few more pouches and sacks to hang off his belt, and a new scabbard to protect his blade, once it was returned.

Next, he needed the Apothecarys. He knew these were in the produce districts, along with food, drink, and all manner of herb and spice. He loved this area of the Capital. The smells and excitement of the haggling and auctions in this area were particularly fierce, even more so than the jewellery districts, and the livestock districts combined. People loved a good quality spice!! He figured this may well be where he found Panyin too. He doubted she would be able to resist the spice and herb markets. He knew he had a specific shopping list to replenish his wound cauterising rub. Panyin was more than a little generous with it, and he was running low; she may well start forcing him to use her concoctions which robbed him of his scars. His hand idly scratched at his muscles midriff that peeked from below his new shirt top, and he thought about the ingredients he needed.

A good quality Celtic salt was his main ingredient; something dark with impurities of calcium and phosphates. Then he needed the herbs mixed through it; goldenrod, arnica, yarrow flowers, and comfrey. He wasn't exactly sure why the combination caused the reaction with his blood that it did, and why it caused such a sticky, and then hardened natural glue, but it hasn't yet failed him in staving off infection, nor stopping his bleeding immediately. As he neared the district he needed, her petite frame, and fiery hair flared from the crowd; his nostrils flared as they took in her scent. She turned; her eyes locked with him immediately, and her smirk was coy and playful. How had she known? He returned it, and stalked towards her, draping his upper body over her shoulders. "I am so tired, Panyin. I zhink djou should carry me."

 

[unais]

The shadows of the city were cold. Stone and plaster, cobble. But it breathed with life. She felt relaxed here, for a time. The shadows did not claw her as they passed. If something were to happen to her now, she would be satisfied.

So she put it away. The things that clung to her and told her to be wary. Be afraid.

"That one." She was at the meat market, just at the edge of the street. Fresh cuts already had been set up since morning. The city was wealthy enough to be importing ice from the mountains near to them. The stone slates tables were lined with thick rocks of it, and cuts were being packed on now, still much more meat to be fully set up. She pointed to half a goat, whose being was not recognizable from the way it was stripped clean, butchered. Ready to be eaten She paid, and the man waited about to see if she needed assistance with it. She did not care any more, for the clothes had lived their lifetime. She gathered the carcass over her shoulder and took it to the markets where she could pay to have it cooked. The pants and vest were negotiable.

She paid the chefs, who were jolly and surprised to see such a large cut of meat being asked for this early morning. She looked to be one person. Her head lilted, knowing what they thought when they looked at her; though they had not said it. Now she know why she was comfortable, here. Walking along. Perusing the city in her own silence.

She didn't feel as though she were just one here. Smiled to herself. The back of her hand rubbed her chin where it was sticky with his sweat. Her cheek too. The smell mired her senses, but she didn't mind it. She was strong enough to sense though it. Kept it close, and not distracted.

The tailor was on the other street, and it pained her to pull away from the herb market. She'd gotten as close as the vegetables; and brought the cooks leeks, sweet potatoes, onions, carrots, garlic, and a soft city cheese to go along with the meat. She kept her eyes down from the rest of the street. She knew to resist for more reasons than one.

Panyin ducked into the soft lit cloth haven textiles. Half its set-up was outside, the light softened through the sheets pulled out to shade them. She looked for linen. It tended to last her longer than cotton, and it forgave her through hot weather. Furs, she would grab along the way, would she need the warmth. She found a light, unobtrusive shade of linen. An off shade of parchment. It'd hide faded bloodstains better. And one more color. She asked them about layered linens, to redo her pantlegs. It would be quite a costly thing, and they were curious of her designs. Stated it was like the courtesan lingerie garters or chausses for soldiers. They took her measurements, told her to come back before noon for the shirts.

She wavered. The food would not be ready until then either.

Panyin wandered herself back to the market, apprehensive. She knew she should not peek. But she craved it. The noise rose, the smell of spice, warmed by hands, shook by exchange had carried along with it, and it started to take her. The largest apothecary district in the city stretched out around the corner as she turned. The epicenter of the city could be seen in the distance. The spoke of a wheel around which turned a gargantuan machine.

She hadn't brought all her things. It was foolish. She needed more bags. She needed to carry all of this back and then what? Dispose of the satchels and cases she would buy? The smells in her head were colored by what was in front of her. The flesh of the plants laid bare. Her took what they needed. Judged quality, quantity, heard prices. There were so many things she could make that she hadn't in a while. There wasn't even one place to begin. She could live here for a few months and be satisfied until she were empty.

The fingers that touched her neck stuck, and the smell of him, his poison, the sweat that had lade over him as he struggled through a night. She remembered.

Her steps guided her to where the spices titillated the air. Where people giggled in delight as they passed, unbeknownst to them. She would take these for aphrodisiacs. It would be a long way before it narrowed. Spicy, hot things. Cacao.

Things that got the blood pumping. She realized, slowly, as she expanded for ingredients, all she needed was poison after that. Get the blood pumping, diminish the sense of anger to nothing, raise the euphoria. But still. That was just like getting drunk. It wasn't the same.

Large lobed flowers stopped her by this stall. Dried by now, but brilliant purple in this light. The mark of light and shadows passed over goers as they walked, running over them, a glow in the shadows of the tall buildings hedging them at the sides. Bunches of flowers lay across this crowded stall, and she reached in for a stalk. Paid the vendor. Just one.

It touched her lips, and she drank it in. It smelled like poison. She closed her eyes and walked. Could taste the smell along her tongue. Aconite. Monkshood. The devil's helmet. The queen of all poisons.

Wolf's bane.

Poison. She only had needed to taste it once. She had felt every part of it but its touch. She knew its insides by the taste in her tongue. She saw what it did.

The image of him, as the convulsions took him. Robbed him into a vulnerable state.

She remembered. And put it away. It would burn beneath. She would need the fire to create.

Panyin came back to the rest of her surroundings. She hadn't even brought her potions to haggle. It was such a painful mistake. Yet that did not last as she felt him. He had found her. Without her calling to him. Her skin prickled as she smirked. Then she paused. There was something quite different, starkly wrapped around him. His skin made whiter. The armor made darker. He approached her, like a black wolf haloed by moonlight rather than a white giant now. She hesitated, but he asserted reality, coming over her. She exhaled, amused. Happy. She pushed up on him. It was impossible to move him.

"You're tired? What have you been doing?" Facetious. "Where were you? I had to lug half a goat to the cooks by myself." It was easy.

She did not hate this. Not at all. Everything about this... she enjoyed being with him. His sudden presence. For him to come back to her and be plainly there. His reality did not hide from hers, and she did not question whether they had met each other. Things were strange for her. They always were. Even now.

Yet he stayed in a place where her mind could not question it. He was truly there. And he was not disappearing.

Yet, despite all that, meanly, she held up the flower. She ducked out from under him and wrapped herself around his arm, not letting him escape if he had planned to run far. She breathed in the monkshood, looking over it at him with those eyes. "...I need it." She dropped it into her bag at her side. "Don't worry."

She would not let him go. He smelled of soap; a faintly lemongrass lye and animal fat. He was clean now. But her hands could not tell, if they had stroked along his skin now. Hers were dusted with the fruits of her conquest. Now she was the only one left. She was probably getting his arm dirty. Tsk. Yet she leaned closer, spoke into his arm. "Take me to where I can buy another knife."

She would need it.

She borrowed a kitchen knife from the tavern downstairs. But she wanted one on her person. Especially going back.

From this side, she could see the etchings of a wolf on the shoulder. She couldn't think that he had bought this simply for the cheap design.

 

[Malhyanth]

The werewolf rested quite comfortably over her shoulders, his back hunched to reach her height, his stubbled cheek lost within the fiery wisps of her red hair. He closed his eyes and happily sighed, listening to the few chuckled that went up around them stuck dead in the centre of the street, a giant leant across a tiny lass, her just about holding him up. His arms dangled uselessly around her, but he raised one to his chest and he gasped, stricken by her words, pulling away as she wormed her way out from beneath him to suction to he other arm.

"Vhat 'ave I been doing to be so tired?" The albino pressed the back of his hand against his forehead and almost wailed with the inequality of it all, his face trying not to break into his mischevious grin. "I 'ave suffered zhe vomen of zhe Clozhing District to replace zhe tunic djou ruined by being noisy at zhe bosses. And zhen before even zhat, I 'ad to squeeze into such a tiny little bazh tub!! Djou do not understand zhe pain of not fitting into such zhings! Only a part of djou vet at any vone time!!" He dramatically lowered to his knees before her, the smirk started to break through his stricken expression. "And zhen!! Only zhen!! Could I seek to find djou, my dear Panyin, and djou did so meander zhrough zhe town, and I lost djou so many times, just out of reach!!"

His dramatic performance had raised a few eyebrows, and drawn a bit of a crowd from those seeking to identify their herbs and spice requirements. Children, probably usually pickpocketing, had stopped to giggle at the giant of a man, whom even on his knees was nearly as tall as the woman he bowed before. Finally, his grin, sharp and by now so familiar, spread across his features, and he stood, breaking the illusion, and the world around them continued. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself, feeling her slap to his arm and side in embarrassment. They walked on, as he kept an eye out for his requirements. He peered down as she offered a flower for his perusal, and he couldn't help by wrinkle up his nose at its scents, so unpleasant and bitter to him, yet she seemed to enjoy it. She mentioned something about a poison, but he wasn't really paying attention. He was enjoying the way the sun glinted down on their perambulation, and he was also drawn to a familiar face on the stalls.

He narrowed his eyes at her a little at her query, and pressed one large finger against her mouth, checking for guards, before heading toward the stall he had spotted. The man behind the counter was big by these human standards, and similarly looking to Wy'Ziot in the way his skin was pale, his hair a golden halo of curls, his clothes were make shift, like they were homemade by him and his family, but the stricking resemblance were the facial features; a broad squared off jaw, straight nose, though his eyes were more narrowed than Wy'ziot's and his brows much heavier. He grinned warmly, and it was the voice that provided the truth of where this man heralded from.

"Ah! Vy'Ziot!! Djou return from djour adventures, and vizh such a pretty zhing on djour arm!! My my, ve must catch up before djou leave again!! Tell me of djour daring do, and all zhat!!" Wy'Ziot shook the offered hand warmly, and grinned his sharp grin at the more portly fellow. The man was clearly strong, but it was obvious he was well fed, and that his wares brought him a great deal of trade. Wy'Ziot delved into his pouches, and showed the man the lightness of his smallest, jerking a nod to Panyin and grimacing in mock annoyance.

"Zhis vone 'as used up most of my powders from djou. Tell me djou 'ave everyzhing required to make more?" The broad stallkeeper waggled a thick finger at his favourite homeland customer, and started to rummage through all his various thick ceramic jars and pots, ladling various grades of substance together into a pestle and mortar, and then started to bash away. The stallkeeper cast an impressed look to the girl on his arm still, raising those thick eyebrows.

"Never took djou for zhe type for a red 'ead!!" The stallkeeper joked, and smiled at the girl. "I 'ope zhis man is proving to djou zhat us brutes from zhe Vestern vilds are sveet and doting beings! My name is Zhaa'kir. If djou ever need anyzhing, djou come to me, see? Any friend of my Landbrozher 'ere vill alvays get beat prices." Wy'Ziot glared at the stallkeeper down his nose, but the man just kept smiling at Panyin. That which was in his pestle had formed the fine salty dust Wy'Ziot had come for, and it was carefully decanted into the pouch Wy'Ziot had provided. One of the silver nuggets was produced to a low whistle of appreciation from the stallkeeper. "'Oo did djou kill for trade such as zhis?" Wy'Ziot winked and leant in close to the stallkeeper.

"It vas a nosy Stallkeeper 'oom didn't know vhat vas good for 'im!" Zhaar'kir laughed heartily, and waved off the jovial threat, before hefting the lump about. Before pointing to the girl.

"Djou look interested. Save me zhe trouble of vrestling a price haggle vizh zhis beast; anyzhing take djour fancy darling? It's on zhe big man. I only stock zhe finest 'erbs, spices, and reagents from across zhe globe 'ere. Envy of all of zhe Apozhecary District I am. Don't listen to zhe ozhers vhen zhey tell djou zhey are zhe best; zhis guy only buys from me, vhich must mean I'm good!" He took one of her hands and gently kissed in before indicating all his random pots and ceramics, as well as pestles and mortars, a few glass flasks, and a few other items important for an alchemist, and some other items were hidden below the counter.

 

[unais]

Panyin batted him more than once during his performance. "Stop it--stop that; you're making a scene." She hated the attention, but she was laughing.

But his plight of the bathtub. She could imagine it. It felt bad, and she began to sympathize, but the other side of embarrassment and laughter kept her rooted in the sunlit reality. It burned her with its curtailed light. They were in a half-shadowed stage, the light cutting obliquely over them both, like a crosshairs of a godly heavens. It was insulting to bring attention to the two idiots that they were.

He shushed her after his performance. She lightly bit at his finger as it retreated from her face. She had practically whispered; when did he expect her to talk? She wasn't afraid of guards... Though... she probably should be.

She barely noticed that they had stopped into one of the stalls until she was looking at a man with broad shoulders and a straight nose. The strong jaw, the striking whiteness of his skin. Her head lilted, observing him without manners until their exchange made sense of what resembled. Ha ha...

Wy'Ziot had felt her jump a little when the vendor talked. She hadn't expected another man of the Western Wilds, honestly. They were few and far between from the places she had traveled in the world. She usually came across them months at a time.

Her face relaxed in some semblance of openness. Pretty thing? She hadn't even washed... Oh, she had washed her hair. Barely. They were lucky she had made herself presentable. She and Wy'Ziot barely looked passable in general. Combed, uncombed; greasy with the travels of several months or not; her hair was a stark red to his whiteness. Yet they almost seemed to match with his clay. She looked miniature by comparison, and he, larger as he towered over her. There was nothing they could do to make this look more normal. But with this conversation... she realized there was more to Wy'Ziot's world than these little things she had known of him. Even if she had been privy to his secrets to the outside world, there was more.

He had companions. Other people in the world who knew him, for more than just a killer. Potentially.

And she felt herself thinking she were relieved she was not there ruining his image.

Wy'Ziot speaking of her brought her back to the conversation.

It struck her that he wasn't the one to make his powder. This man was. She had thought, from the mortar and pestle...

The conversation went out of her head as the vendor turned to create the mixture. Scraps of the conversation caught in her mind like detritus in a sea net. She could smell what it was. She leaned in. Tried not to breathe deep, to interrupt and mix it in her mind. Salt. Likely Celtic, but a grade she couldn't recognize by sight except seeing a consistent impurity was picked. She saw the colors, and smells for arnica, comfrey. Goldenrod, yarrow flowers.

She had known all those. Known from the taste before, mixed and bubbled, acrid with werewolf blood. Except it was the salt that still escaped her. Calcium and phosphorus. She didn't know the levels as she tasted it. She didn't know it now. He ground it to a fine powder, the flora stretched to dust and dried by the salt into almost nothing.

He was talking to her. She blinked out of herself and let her other mind replay its scraps. Consume its catch.

Sweet and doting... Panyin smiled as if she were about to be gently skeptical. But the words that came were naught but sincere. "That does sound like him..." He was doting of her. He seemed to pay attention to her every moment she was in his sight. Even while it was so unusual that it was foreign, it was not... uncomfortable.

The vendor, Zhaa'kir, pointed to her, recounting her attention. Her arm had been slipping slowly from Wy'Ziot's as they had drawn further into the canopied shop, and she abandoned him at the invitation.

She didn't know where to start... except for the corner. Her steps were measured.

"Can I have that in writing...?" Voice lilted with her accent. "Before both of you regret what you just said...?" Panyin practically cracked her knuckles.

She kept her back to Zhaar'kir, mostly. He was a shred businessman, she was sure. If he saw the way she loomed, the spirit of haggling could still come back with a vengeance. She didn't have all her things--so she had no footing here. Almost. Her hand touched her bag as she walked through the edges of the shop.

"So..." She spoke to give herself a moment's peace from their eyes. Men could not talk and watch securely at the same time. "...what kind of women is Wy'Ziot usually the type for?" Panyin was getting a three for the price of one; and she was cashing in. The smile hid on the other side of her face as Zhaar'kir turned to Wy'Ziot to answer.

The shop opened up in front of her, as her mind mostly retreated from them. Everything sparked up at her and she had to chance to buy it all. She bit her finger. Goat blood, the hairs of the flower she had held rang through her senses. She didn't want to show him herself sticking her hands in all the little pots and taste everything. She had to rely on scent. But apothecaries had the same languages, in the same circles. It was a different tongue she would use. Her eyes, and another part of her. Business. So the shop spoke to her.

It was not an undeserved advertisement. The reagents seemed fresh. The herbs were well preserved, some iced, watered and fresh. The sort of thing afforded by luxury and a stern, discerning nose. The latter was something she respected. A stickler for quality was someone who could be trusted. She didn't detect a great deal of impurities added to easy elements. The salts and white powders were exactly what they seemed to be, little mounds labeled in neat orders in their various jars and covered pots.

She carefully lifted the lids of the little ceramic containers, and padded them back down, their little clinks muted with the dusting of powder. 'How much is this. And this?' Her questions echoed throughout the store.

He was not seeming to swindle her, she came to find out as the prices became known to her. She seemed satisfied with the perusal. So she turned, standing at the far end, and pointed vaguely about. "Then, I'll take half of everything." She pointed to the flasks he had on sale. "And the bottles."

Smiled at Wy'Ziot, not knowing the value of that lump of silver aside from its hundreds. An exact number was not in her skillset with gemology.

"Is a trade in order to make this right?" She asked Zhaa'kir, and reached for her bag.

 

[Malhyanth]

The Stallkeeper chuckled at the girl's inquisitiveness, and Wy'ziot's face of muted disdain for such questions to be asked about him; he crossed thick arms over his broad chest, and the huff that escaped him was very animalistic. The Stallkeeper seemed to have no issue with this talking, and as the albino no longer required his services, he started to follow the girl about. He admired her keen senses, and wondered what she created with such a keen nose. He always marvelled at those able to pick the very best of ingredients, and of course, he considered himself the best in this city!!

"Vy'Ziot? And vomen? 'Ave djou not seen 'im girly?" The laugh was jovial, belly rumbling, but the pout Wy'Ziot held was a dark one as he listened from his position away from them on the internals of the covered stall. "Djou zhink any voman vould choose zhat face!? 'Ah!!!! Djou are zhe first I 'ave ever seen valking zhe streets zhis 'im!!" Again, the laugh, and Wy'Ziot turned his back to watch the crowd for a bit, feeling a little hurt by the observation from one of the few people he regularly conversed with; would he consider him a friend? Probably not, but he was certainly no stranger!

"Vhy don't djou get on vizh fleecing us of our coin, Zhaa'kir?" The words were spoke curtly, and Zhaa'kir laughed again, reaching across the tables of ceramics, giving the albino's shoulder a stout punch for being sensitive. It was Panyin's statement of taking half of everything that had both Western men turn and stare at her, mottled ones and deep blue ones equally wide, though Wy'ziot's face also suggested a level of shock. The Stallkeeper waved off whatever she was offering, and held out a hand to the werewolf. Wy'Ziot grumbled, and released two more chunks into the hand. Zhaa'kir weighed the chunks, and assessed them closely, before nodding, and going about the business of packing up everything as requested by this spoilt brat!

Wy'Ziot closed his hand around her wrist and pulled her out from the store, his face hard, especially as he watched Zhaa'kir. "Vhat do djou need all zhat for? Do djou even know vhat it all is?" He grumbled, seeing pouch upon pouch, little jar upon little jar prepared and settled into a large haversack that Zhaa'kir had had under one of his tables. Wy'Ziot rubbed at his forehead. Wondering how on the planet they were going to carry all this kit around. Sure the stallion was strong and stout, but even he'd struggle!! Looked like they'd be walking for a while!!

 

[unais]

His laughs were loud, the harshness cutting through the still dimness with more joviality than companionship. Panyin peered back from her perusing, and as the light was cut across him, noticed Wy'Ziot's lines had softened. He had turned away from them. She resumed her shopping, not to let Zhaa'kir catch her watching her companion. His voice was curt, behind her, the semblance of warmth robbed, now.

Her teeth gritted as she watched the exchange of a much heavier amount of coin than she had wanted, and was distracted with her little musings, disappointed she hadn't a chance to barter, not noticing Wy'Ziot's approach until he yanked her out of the stall.

"Ow--" It was force she hadn't expected, and in the hard light away from the merriment the vendor was making, she could see that the lines of his face were harder. Just about what she would have expected, but more than she would have thought. They were not friends who had watched each other. But before any words came to her, he stole the space from her mind.

The frown was small, as was the agape. "Do I know what all this is?!" She yanked her arm back, but all her strength wouldn't break his grip if he didn't allow her to. He hadn't heard her the other night, it seemed. She couldn't blame him--just awoken, barely aware and she lade some crucial information she expected him to remember.

But she was incensed. "Do you know who I am??" It was in her nature to find, to figure out. To destroy a form and distill its essence. Create something else. "I'm an alchemist." Her voice contained in volume only, hissed from her throat. Her mouth opened once more, but the words choked, too many at once.

She stopped, Zhaa'kir talking. He was almost done. She didn't hear what he said, and reached into her bag. Two small vials, unstoppered and swallowed down, residue wiped away with her wrist.

"Thank you." She smiled for him, approached the vendor and picked up the bag with both hands as if it were filled with cotton. As she clutched it, hugging it to herself, something inside her was giddy as the bags upon jars shifted, their multitudinous presence fraught with a known future for her. Yet it was behind another part of her mind that remained her center stage. And a knowing that she had an act to continue. So contain it. She lifted the bag with one hand, resting it behind her shoulder.

"Perhaps you'll need help from me next time, Mister Zhaa'kir..." She held out the bag at arm's length, before letting it come back to her shoulder. She watched him kiss her hand in parting. "Don't hesitate to ask..." She stepped back, before showing herself to the door.

"I'll see you... at home." To Wy'Ziot, without looking at him. Let her feet take her very quickly away.

It hurt to leave the Apothecary Market without having perused all the wares into exhaustion.

He had been hurt, and left alone to bear as he stood five feet away from her; yet her temper raged, mangling her priorities. She knew this. She felt it. She wanted to allay his pain. To have had something to say, and slake the reminders uncalled for. Yet he incensed something inside her and it all burned away her senses and left only the spirits of her other thoughts. The only thing left untouched was alchemy, work she had to do, so she followed it.

The thoughts followed her as well. Nothing but wisps with no strength in their hold. The only one seen walking. He said. No one else? Not one?

Inertia carried her back to where she said she'd be. The bag thumped heavily against the wall.

Lunch and breakfast would be missed at the marketplace. The chefs she'd asked to braise meat, breakfast, and dinner. She should have brought more vegetables after she settled with her things. The bones would be stewed into a thick broth, for the night, and for the morning. She forgot to even tell him. Her hands pressed to her face.

Her anger razed everything and left her with nothing. And when she knew it was wrong she followed the inertia anyhow.

She opened her eyes and resumed her work.

She would see him later.

She was here, so she would follow that inertia.

She had walked in its trail knowing it should find her comfort. Give her peace and let her anger burn itself out. Yet she stood here and felt nothing. It smoldered, cold. So she would make something of it.

Aconite was cut and ground. Bitterness was tasted. Elements distilled. filling two bottles to their long, narrow necks. Two were done. Then the tower of reagents, wrapped still like a corpse in that bag. A dozen ingredients were pulled onto the table. She tried all of them. Her head buzzed with the possibilities. The strength of them would have to be ferreted out. She worked in three labs, moving ingredients into each other as the parts emptied. Nothing unused. Her mind found its rhythm, its numbness. It was not enjoyed.

Then it stopped. Everything. She counted the work and checked what she could do. There was nothing left. It would take time.

So she stretched. It brought no comfort. She followed that inertia, numb now from her outside to her inside. Deep inside to where her thoughts could not reach. The owner was asked to draw up a bath.

He asked her if it were to be drawn to the rim, for a giant upstairs. She didn't know what to say. He laughed it off, thinking she was embarrassed. Just for her then.

Hunger gnawed, but she could still think. That was enough.

The tub was filled. She stripped off her clothes. The tunic that was slathered with dying meats and the linens that were unwashed since the stead. She didn't pick up her clothing from the tailor either.

Everything was a mess. The only thing in order was her work.

Her fingers slipped from the rim of the tub into the water. It was barely warm. She didn't like hot, and hardly warm. The luxury of it bittered her mouth. When she felt that she could lend herself rest, that her reprieve was one not to be disturbed, she could give herself to hot water. Cold, bracing was what was found in the wilds, and warmth seized her with the worry of a languid lure. Warmth that would let her guard down.

Her feet eased in one at a time, before she slipped in up to her neck. It gave her aches. Reminded her of what she had done. She raked her hands through her hair. Then went underwater. She scrubbed with the brush and soap, sloughing the skin off her body until it was smooth and raw. She scraped her nails, cleared the skin through her hair. The oils of lavender buds in the soap floated along the surface, fragrancing the water, the skin of it tight with detritus. The bathroom drained through the floor, after the water dropped through the bottom of the tub. She rinsed herself, after, with the a pail and bucket from the sink, and stood in the cold air, which took no heat from the tepid bath.

She let her head down, the water dripping, before she began to dry herself, and come to the bedroom.

She thought he would be there, but she wanted to hide in this towel anyhow. She let her steps take her forward, through the door.

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy'Ziot was shocked by her anger at him, and as she yanked back her arm, he allowed it, straightening back, wincing a little as she hissed at him. He watched her show off her wares, and noted the stunned look of his countryman. The Stallkeeper went to speak with him, as the girl stalked away, but Wy'Ziot simply waved him off, his features hard, and walked off in the opposite direction to the girl. His steps took him through the Apothecary District, through to the Food Districts. She had mentioned something about a goat, and he knew she had stormed off now and likely forgotten all her other carefully planned purchases. Had she mentioned a clothing woman? He felt like she may have mentioned it in passing.

He stalked through the vendors, asking any that looked busy with a carcass, or where the scent of goat wafted, whether they had had dealing with a fiery little red head, holding his hand to just below his pectorals to indicate her height. One finally assisted him, stated they'd seen the crazy lass carrying half a carcass across to the vendor further down, with the green awning. Wy'Ziot thanked them, and headed towards it. Inside, scents of spice and fat sizzling assaulted his senses, and he peered around. A huge pile of earthenware dishes, lidded, and stoppered with hard baked clay were piled high close to the entrance. He inspected them, and found a note with letters upon it, but knowing not how Panyin's name was written, he left the paper slide from his fingers. The vendor approached, asked if he was here to collected for the red head. Asked if he wanted any of the bones to take too; perhaps from the appearance of such items all across Wy'ziot's body. He nodded, saying little, features still hard with thought.

The earthernware was loaded up into two sacks across a beam, a multitude of meals. The vendor explained he'd made the decision to use the full extent of the beast she had bought; as per her request, though he'd used more of his stock of supplies than he'd anticipated. Wy'Ziot hefted the wooden bar up one handed to balance across his shoulders, and supplied the man with further coin. Deal done, Wy'Ziot made the lovely walk back up to the inn. The scents of the meals were disguised in their clay stoppered casings, and as he entered the inn, the Barkeep stated the little lady he shared the room with was bathing. Wy'Ziot frowned at him, and the Barkeep ducked his head, returning to his cleaning.

As he entered their rooms, he could hear the lapping of water against wood, ceramic, and skin. The scents of lavender, patchouli, and that lye soap tingled his nostrils. Patchouli was a scent he found very difficult to resist, and it made his belly tighten to smell it so vibrantly through the rooms. His eyes cast about upon her working labs, his nose startingto be distracted by the acrid scents here, and his nose wrinkled up, brows still low. He lifted the bar of the meal bags, the muscles and veins of his arm popping through the skin, showing his strength to the empty room. As he placed down the bags gently, releasing the bar from them to rest this separately against the wall, he looked around once more, before shaking his head. He wasn't sure he was ready to speak with Panyin yet.

He turned, bare feet quiet pads upon the floor, as he slid the door closed as the smell of patchouli intensified, and it sounded like water was draining from the other room. He stepped down the tight staircase carefully, and once at the bottom, indicated to the Barkeep, whom this time kept his comments to himself when faced with the giant man. "I'll take vhiskey. Oldest djou 'ave. Make it large." The Barkeep nodded, and poured the drink, offering a shard of ice, which Wy'ziot nodded to. Taking what should have looked a large glass into his hand, it nearly disappeared, its rounded bottom invisible. Wy'Ziot stepped out into the afternoon warmth, and sipped his drink, before settling himself down upon the steps leading to the Inn's veranda. He liked to people watch, and in this town, it was easy to do. His chest still stung a little, and he rubbed at it. He knew he felt a lot better, and a lot faster, than he would have had he been left to sweat out the poisons. Usually he would have found his way to Mina when this happened, and she would hold him up in her bed for as long as it took the tremors to subside, the sweats to ease, his speech to return. She'd bathe his head, his neck, his chest, care for him, as a true friend. Possibly the only one he'd had in the world.

Panyin was right to be wary of keeping appearances in that dank, underground world. Wy'Ziot had simply given up caring a long time ago. They had all, at some point or another, tried to eradicate him, and he bore the scars. Only once had someone nearly succeeded, and the Wolf had released himself to end the combat. That had been a dark day, and Wy'Ziot had been severely punished for killing one of their own. Maim them, ensure they could never carry out a Contract again, but to outright shred the guy? That had resulted in a sort of coma from the administration of their poison. Mina had fretted for weeks over him. Sat on the step, his head bowed, and his hands tightened around the glass. Why had he taken on this waif? She made his brain fog, confused his world, turned it upside-down with her perpetual stubbornness. He sipped his drink,

"You're lookin' good, darlin'! Out of bed already? Makin' a stir in the streets I hear!" The lilting, sing-song voice made him smile as he looked up, his muscles easing as her blue eyes flashed at him, her body more covered for this outing into the Capital; he tilted his head to admire Mina's tall, lean shapes beneath the sheer cloth toga she'd chosen. He held out his drink to her, and her caressed his wrist and hand before taking it, letting the burning liquid full her mouth, and handing it back with her usual giggle. "Oh Wolfie, you always did know how to treat a girl. Why the sullen look?" She held out one of her long fingered hands, which he took, and pressed to his forehead in his usual greeting to her, and again, her giggle like bells tinkling rang out.

"No reason, friend. Remembering zhings. Realising zhat girl 'as a talent zhat Zhey are going to find extremely useful." Wy'Ziot rubbed his chest once more, and Mina pursed her full red lips, laying her hand upon his claggy dreadlocks, tracing down that scar of his face on the left side. She knelt down before him, and forced his chin up. Her eyes were sad, apologetic, and Wy'Ziot went to question her, she pushed forward and kissed him, forcefully. His drink was spilt to the side as she pressed against him, and he felt, between their mouths, a hard capsule passed. He clamped it between his teeth, and placed the glass down beside him, using both hands to extricate her from him. "Mina vha..." She shushed him, looking towards the entrance of the Tavern sheepishly, before giving him a final peck on the cheek and stalking away, like a cat on the prowl.

He removed what she had passed him from his mouth. It was a small ceramic capsule, and he knew inside would be a message. His chest heaved a sigh, and he cracked it between his fingers. Inside, a small piece of rolled up parchment. She knew he couldn't read, so why had she given him this? The letters were jumbled nonsense, but it was written concisely.

'Do not let my Wolfie return. He'll be in danger.'

The lettering confused him. He figured it was a sign they'd noticed he was already up and about, and this was a summons. He'd have to ask someone to read it, but being from Mina, and that underground world, there were few he'd trust to read it to him. He rolled it back up, carefully, and pulled forward a dreadlock with a large bone bead. He tucked the message into it, to try and decifer later, or identify someone he could trust to read it to him. He checked the glass he'd set down. Not much had spilt, so he didn't have to replace it quite yet. The shard of ice inside was twirled, and he returned to his silent musings, watching the weird and wonderful mix of people walk past the Tavern.

 

[unais]

He was not back yet, and she was… relieved. And not. She tried to end painful things as soon as they were able to be. She would set a string to a wound before it stopped bleeding.

But she lagged when it was her steps that needed to take her there.

Panyin finished drying herself off, draping the towel over her head to absorb water without effort. There was a beam against the wall here, and she looked about, realizing the smells she had detected were not from outside and downstairs. Her feet padded to the earthenware, crouched to lift the lid. Goat. In pieces, braised and dressed. The smell sucked to her, released from its wet confinement, and her stomach hankered in response. She placed it back down with a gritty thud. The rest of her was repulsed, and was her majority.

She stood to dress, letting the towel fall down to her shoulders while she stared at the bed of unwashed clothes. She had bathed as if it were intended to get back into filthy dress afterwards. Then requiring another bath. Everything was a mess.

She was bad, she knew it, and her mercurial nature was punishing her.

She steeled. The shirt that had touched her skin went over the one that had been between that and the tunic. The tunic was left behind. But the pants. She couldn't bring herself to wear them, as she would have to wash the length of her legs again if she did. She looked in the mirror, where the shirts fell down to her knees. It was not the most unusual thing people wore in the city. Young ladies seemed to wear it as such all the time. But she felt like she were wearing pajamas.

It could be fine. Just cold. The day was warm, and she would not regret it until night.

She splayed her hair, fanning it out in a mess so that the strands would dry. Just a belt encircled her waist to suspended her things.

Now she looked like what she was. A traveler, and a lost girl. She looked a spring wild child, clad in white. It annoyed her.

She slipped on her shoes, and set out.

The tavern owner didn't seem impressed when he saw her, and she returned his odd look as she walked out the front, squinting as she turned her gaze to the blazing light outside.

And stopped with shock as she crossed the threshold.

He, sitting there, serene and brilliant from the sun.

She released her hold on the bottle she'd been gripping as she walked, forgetting it as against her hips.

She felt the same as before. That something urged her to words, but the body had nothing. The mind had nothing. Her throat strung tight for action, but sat unbidden.

So she stared for more.

Edged closer to him. Sat awkwardly beside him. Same as ever from before. Her knees shone white as well, exposed as the shirt drew back. The stone was cold beneath her, the warmth already drawn into her shirt, into her skin.

In some ways didn't care what he thought of her.

Her eyes watched him. Steady, undetermined. Then she leaned her head against him, his arm. Her forehead pressed, her face down; shadowed from the nearly overhead sun. Leaned heavily. Tried to breathe a relief. Something else gnawed inside, uncertainty lashing her.

"…What are you doing out here?" The sun felt strongly along her neck, crisping her hair.

 

[Malhyanth]

His ears pricked at the sound of her inside; her distinctive footsteps, so natural for him to pick up on since their meeting, and subsequent travels. He remained where he was; he would not run to her to seek forgiveness. She was as much at fault, and Wy'Ziot couldn't help but feel that for once, he shouldn't be the one seeking the forgiveness. Her steps were light, hesitant, as they padded out to his position on the steps. A slow draught of his drink was taken, the heat burning its way down his throat. As she sat, her hand and head pressing against his arm, he sipped once again.

Her question was simple, her posing of the question almost judgemental. His head lowered, trying to work out how to answer, and failing. He looked up, to watch a few individuals pass by. "I enjoy zhe sun, especially vizh my drink." He muttered, avoiding the truth of the matter. He offered her the burning liquid, before sneaking a look at her, and felt his chest and belly tighten at her appearance. She looked at wild as he; her hair was like a halo of red gold, her skin tinted from the sun, her bare legs long for her size, and so tempting, her face fiercely defiant. He smirked, lowering his head again to admire his bare feet. "Djou're drawing stares vizh zhat get up." His voice held an edge of a chuckle, and he swirled the drink as he took it back and tilted the remainder into his mouth, savouring the way it flared in his chest, and warmed him from the inside out.

Slowly, he extricated his arm from her, and wrapped it gently around her shoulders, pulling her into his shadow, his way of extending an apology. "Zhey 'ave sent a message. Mina..." He stopped, remembering her body pressed against his, her lips upon his own, her tongue, and the capsule she had passed. His neck heated at the thought. "She came by. Gave me zhe message. Zhey know I am back on my feet so soon. Zhey know djour skill level now." He quietened, and licked his lips for a moment. He free hand raised and rubbed at his chest for a moment, still remembering the sting and thud of the blade.

"Ve should 'ead back down zhere soon... 'ow is djour... laboratory?" He peered back down at her again, and then back to the to and fro-ing of those that passed the inn.

 

[unais]

It didn't seem opposed to him, but she could see him enjoying the light. It was a warm spring on the cusp of giving birth to summer.

She lifted her head, hearing she was getting stares. Her mouth pulled. She knew she looked like a child but she had only gambled on blending in. But she didn't see any lingering eyes, and looked up at him. Is it only your stares? The words that remarked snidely inside her but all she did was smile an edged smirk.

Missed his offer, but he didn't seem hurt by it. Swallowed down his whiskey.

A sigh was halted as he pulled away from her. She allowed herself to press into him, as he wrapped again around her, bury her face against the side of his chest. If this were an apology and they were licking each other's wounds, she fell into it easily. Into this hot warmth under the sun, closed her eyes. She resumed her sigh, in a different tone. Less willing to interrupt this with their woes.

She had taken to show off, but she didn't want the attention of their horrid eyes. And she hadn't been able to stop herself. Not with him lying prone in front of her, shuddering with exhaustion and fevered with poison.

Her skill level. Her mouth pushed out in thought, wondering what he thought of it. He didn't seem to quite acknowledge it, except perhaps in theory. It didn't hurt her. Her pride wasn't such that demanded praise. She just didn't know if he had noticed how truly skilled she managed to be.

He hardly seemed impressed that he was out and about in a day.

A breath, a sigh. Her hand crawled up the side of his torso, braced herself as she rested against him.

"She gave you the message…?" It seemed completely normal and odd. As if Mina were in danger or had to stab him with an arrow to 'deliver' such a thing. She imagined it was something like that.

She lifted her head from him. An odd question. She didn't know how to broach. "It's… fine…?" She sat up, not to distance herself, just to straighten her aching back. Allowed the weight of his arm to keep her down if it wished. Her hands smoothed over her exposed thighs, smoothing away the warmth of the sun, brushing it off and refreshing them. "They said not to leave for a while… no? Everything… will be used up by a most point by then." It prickled to come back to it. It at least offered that she had some thought behind the unreasonable burden she seemed to load on others.

Her hands smoothed up her thighs again, the warm sun relentless in its touch.

"I don't want to wear my unwashed tunic… and legs… do I visit them like this?" She smirked.

 

[Malhyanth]

An eyebrow raised at her query regarding Mina, and he smirked, wondering if it was a hint of jealousy that the girl from the underground Tavern hadn't sought out Panyin as well. He knew Mina cared not for gender or appearances, or even race, and he knew the raven haired woman did indeed hold a soft spot for Panyin. That much was evident from her assistance in getting them here, rather than the usual routine of keeping him holed up in her own place. He wondered if he should request Panyin read the note Mina had delivered, but he knew that Mina had meant it for him... though he was sure the girl knew he couldn't read. He'd raise it with her, when they next met. He sighed and nodded.

"Zhey vill 'ave vork for us... more so for me, I suspect. Zhough... zhey already gave djou a task, didn't zhey... Volf's Bane?" His mind cast back to the flower she'd shared with him, remembering it's unalluring smell to him, though her pleasure of its smell. He knew it well, and knew it was a dangerous component to have around himself, and to know she was working with it upstairs. "Zhey vanted djour 'elp, yes? Create more of zhat stuff? I can't say I blame zhem. I practically 'anded zhem zhe beat alchemist on zhis continent." He cast a serious glance her way, lip lifting a little in a snarl. "Yes. I know zhat djou zhought I didn't listen to djou before. I just 'oped djou might defy zhem, let me take zhe fall for djour choice to say no to zhat poison. Being made by djou... I might not pull zhrough next time." His voice was a low growl, but his energy, his vitality and zest was not in it.

Again, the sigh, and as she straightened, he removed his arm from about her, and pushed himself up onto his feet, offering her a hand, to assist her to do the same. "I am 'appy to vash djour zhings. I'll make zhe arrangements vizh zhe Barkeep. Djou... get upstairs so I don't 'ave to share zhis sight vizh zhese onlookers." His large arm crooked and nudged her with the elbow, moving her towards the door. He knew people weren't appreciating her form the way he did in her clothes; they imagined what was beneath. He'd seen it. What made it exciting for him was the way the hem dipped on her shirt as she moved, the way her muscles and soft curves changed the shape of the fabric. The way it all tugged a little on the cloth where it cinched at her waist. How he itched to reach out and feel her curves through that cloth. He shooed at her, to go to her vials and potions, whilst he stood at the bar, and awaited the Keeper. He seemed less chatty, and though this didn't necessarily concern Wy'Ziot from a social point of view, something made his mind question the change.

"I require zhe tools and soaps for cleaning clozhing. Can djou provide zhis for me? Also, bring up somezhing light for a late lunch? Some bread? Any cheeses, per'aps?" The Barkeep nodded, and marked a few things to their tab. Wy'ziot smirked, and indicated it. "I 'ope djour stable'ands are giving my stallion zhe best care as vell?" The Tavern owner gave a wry smile, and dipped his head.

"Of course!" Wy'Ziot regarded him for a moment, eyes hard. The Barkeep didn't like the staring, and excused himself to draw the water and heat it, providing Wy'Ziot with the washboard and soap required to take care of their clothing. Wy'Ziot bowed his head to the man, and headed up the steps, to the acrid smells of his companion's potions. He placed the items he'd been given within the bath tub, and took up the damaged tunic he'd since replaced. It could be easily cleaned, but would need a stitch job before it could be used. He brought it to his nose, and could smell her residual scents. His face was wet as he looked at her with a skeptical face, taking it, and her leggings, through to the tub. Two young woman from the bar came up with vast pails of steaming water, and Wy'Ziot directed them into the tub. Once they had left, he stood over the girl, and indicated her clothing.

"Come on. Djou vant clean, djou need to give me zhose shirts." His grin was back to its usual mischievousness, and he stood, hands on hips, like and old nursing maid scoulding a dirty young child.

 

[unais]

He could have called her when Mina visited. But he wouldn't have known her potions were finished already. It didn't quite matter, she supposed. She'd just hand it to her in person later, and hope that no one else was paying attention to them as she plied Mina with suspicious articles. If Mina were in danger, however, she would have liked to know.

She looked at him, the odd pout pushing out her lips as she listened.

She began to pick at her nails, already clean. Still soft from water. "Handed me them." He brought her because he had no choice. But it scratched her, just a little bit. "I thought the Wolf was the only one privy to that... unique position."

She noticed her teeth were set, and listened hard the more it turned to alchemy. She let a moment sit, while she picked, and picked.

Her mouth opened. "I'm idiotic, not foolish." She scraped out the white skin underneath. "I'm not improving their poison." She made it exactly the same. She was not going to blindly raise a poison to the level that would debilitate him, and hand it over as if she didn't know what it was for. It made her chuckle for them to think so.

The cure on the other hand... She had time to perfect.

He stood from her. She took his hand to stand beside him. The sun burned on her legs. Her eyes calm, staring at him. "They can't give me a task... I don't work for them." Adamant.

It was true she had finished a request. With a twisted arm. But more after that... she wasn't hired.

Her expression changed, suddenly coming out of the underdark to this bright place with him volunteering, saying he's 'happy', to do her laundry. Her brows were raised, and he stole the dignity of a response from her as he nudged her inside with his tree trunk arms. She couldn't say no, and after passing the Keeper, scurried upstairs to find her things. Get away from the embarrassment.

The room was hot. She opened the window, crawling over the bed to push out out to the other side, and looked across the way at the building on the other side. The other woman in that room made her pause. Something about her. She went back to her business, trying to pretend Panyin hadn't seen her. Panyin did the same.

Something irked in her head.

She turned back to the room, sinking into the bed on her knees as she did so. A pull towards relaxation was shaken off, and she got herself off the bed, continuing her search. The table was occupied, extremely so. They would not be using it. Downstairs could hear the scrapes as she dragged the largest platters over to the middle of the floor, and set up the spread. They had to eat lunch; surely there were no more excuses for it. She set the vegetables aside and the largest roast in the middle. There were cutaway pieces braised and sauteed, that she arranged on the other side. This she knew by the size of the lids, as she left them covered, waiting for them to eat.

She couldn't imagine he'd have any protest eating on the floor. She didn't. Her legs were getting dirty, though, now, as they were crossed, touching the ground.

Wy'Ziot came. Pattered about, truly gathering up clothes as she watched him with equally skeptical staring.

Then he demanded her clothes. For a thorough job.

She stared flatly. "I can't actually believe this." Her accent apparent. She looked down, fingers going to unlace her belt. Something in her neck grew hot, suddenly, as the slip of leather began to draw through the mouth of the buckle. It slipped through its flush confinements, as her throat became tight. That he was there, standing, watching her. Focused, as he always was, but now, she was undressing.

For him.

It released. And slipped all the way through.

The belts dropped to the floor.

Her breath was held, not coming out. She looked at her linens...

And held out her hand, as if he were to give something to her As he placed his paw in hers, she tugged with both hands. Gently, firmly, until he was on the floor with her.

"Eat first. Am I supposed to wait here until you're finished cleaning?" She scooted herself closer to the spread. "I'm not going to eat until you eat as well. Who do you think all this meat was for?" She held his hand in her lap, as if that would keep him there.

 

[Malhyanth]

The giant had not expected the huge pull, and as he toppled, he flung out his other arm to prevent himself falling hard onto the ground. Though large, he was nimble, and he managed to avoid hitting any of the pots she'd dragged about. Managing to right himself, he knelt beside her, seeing the embarrassment, scenting it in the slightly sheen that had covered her, and his grin widened. He placed his hands on her shoulders, and made her look at him.

"Panyin. I cannot sit 'ere whilst djou are in stinky clozhes!!" He half expected the punch of indignation, and laughed at her, standing again to fetch his cloak, which he'd stored away whilst they were in the Captial; it was far too hot here for such a large article of clothing. He passed it to her, like a duvet over her tiny form, plopping it down over her head so she was completely covered in it. "Now, if djou do not strip out of zhose stinking zhings, I vill be forced to put zhem in zhe tub, vizh, or vizhout, djou in zhem." His face was serious, but his tone was joking, and he indicated the food she said she'd had made primarily for his large appetite.

"Food is alvays able to vait. Plus, I ordered us some bread and cheeses to accompany it. So come on! I vill give you 2 minutes, and zhen djou are going in as vell!" He turned, and stalked away from her, removing the bandages from his hands as he went, inspecting them, and decided to add them to the washing. The water was so hot, his pure white skin lobstered immediately. He scrubbed her legs first, noticing how dusty they were as they dirtied the water quite quickly, he tutted loudly from the bathroom as he continued to scrub and rub in the soaps.

"Panyin!! Don't make me come and get djou!!!"

 

[unais]

Cannot sit here in stinking clothes.

Her tones were calm, flat. "What do you think the last week has been?"

It's certainly been weeks since these clothes have seen proper washing. It was a terrible habit, but she hated it so much that she preferred simply to throw them away. Remembering what the clothes had been through, imagined to carry ghosts of her past in the form of residues that then felt to live in the fibres of these clothes; it was not difficult for her to toss them. Burn them even.

The room went black, a light from below her only vision of the world now. His cloak was heavy, as expected, but the sheer size of it seemed to drag her down with its mass.

She sat placidly. Disappointed but unperturbed.

He yelled for her from the other room. He was waiting.

"Make me." Her voice said. She knew she should come to regret that. Knew it was coming, and that it was stupid to raise a challenge. Incredibly so, she thought, as she heard him barreling out from the other room.

 

[Malhyanth]

The words were quiet, muffled below his cloak, but they rang clearly through the room; a challenge. He knew she was sitting under that cloak, probably expecting him not to carry out his threat. How wrong she was! He stood placing the soap calmly to the side, leaving the items in the tub with the wash board. His bare feet padded on the wooden floorboards with purpose, and seeing the mound of black waxed cloth just sitting there, defiantly, he gathered it up, hearing it squeak from within.

With the cloak still draped over her, her struggling was futile. He carried her like a babe to the tub, and a deep laugh rolled in his chest. "Do djou submit? Vill djou remove zhose stinking clozhes?" From within, he could hear mutterings, possible curses as she struggled to free herself from the make shift kidnap sack. He laughed, holding an edge of it, before lowering the bundle, and releasing. Where he'd been holding the cloak around her, most of it stayed in his arms, though some did fall into the water as well. The splash wetted his own legs and clothing, but he didn't care, the bedraggled figure within the tub made him howl with laughter. He collapsed to his knees, hugging the cloak to himself to try and stead his breathing, but every time he looked back to the red head, now soaked through and pouting at him.

Managing to regain his composure, he picked up the block soap, and waggled it at her as he spoke. "As toned as djou are, I do not believe djou vill be as good as zhis vash board. Are djou going to cooperate now?" He laughed again, taking one of the legs of her leggings and scrubbing it against the washboard, white creamy suds expanding in the tub around the soaked looking woman. He chuckled again, watching her. "I can used djou as zhe board if djou vish?"

 

[unais]

It was just about as she expected what would happen, but, worse than what she thought.

Because the water was hot.

"Hot--HOT, HOT--!" He didn't even drop the cloak in; she thought she were pre-packaged with it, but it escaped, and she sank into the waist deep water, legs stuck out of the tub. "Hot…!"

Panyin braced against the tub, watching him laugh, an appropriate cringe on her. She shifted into the water, meaning to kneel herself out of it, but she stayed. Her skin tingled.

At least he was having fun. She remembered the look from before. Standing in the market where the sun brought him no light; his back to her.

She stayed in the water she could barely tolerate.

She as the washboard?

"Well I'm already here…" Her skin reddened, yet under the water was yellow and pale. The air was striking cold by comparison.

She shrieked as the soap came towards her. Lady doth protest much too much. She challenged everything he said yet she complained as he went to fulfill them.

He left her alone, a chastising look, and she looked down, water crawling up the linen, past her chest now. It was tight, heavy, and finally she removed it, cloying from her skin. She peeled the two shirts apart, letting one drop into the water as she handed, hung the other up on the rim.

She leant her chest against the edge of the tub, cold against her, as she watched him clean. It was a strange angle to see him. As if she were clothes.

His brow furrowed, set with concentration as it beaded with minuscule droplets from the water. His chest nary splashed with water. His arms made quick work of the clothes on the washboard, a rhythmic thrumb filling the room in the stead of them talking. His knuckles ran across the metal sheet, tolerating his held strength.

It was odd and… comfortable. As if she shouldn't be here.

She draped her arms over the rim, began to rest her head. She could not sleep here. It was hot, cold, growing colder.

Her pants were worked through. Her two shirts. Her tunic. Then his. And his pants? It was done. And he stood, gesturing for her to leave the laundry water like the clothes had.

"It's cold." He helped her out of the tub, and she braced, filling a pail with water from the sink and pouring it over herself. Rinsing off for the second time today. It was straight cold. She shuddered as it poured over her front, over her stomach, bracing. Her legs. Her back was not so bad.

"There's no more towels left." She observed, noting they had taken the only two from earlier baths. She stood bare. The clothes had been rinsed, wrung. So she plucked up one of hers, dabbed off the excess water for as much as it would allow her to be damp while she air dried. Handed it back to him to wring again.

The feeling she had before was gone. The anticipation leading to undress was gone. There was nothing about her to show or hide. But he did look at her for a moment, and she turned away, stalking back to the bedroom and laying herself, lounged on one of the beds. Fanned herself as a lady in the Western deserts did, the sheets wicking away the moisture on her skin.

She sighed. Not knowing what to do with herself. She was to eat, but her appetite was fickle.

He was looking at her. She stared, conscious. "What?" She rolled the blanket over herself, feeling for the first time she should hide. "I just bathed," again, "I don't think I'm going to sit on the floor." She paused, seeing where it could be going. "Don't feed me." Not a child.

 

[Malhyanth]

The quiet companionship in the tasks he fulfilled, with her just lounging against the side of the tub, watching him, gave both he and his Wolf a sense of calm he'd not experienced for a while. He felt her eyes, stole small glances at her, red like his own skin, and he felt a little guilty, but only a little; he had, after all, given her the option and she'd refused to take it. He'd had to follow through with the threat, else she'd of never believed him. She was a beautiful sight, lounged as she was, the curve of her back, the way her arms flowed over the tub. He smirked, and carried out his work. Once bared, her shyness disappeared, as with when they had been at the hut on the outskirts of town; like she was comfortable with him again; remembered him again.

Helping her out of the tub once completed, he watched her take up the tunic and use it to dry herself off, before passing it back to him to wring out again, a smug raised eyebrow his only response. She was suddenly confident again, and he preferred this Panyin to the one that had been surly before. He watched her stalk away, head tilting to the side, appreciating her form as she walked away from him. He laughed, and wrung out the cloth fully before following to lean against the doorframe to the bathroom. He let out a low whistle at her lounging, and grinned. Her wrapping up made him smirk more, but his next move was interrupted as the door was politely knocked.

Long legs stalked towards the door, to peek beyond, and find one of the serving girls. She held a plate of thick cut bread and cheeses. He thanked her, and from his belt, gave her a large silver coin. "Keep zhat for djou, girly." He murmured, and the girl grinned broadly, secreting it into her bodice, to avoid the gaze of the owner downstairs. Wy'Ziot took the plate, and closed the door, turning and placing it upon the foot of his own bed, before sitting his own self down on the end of hers, flopping himself back, his long legs bent over the edge, bare feet settled on the floor, head dangling over the other side of the bed, stretching his spine after the time bent over the bath.

"Feed djou? Vhat do djou zhink I am? Djour servant?" He chuckled, waving his hand towards the laboratories around the room, before letting it also fall down, stroking at her leg through the cover of the bed she had hidden within. "Vhat is the status of all zhis?" His voice hardened, thinking of the business to be done. "Ve von't 'ace long before zhey send someone... less friendly."

 

[unais]

"How do you expect to eat all this?" He pulled back from the door with even more bread and cheeses. He probably didn't know she expected him to take about eighty-percent of the food.

She wrapped up warmly, almost dry. Her feet pressed against him through the covers, testily seeing how she could push him off.

His hand worked up her leg, and she lay there, letting it happen.

Was he her servant?

"Aren't you?" She withdrew her leg, fearing retaliation. "I'm your boss, aren't I?"

She lifted her head at his question, taking a look, and prepared to get up.

"Status is… indefinite until I drain our supplies. Why? Did they set a time?" She extricated herself, refreshed, stretching and kneeling at the window to peer out at the passing by. "Why are you at their beck and call?"

That tongue lashed before she caught it, and she halted, too late. She lifted her head from the window, and it lowered on its own as she thought, unwilling to let this happen again. "…I'm sorry."

She pushed away from the window, aching to get up, but she looked at him, and stayed, leant against the wall.

"…I know. They are dangerous and are your family. And you owe them your identity… your job now." She touched her head, not saying the obvious. That she hated some of it. That their authority was not one she let willfully over her.

She paused, her eyes closed. Too many things coming back as she remembered. They opened. She got down to her knees, and crawled, lay beside him. Her head near his.

Forgot she was unclothed.

She waited until he lay where he could see her, more comfortably.

A hand of hers came up, traced his hairline, brushing a dread to the other side. Then the fingertips traced down his long scar. She was mildly aware. Two minds.

The one that relented was quiet.

She rested her hand on his cheek. Close now. She edged closer, almost beside him.

"…hm." Some mirthful noise from her throat, shuttered in by the other mind. "…I'm not going to take you away from them. But can't we stay here, for a while…?"

She didn't know what she wanted. Her body and mind had moved on her own, but mysterious to her. She let the inertia flow.

A moment sat. Then she smiled, without her eyes. Somber. He was going to say no, so she got up, to lead them to eat.

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy'Ziot swatted at her feet as she tried to push him off, his hand keeping a grip on her leg, his teeth a sharp grin at her. He gently massaged the limb, and laid himself back, watching her for a moment, as she unravelled from her cocoon to inspect the world beyond. Her words had him thinking, and he leant back, raising one arm to lift his head. He guessed she was his boss, in some way... or his Master perhaps? He couldn't be sure how the Wolf viewed her. Her comment regarding the laboratories made him nod, slowly, contemplative.

"Not yet. But zhey vill. Zhey know I am 'ealed. And to a degree even zhey von't 'ave expected at zhis point. I shouldn't 'ave left zhe rooms..." He sighed, bodily, and nestled his head closer into his bicep, watching her. Her next query cut him sharply. He sat up, leaning against his knees as she turned; his mouth worked, but he couldn't respond to her accusation. Her apology drew him back, and he looked at her, his brows furrowing as she seemed to show hurt at her own words. He wondered what she had experienced to make her feel as such; to mourn something at her own speaking of the words. Her approach started him, and he leant back from her, watching her animalistic movements. As she neared, and mounted the bed, he lay back with her, shuffling down the sheets a little so his head wasn't hanging over the edge.

Her hand on his face also shocked him. Something seemed to have come over her, as she moved his dreadlocks from his face. His mottled eyes watched her from the side, a slight reactive twitch closing his eye as she brushed her delicate fingers over his scar. His chested heaved with a shaken breath, and the hand that laid between them, brushed up her thigh, following the curve of her stomach, brushing the soft skin. Rested there, when she moved in closer to his face. His eyes flickered, searching her eyes. He felt like nothingness stared back at him. He took the plunge, her face so close. His lips brushed hers, gentle, and as she pulled away, he allowed her, released her.

He sat up, watching her movement, the soft lines, that felt dejected. He reached out, wrapped strong fingers about her hip, and brought her back to him, wrapping his other arm about her, pressing his bristled cheek into the small of her back, hands splayed upon her stomach, and her thigh. "Djou, little Panyin. Djou are our family. Zhe Volf chose djou. I... I chose djou. Zhat first time I saw djou, smelt djour 'air. I knew. And 'e knew." He placed a gentle kiss to her back, to the dimples he found there. "Of course I vill stay 'ere vizh djou. For as long as djou vill keep me." He nuzzled his face into her skinX scenting the complex smells that made her. "Djou own me, Panyin. Djou own zhis Volf. I know nozhing else. Before, I vas a child. Zhen, I vas in zhe pits, and vhen I vas no longer useful, zhey tried to kill me. Zhem zhat 'ave me now, zhey acquired me, zhrough tricks and trades. But a possession I became. Now, I 'ave zhe chance to chose vhere I go. Do not valk avay from me."

The werewolf pressed his forehead against her spine, his ears listening to her pulse, his hands raising to meet above her navel, sweeping her smooth skin. He swallowed heavily, his own pulse racing. He may be owned by the Contractors, but it was she that he belonged to. His Wolf gripped her skin firmly, pushing at his skin to feel her. It wanted to lie at her feet, be by her side, walk beside her. His arms, wrapped around her hips, tightened, and brought her in to his chest, removing as much empty space as possible. "Do not valk avay from me."

 

[unais]

It was as if she felt nothing. She knew of a body she inhabited that was feeling things; but it was far away. She felt his kiss, his closeness. And let herself retreat, knowing it was an artefact of the distance. She was there, but lost in her mind. It was time to continue on.

She sat at the edge of the bed. Felt her parts coming together. Disappointment ached that she hadn't communicated, again, what she meant to say. Because she didn't know. She stood.

He stopped her.

And brought her back to something she hadn't known was there.

There was a moment happening. As if to someone else. She felt a body, a mind, separately floating--experiencing two things.

A hand on her stomach and on her thigh sweated warmth; protecting her cold skin.

It's you.

Her amber eyes flicked, as if seeing in front of her.

You are our family.

She saw nothing.

The wolf chose you.

They stopped flicking.

I... chose you.

And stilled.

The first time that I saw you...

They looked down. Warm touches butterflied her back, leaving marks she felt sinking into her.

I knew... He knew.

She felt a swallow. I will stay here with you. He traced up her body. For as long as you will keep me.

He could see the old scars from here. Two knives in her back that had hit deep. Old, and faded. His nose, his mouth touched her backside; and this body sparked, igniting a breath caught in her throat. Her arms tightened at her side; hands not knowing where to go.

You own me.

An ache trickled forth, all along her skin.

Panyin.

Mistakes and rebellion touched the mind he named. In that body if this name, his touches left their mark. The imprints going deep. Not fading.

I know nothing else.

Her head alone stayed afloat over a deluge. Her hand was weak to move. It sought to, was frozen. Her skin prickled with a fear indistinct.

That she wasn't the one he needed.

His story unfolded, in her ears. It wound her strings. Became part of her loom. Her mind wove with it, to not forget.

And the torrent of questions surrounded her. He had known since they met. But the truths unspoken gave her an eye in this storm.

I am yours.

Her blood warmed as it pumped.

I have the chance to chose where I go.

She began to turn, toward him as he would allow.

Don't walk away from me.

And stood upon her own feet off the side of the bed again.

Her hands touched his face, faint. Her forehead touched his. Pressed against him. The edge of her lip touched his but it was not a kiss.

Her eyes were closed. Her words were gone. Her mind struggled to have a mouth. So Panyin pressed. As if this could transmute her soul to him through the flesh that she held him.

Her eyes felt hot. Her mind under water. Her body on ice, yet it prickled with goose flesh and a nervous pulse that pattered as she worked. To find herself, to let this moment sit, and be here. And to not question.

The words of a werewolf were not careless. She let herself fall, slowly into his waters which eased her descent.

The only words that could break her surface bubbled up. Her eyes cracked open.

"...I am yours."

She kissed him, a chaste touch. The touch ended. Panyin gave herself room to see him. "Wy'Ziot…" And kissed him.

She felt his force as he pulled her to him, deepening what was there. He felt her trembled breath on him as they parted. The words came to her. Her thumb stroked along the side of his face, crossing scars.

"…You're not alone. Whether it's me, or Mina… I don't want to imagine you alone in this world any more."

He drew close. They kissed. "…so stay with me."

 

[Malhyanth]

The werewolf could feel her body respond; warmth chasing up her body like a torrent. His ears could hear, his skin could feel her pulse hasten, to match his own. He swallowed again as she slowly turned within the circle of his arms, and their eyes met. Her hazy, golden amber eyes to his mottled, white-blue and dusky pink. She was radiant, and he felt his own body response, and tried to quell it, knowing she had rejected him before, but there was something... something different about her; it felt like she was far away, and yet she was here, within his arms. She leant forward, and pressed her forehead to his own. His breath released, shakily, as she teased the edge of his torn up lip, barely a kiss, barely a touch.

He pulled back for a moment, and her eyes glistened; was she teary eyed? Had something his said hurt her? He raised one large hand, the fingers holding the base of her skull and neck, the thumb caressing her jawline. He tried to meet with her gaze, but she avoided for a moment, her mind tumultuous, he could almost read it, and he could smell the apprehension. Goose pimples made their way down her exposed skin, like a wave, and he ran his free hand over her right side, trying to soothe it away. Her eyes had closed as she thought, and when they opened again, the fire within her lit them like glowing lamps, and she was stunning to his vision. His hands stilled and he looked at her, as if for the first time.

I am yours.

He met the kiss as fiercely as she did, his lips crushed against her own as she gripped at him, and he engulfed her within his arms, as if he alone could protect her.

Wy'Ziot.

His name upon her lips sent shivers through him, and his Wolf responded, fiercely pressing against his chest where she was, heating through his skin, a glow of warmth that enveloped them both. Again, she traced his scars, and the unbidden growl from within the shiver that ran through him.

You are not alone.

He lowered his hands to trace her skin to her hips, pressed into his chest, fingers glancing across her backside, the dimples he'd found, into her lower back. The growl at the mention of Mina shocked even him. Mina was a friend, but she held no place within him as this one, within his arms did. His silenced the name with a kiss, took it from her, his snarl absolute on that subject.

I don't want to imagine you alone in this world any more.

He bodily lifted her, standing, with her wrapped tight against his chest, and he leant down, placing her back carefully down, his lips following to trail down her neck.

Stay with me.

The rolling growl within his chest vibrated through them both, and his lips trailed down her chest, to place a kiss above her heart.

"Alvays."