RP Between Sand and Stars

Twig picked the sick fairy up and tossed her over his left shoulder. She was heavier than expected judging by her size, but what made the task of carrying her out of the cave truly unplesant were the involuntary contractions and gooey liquid dripping from the corner of her mouth.

“I do.” He said nonchalantly. “What was your name again, Ishaan? I’m Twig. What’s your lady's name?”
 
Tripping over his own feet, Ishaan followed after, pausing only long enough to look over his shoulder, back into the cave. There was nothing being left behind - he'd burned everything else.

Twig carried her as though she were a sack of potatoes, her head and short hair dangling against back. It was an unfortunate name, though he seemed to take it in stride. Ishaan paused a moment, wondering if it was wise to share Klaire's true name. He was nobody, but she - she was more.

But to weave more lies... "Klaire... I- thank you Twig. Is your ship far?"
 
“It’s been following us.” Twig said pointing up, where a ship with dark sails loomed over them.

Two piles of ropes dropped to the sand a few meters away from the group and two dark silhouettes slid down from them, before dashing in their direction.

“I’ll take care of your Klaire.” The pirate smiled cheekly, before one of the shades pinned Ishaan’s fists behind his back and the other covered his head with a potato sack. “Welcome aboard the Sandstorm, Ishaan from Costa Duba. Make the most of your stay!”
 
The situation had changed far too quickly. There'd been a glimmer of hope and then it'd been ripped away. He'd attempted to fight but with his arms held back and vision blocked, he couldn't stop the sharp blow to his temple that'd caused his consciousness to waver. He could feel himself being dragged upwards, rope digging into his skin, and then a hard surface beneath his feet. Hands grabbed at his body, patting him down, emptying his pockets. The voices seemed slurred, the ringing in his head making it difficult to understand what they were saying.

And then the descent had begun, sending him to this new place. It smelled terribly; like damp metal and piss.

Was Klaire here too? He could only hope that she was too far gone to feel anything else. That the poison would take her quickly.

There was a pounding in his head, bursts of pain across his body, and then the sound of groaning metal - and suddenly, release. Ishaan crumpled to the floor, no longer held back by the shadows. The bag remained over his head, and he might've focused on the itching sensation from the stray fibers if another blow hadn't sent him to oblivion.

---

Several hours later, he awoke with a groan. His body ached though not as badly as the splitting headache. The itching remained, and with a sudden movement, he wrenched the bag away. It was impossibly dark, the only light source coming from the sliver of space around the wooden door. But between them - he could tell from the slight reflection of light - was another set of iron doors. He was caged.
 
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"Hey, he's awake!"

This statement came after the groan, and was spoken in a tone that was definitely too chipper for anyone who was in a place like this. Nonetheless, the place itself didn't seem to be bothering the speaker at all, who was - by the very sliver of light, in a similar cage as Ishaan, though hanging from the top of it upside-down by her knees. Perhaps she was part bat, if bats were prone to having fairy wings and a lengthy braid of hair that almost - but didn't quite - brush against the dirty floor.

"I was wondering when you'd come around. It's been boring without anyone else to talk to. I mean, there's all of them-" There were, indeed, on further examination, a number of other people in here -"But they don't talk much. At least, not to me." There was a slight flickering of the shadows as she swung a little, still upside down.

Of course, it wasn't like she could really blame the other prisoners for not speaking to her, given that she'd been at least partially responsible for their capture, but that had been before the latest incident and now here she was, upside-down, in the brig with the rest of them.

She didn't think it would last. It never did. The Captain would get over it, sooner or later, and then she'd be back out there again.

"Ahh... I miss the wind. Hmm... who are you, anyway? You seem to have gotten the extra special treatment."
 
Klaire was pretty sure she had died until she felt her lungs breathe with the least amount of resistance it had in hours. Her eyelids popped open and she tried to sit up, to find her body was still too weak to do so.

“Good morning, Ms. Klaire.” Said an unfamiliar voice. Klaire followed the sound of it with her eyes and found a tall fir bolg standing by a doorway to what looked like an improvised infirmary. She didn’t know where she was, but whatever ship that was, it didn’t follow the safety guidelines the law required of every ship with a permit to fly.

“Where’s Ishaan?” She asked, her throat sore from the thirst.

“Alive. For now.” Despite the threat, his first word gave her a sparkle of hope. That hope faded fast, as she realized it wasn't just her lack of energy restraining her movements, but also the cuffs around her wrists and ankles, tying her to the cot.

“Where is he? I want to see him.” The stranger smiled.

“Of course you do, but first, you’re gonna tell me what two little fairies are doing beyond the mountains, so far away from home.”

That man knew their names, but other than that, Klaire had no idea of what Ishaan had told him. She knew if he had told him everything there would be no need for that conversation, but saying anything would risk contradicting Ishaan’s story. Keeping them apart was intentional.

“I don’t… Remember.” She lied, leaning into the exhaustion she truly felt so it’d sound more genuine. Resting her head back on a blood stained pillow, she heard his footsteps approaching. Calloused fingers held her chin, turning her face towards him. He examined her eyes, her paleness, and let it go.

“There’s still venom in your blood, I’ll ask again when you’re feeling better.”

Klaire stood still as he left, before looking around to make sure she was by herself. Despite knowing she should probably rest while she had her chance she pressed her fingers together, trying to make her hand as narrow as possible to get rid of the cuffs.
 
Others, there were others. Ishaan looked to the voice, to the person it belonged to. As his eyes began to adjust to the near darkness, he realized that it belonged to a woman, one with long hair and an affinity for hanging upside down. Perhaps the blood flow was responsible for her uncharacteristic happiness. As she continued to speak - about all of them - he glanced to the side. Several other cages lined the walls, large enough to fit one person semi-comfortably. The rest of them remained silent though, allowing the woman to speak freely.

Ishaan slowly pushed himself away from the damp ground so that he was sitting, shoulder resting against one of the iron bars. He'd answered that question once before, believing that he'd been saved. Now, Twig's voice rang through his head, mocking him. Welcome aboard the Sandstorm, Ishaan from Costa Duba.

If they found out what they'd truly been doing in the desert, they were as good as dead. Or worse.

"Is there a woman here? Klaire?" He asked, though not specifically to the woman who had spoken to him. "What is this? Who are these people?"

---

Shortly after Twig had gone, long enough for a debrief to occur, there was a soft knock on the door. Without waiting for a response, it creaked open slowly. A tiny figure darted through, quick as the night, and leapt onto the foot of the bed. She sat immediately and stilled, apart from the black tail that flicked over the edge of the bed. Sat and stared at the occupant of the bed.

Another followed once the door had opened wide enough. He too was silent, his footsteps nothing more than a faint hush. Clad in dark, tailored clothing, he moved gracefully until he stood at the end of the bed. His skin was dark like ebony, a stark comparison to the long, white hair that ran down his back, the top section styled in a neat braid. Fine lines had begun to grow around his eyes and lips, the only visible imperfections on his exposed being. Striking yellow eyes flicked over her body, lingering for a second over her face.

And then he moved, a gloved hand reaching for the back of a nearby chair, silently lifting and placing it between Klaire and the door. He sat down; legs comfortably spread, his right elbow resting against the armrest, body leaning into the side. Those yellow eyes flicked back and remained on the woman, even as the cat moved and found her way onto the left side of his lap. Her own amber eyes remained keen on him. Silently, he slid his left glove off, placing it neatly against the armrest and began to stroke the tiny beast, who purred in response.
 
She thought she’d have more time. Klaire stopped attempting to break her left thumb and tried her best to act as if she hadn't been trying to set herself free for the past several minutes. Her purple eyes met the feline’s before taking in the appearance of the man behind it. An older man, Klaire couldn’t tell how old, but visibly wealthy in contrast to the ragged pirate she’d met earlier.

“Are you the captain?” Klaire asked, even though she pretty much already knew the answer.
 
"Klaire? I don't know if there's a Klaire." Names hadn't exactly been a priority. "What's she look like?" None of them looked like much of anything, in the fractional sliver of light, but maybe it was someone she remembered bringing in earlier.

"I'm Liatra, by the way. Not that you asked, but just so that you know I'm not Klaire. You're on board the Sandstorm. In the hold, specifically, with all the rest of the cargo." She seemed to find that amusing, pulling herself up with her abs and reaching for the bar under her knees, then flipping herself over to land on the floor with the delicate grace of someone who was trying not to touch too much of it at once. "So, how did you end up here?"
 
Klaire didn't respond, and neither did anyone else. Only Liatra.

With a small sigh, knowing that his words would remain in vain, he responded. "Petite, short dark hair, purple eyes. She has bitten, poisoned by a snake. Signalling for help was our only chance."

He ran a hand through his dark hair. Then over the side of his face, over the stubble that continued to sprout. "What are they going to do to us?"

---

His chin dipped once, into a slight nod. "Yes. You may call me Arobynn." His long, thin fingers slowly ran through the black fur, from the base of the head to the start of the tail, over and over. "I'm told your name is Klaire."
 
"There's no one like that down here," Liatra said thoughtfully. She'd have known, especially about someone with a snakebite. Usually the Sandstorm didn't take the sick or infirm. It was too much work to nurse them back to health, and no profit if they died. It was possible that this Klaire had already been dumped somewhere, or been given a cut of mercy. Then again, the Captain had been known to have his whims.

"Oh - they'll sell us off somewhere, unless the Captain decides we're useful enough to keep around for another go, and not so useful that the profit margin is high enough to make it worth selling anyway." Callous, certainly, but Liatra wasn't going to be the one to lie to him. It wasn't like someone else wouldn't mention it eventually, and then he'd just be angry at her.

"We'll see how that goes. So, what's your name, Friend-of-Klaire?"
 
Arobynn - Klaire wasn’t familiar with that name. She watched the man stroke the cat while trying to pick her next words carefully. There was little information for her to theorize what kind of a man he was, but tenderness with animals was usually a sign of empathy. Some empathy.

“Thank you for giving me the antidote.” She said. “We’re not looking for trouble. If you let me and my friend go, I’ll make sure to repay for all your troubles.”
 
Trafficking. They were being trafficked.

Ishaan felt his heart began to race. Instinctively, he looked away - up, actually - only to find a dark, empty void. And so his eyes closed and a brighter, speckled image materialized, just as it had many years ago. Suddenly, he was thirteen again, trying to soothe himself as a stowaway on a merchant vessel. He could feel the warmth of the flames against his skin and the overwhelming smell of smoke. The fear, the loneliness...

Not alone. Tear-brimmed eyes opened and he replied shakily. "My name is Ishaan."

He exhaled. "How did you get here?"

---

Another singular nod, to acknowledge that she'd spoken and he'd heard her. A longer, silent pause and another gentle touch. "Klaire, where were you and your friend headed?"
 
Ishaan. She didn't know any Ishaans, but it was something. As for how she'd gotten here, that was an interesting question, and it all depended on where she chose to start.

"Well, many years ago, my mommy and my daddy loved each other very much..." Too early? Probably too early. Liatra reached up for the bars again, jumping to grab them with a flutter of the wings behind her, swinging a little bit, then hooking one knee through and returning herself to upside-down.

"But if you want to skip all that part, well... a couple days ago we were bringing down this ship and Captain Arobynn wanted to kill all the crew." She mimed shooting a rifle, though who knew if Ishaan could really see the gesture in the gloom-light, or would interpret it correctly, since most people didn't usually tend to shoot while hanging upside down.

"Standard practice, really, but it was an official ship, you know? And somewhere out there I have a brother in the navy. So, just in case, I, ah, hmmm... emphatically opted out of that decision. Words were spoken, as they say in the taverns. And! Now I'm here. I figure he'll probably cool off by the next time he needs someone shot from a distance. He doesn't have anyone better than me and he knows it. So! What brings you here?"
 
“I want to see him.” Klaire said firmly, with all the little strength she had. “I need to know he’s alive and safe first, then I’ll tell you everything you wanna know.”
 
Their misfortune was becoming increasingly more pronounced. A desperate call for help had gotten them trapped within the belly of the beast; a particularly cruel and powerful beast. And perhaps the only person who'd refrained from the slaughter was down here with him.

He remained silent for a moment, pondering over the truth and what he'd told Twig. Wondering if Klaire was alive, and if she was, what her story would be. They knew they'd brought down an official ship, as Liatra had called it, and had found them not a day's walk away from the remains.

Ishaan found himself reaching for his empty pocket. "She convinced me to come out here." He swallowed, deciding to continue hiding the truth, even though it was only a matter of time until they uncovered it. "Said it'd be an adventure."

"How do we get out?"

---

His face remained impassive. "He's resting." The response was curt, unfeeling. "Information about yourself and your friend is nothing compared to the antidote that I've provided. To the hospitality. My crew deserves to know who we're hosting. Wouldn't you agree?"
 
“He’s resting.”

Klaire wanted to jump out of that cot and hit him with a right hook, but did nothing of the sort, except clench her fist.

“And I said ‘thank you’. I’m unarmed and tied up, if that’s what you call hospitality I have every reason to question your intentions.” Silence fell between the two, and she decided to try again. “Bring him here or untie me. I’ll tell you who we are when I know he’s still alive.”
 
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"Oh, an adventure." The weight Liatra gave to the last word implied she knew something of the sarcasm it deserved. She knew something about adventure. Much of her life had been an adventure - or, at least, much of the last six years. Before that... well, it had been a different sort of adventure. Better characters, she thought, but worse scenery.

Although, the current scenery in specific left a great deal to be desired.

"Well... I suppose how you get out depends on what you want to get out for," Liatra determined. "Whether it's to find your Klaire or just run away fast, whether you want vengeance or justice or just a warm bed at night. So... what do you think? What's your next adventure?"
 
"Did you know that the venom of a horned viper can cause a variety of unpredictable symptoms? Confusion, memory loss, aggression... these temporary restraints are for my safety. And yours." His eyes drifted down to her clenched fist.

The rhythmic stroking of the tiny beast continued.

"But if you insist... Twig?" The elf called out. Moments later, the fir bolg stood within the doorway. "On behalf of our guest -" He raised his gloved right hand and gestured towards Klaire. For the first time, the cat within his lap moved, head following the simple gesture, gaze landing upon their guest. Once the hand returned to the armrest, the cat blinked and looked back towards the Captain. "Please wake Ishaan. Make sure that he is comfortable. Once we know that the threat of the poison has passed, I'm sure he'll be as eager to see his friend, as she him." He looked towards his crew mate, yellow eyes twinkling. Twig would understand.

And once he was gone, Arobynn fell into a comfortable silence, the sound of purring filling the room.
 
Klaire wasn't feeling most of those symptoms, but she hadn’t studied enough about the horned snake to know for sure if what he was saying was a lie or not. She watched the Fir Bolg enter the room and leave again soon after, leaving him alone with the captain and his cat, once again.

“So, captain…” She said, after a stretched out silence. “What kind of ship is this?”

Is this a pirate ship was what she truly wanted to ask, but thought it’d be more prudent to tread lightly around it. Was it possible that that was the ship that had sunk her Dragonfly? She wasn’t able to tell from inside the infirmary.

***

“Do this Twig, do that, Twig…” the pirate mumbled on his way to the brig, resenting the captain for the amount of extra work he’d been put up for that day. Wake Ishaan up, in the literal sense of the word wasn’t something he’d have to do, it turned out.

“Making a new friend?” Twig asked Liatra, the only other prisoner who wasn’t asleep or pretending to be. He couldn’t help but smile at her current position; there were few men who didn’t feel intimidated by a woman with a better aim than them, and Twig wasn’t one of those men.

“Three little birds will make quite a good sale- I mean, if the other one survives.” He said, fully intending to trigger their newest prisoner, while sorting through a set of keys, looking for the right one.
 
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