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Post by skeyti on May 17, 2014 21:23:55 GMT
[attr="class","scream"]  The good people of Val Royeaux liked to pretend the street kids didn't exist. Belle Marché was elegant and tastefully rich to the unassuming eye, a bustling marketplace dotted with colorful stalls and shops, filled with equally colorful people. From the rooftops, they looked like a sea. Luc had seen the sea once, when his family had come into the city on a merchant's cart. Tucked between crates of cloth and fruit, he'd peered under the wagon covering, watched the waves against the shore.
He'd forgotten most of the memory, really. All he had left was the idea: the water shining, breaking. These people looked nothing like the sea. Luc scrambled across the rooftop and dropped down to a windowsill, and then to the ground. It was sweltering. The city was in full summer heat, the smell of rotting garbage rising from the back alleys, and in a twisted way, he was grateful he'd had the shirt stolen off his back a few nights ago. At least he could feel the poor excuse for a breeze this way.
The good people of Val Royeaux liked to pretend that the street kids didn't exist, but Luc knew they were everywhere. Like rats. Now that he was level with the market, the view from his vantage point resolved into something more than a blur of colors and noise: he could see a handful of his fellows loitering to the north, eying a meat merchant with hungry eyes. Too many there; they'd get caught and scattered for sure by the guard, and he didn't fancy a beating today. Luc sidled southwest instead. The trick was to keep moving, eyes front. If you looked like you were going somewhere, people tended to slide their gaze right past you. They were obliging like that.
He'd already tucked away a soft apple and a dark beaded bracelet into his pockets when the whispers reached him. He could hear the undercurrent against the relentless thrum of the crowd, see the shadows darting in the alleys and against the sky on the roofs out of the corner of his eye, the tell-tale signs that something exciting was happening somewhere and the rats were on the prowl, but he ignored them. His stomach rumbled. There was a woman who sold hot pies a few dozen yards over, and she had a bad left eye, no vision at all out of it. On a good day he could snag two there.
Someone pushed passed him, a tiny kid even younger than him, crowing excitedly, and Luc felt his head snap back around at the tail end of their words: "--c'mon, there's a knife-ears out, let's--"
He broke into a flat run after them.
CODED BY ELECTRIC OF GS [newclass=.scream img]border:#191817 5px solid;-webkit-filter: grayscale(1);-webkit-transition: all .4s linear;-moz-transition: all .4s linear;-ms-transition: all .4s linear;-o-transition: all .4s linear;transition: all .4s linear;[/newclass][newclass=.scream img:hover]-webkit-filter: grayscale(0); -webkit-transition: all .4s linear;-moz-transition: all .4s linear;-ms-transition: all .4s linear;-o-transition: all .4s linear;transition: all .4s linear;[/newclass] |
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ELF
“ waste of time or waste of fear? ”
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Post by Maeve Flynn on May 18, 2014 9:08:37 GMT
Little Maeve had been so sure she would have simply been swallowed into the crowd, invisible, unknowable. Her father had made her swear up and down that she would stay in the very same spot head left her in, but the Alienage was always so crowded that she was left uncertain in her ability to even breathe. Worse, when the glint of the chevalier's boot kicked up the dust, even little Maeve knew better than to do anything other than scatter with the rest of the crowd. Father would be so worried. Mother would be so angry, even if only in her usual quiet way. Maybe she would go so far as to make Maeve go with her the next time she had to collect herbs or treat a patient. She wsn't even really certain how she had gotten here, so far from where her scramble had begun. The colors were so much brighter here, the smells so much warmer, the sounds so much kinder. At another time, she might have given thought to swiping a bit of food - just enough to make the aching stop! - but at that moment, Maeve was overwhelmed by the vibrancy of the people and surroundings. In truth, she was little more than a small elf girl stumbling through a crowd that at least gave her enough space to dare to feel s though she had the right to breathe fresher air. Maybe that was what she had stolen. She had only caught a glimpse at first, pairs of eyes at almost her own height, locked onto her like a wolf on a rabbit. Even as she weaved through the crowd, she only had to glance back to find they were still there, still watching. She put effort into losing them, but she did not know these streets, not yet. She took the wrong turn, too soon, too alone. She had not yet learned that too few would have even raised a finger had they been there. She had not yet learned that too many who would so quickly profess themselves as better than that would only think to offer a pitying look as if it would buffer against the beating and pawing, or a platitude after the fact which they would of course expect to grant greater healing than her mother mage might ever have dreamed. She had not yet learned any of this. Today, now, she was only a girl too far from the alienage, backed too soon into a corner. Too slow, too small, too weak. Too late? Even little Maeve knew better than to speak against the accusation of thief, even when pushed against a wall whose sharp uneven edges gladly bit into her skin, snagging some on the cloth on her back. "All knife-ears are lying thieves, erryone knows that!" The girl crumpled to avoid the next blow, shrinking into a tight ball, arms making a weak attempt at shielding head and neck. Even still, they closed in, little fingers scraping away at her arms, trying to ply her apart with a muffled, "No fair!" She had no space, no space, no space. She couldn't breathe. skeyticoded by electric of gangnam style |
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Post by skeyti on May 18, 2014 14:16:56 GMT
[attr="class","scream"] He didn't even bother trying to push his way through the crowd. That was a loser's game. All he'd be was slow, slow, too slow, if he tried, trapped behind the press of the crowd.
Luc only stayed on the ground for as long as it took him to scramble after the kid with the laughing voice, tackling him into an alley and rolling, fists spinning and biting and hair-pulling: anything it took until he had the other boy pinned, kneeling with all his weight on his chest. He didn't feel bad that he was bigger and stronger than the other kid, probably less hungry and better at stealing food. If it was--she wasn't--
"There's an elf here?" he snarled, shaking the kid's shoulders like a wet towel until he dragged all the answers he needed out of him. Too long, too slow, too much wasted time. He squirmed his way up the side of the building the alley bordered like a spider and then he was off across the rooftops. The tiles were scorching beneath his bare feet, but mostly he's just grateful that they're in a richer part of the city, where he actually has roofs that he can dart across without falling through. Thatch was terrible if you're trying to get anywhere quick.
Luc heard them before he sees them, skidded to the edge of the roof and almost tipped over before he rights himself. Then he focused on what's happening and doesn't care if he tips over or not. He could feel the rage boil up in his blood, hotter than the Orlesian summer. His mother had always told him that rage would get him killed one day. She prayed to Andraste every night to take away his temper. But he didn't care if it killed him, not when the anger is coursing through his veins and guiding his movements like a puppet. He just wanted them to stop.
He pinwheeled off the building like a large, featherless bird of prey. Luc was fairly certain he wouldn't injure himself too badly, much less die, as long as he landed on one of the kids huddled around Maeve, and so he did. The other boy buckled under his sudden weight and the two of them collapsed in the dirt. He sunk his teeth into the meat of the kid's shoulder, bit until he could taste blood rising in his mouth and then Luc let go, spitting. They were making the most awful racket now, the one below him screaming his bloody head off while the others turned towards him.
Luc hated them with the pure hatred of children. They could give it out but couldn't take it, huh? He mashed his fists into the face of the boy below him and then scrambled off, leaving him sobbing. That meant only three of them for him now. Three vs one. He'd take those odds. He didn't have a choice except to take those odds, because the alternative was never gonna happen.
He charged in.
CODED BY ELECTRIC OF GS [newclass=.scream img]border:#191817 5px solid;-webkit-filter: grayscale(1);-webkit-transition: all .4s linear;-moz-transition: all .4s linear;-ms-transition: all .4s linear;-o-transition: all .4s linear;transition: all .4s linear;[/newclass][newclass=.scream img:hover]-webkit-filter: grayscale(0); -webkit-transition: all .4s linear;-moz-transition: all .4s linear;-ms-transition: all .4s linear;-o-transition: all .4s linear;transition: all .4s linear;[/newclass] |
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ELF
“ waste of time or waste of fear? ”
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Post by Maeve Flynn on May 20, 2014 9:17:54 GMT
She hated them. She hated them, just like she hated the Chevaliers and the drunk human men that stumbled into the alienage. She had wished so strongly that her father would take up his bow, some days. She had wished he would render them soft and silent, like the game he brought home to sell and feed them with. A child’s dream. The kind that were crushed the moment she’d looked into her father’s eyes the next morning. No one would raise a hand to help her, she thought, the realization creeping up her spine like shards of ice. You must be patient, they were already chiding to a little elven girl. You must be kinder. You must be better. Words which weighed on her like the hands that tore at her now. The weight lifted with a howl like something out of a nightmare and Maeve didn’t even have to look, though she did. She already knew who it was. She scrambled out from the corner while she called his name, worry clenching her gut. She wasn’t going to run. Even if she had known how to weave through the streets back to the alienage, she couldn’t just leave her friend. Luc was a terror, and he was older and bigger than any of them, but he was outnumbered and she was frightened. As one scoffed and the other jeered, each of them angry, she called out. “Be careful, please!”skeyticoded by electric of gangnam style |
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Post by skeyti on May 20, 2014 15:39:16 GMT
[attr="class","scream"] It was easy for them to beat up a defenseless girl. Harder for them to deal with someone who fought back, apparently, although they gave it their best try. There was no grace or beauty about anything that happened there. It was just four kids in the dirt trying their best to hurt each other.
A fist--he had no idea who it belonged to--caught Luc in the jaw and snapped his head back. He dropped to the ground and rolled, wheezing, before coming back up with some distance between him and the three. One of them had a thin stream of blood between his nose and his mouth. Luc watched as he raised his hand to swipe at it, as if in disbelief he had been hurt. Good, Luc thought with a flare of hot, viscous joy, and ran back in.
Someone's nose gave way beneath his palm. There was a foot on his hip, pressing down until he thought the bone might shatter, and he clawed at someone's ankle with both hands until they crashed to the ground and he went for their neck, the two of them locked at each other's throats like statues. There was definitely hair-pulling. The fight seemed to stretch on forever, painted in shades of red, and then at once the air deflated, the atmosphere shattered. It was over. The kid he'd landed on broke first, stumbling to his feet and shaking his head before taking off, and the others followed in a jagged line, throwing jeers over their shoulders.
Luc staggered to his feet, and then collapsed in a controlled fall on his ass. Ugh. His head was pounding. He didn't know if it was adrenaline or pain, but it hurt like a bitch and he didn't want to think about it too hard, so he focused on Maeve. That was easier. That felt right.
"Are you okay?" he asked. CODED BY ELECTRIC OF GS [newclass=.scream img]border:#191817 5px solid;-webkit-filter: grayscale(1);-webkit-transition: all .4s linear;-moz-transition: all .4s linear;-ms-transition: all .4s linear;-o-transition: all .4s linear;transition: all .4s linear;[/newclass][newclass=.scream img:hover]-webkit-filter: grayscale(0); -webkit-transition: all .4s linear;-moz-transition: all .4s linear;-ms-transition: all .4s linear;-o-transition: all .4s linear;transition: all .4s linear;[/newclass] |
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ELF
“ waste of time or waste of fear? ”
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Post by Maeve Flynn on May 22, 2014 5:59:35 GMT
There was a flood of relief when the human children ran off, but it was instantly smothered when Luc fell. Maeve was kneeling at Luc’s side in an instant, too fast to be able to even recall making the actual movements, fretting. ‘Are you okay?’ She paused, glancing at her arms. There were some scratches, scrapes. Her back hurt. There’s been worse. She nodded, before turning her focus back to him. “Did they hurt you bad?” Her voice was as strong as she could force it to be. She wanted to rest an assuring hand on him, but she hesitated, trying to find a place that wouldn’t hurt him worse. If only she could help like her mother, with her potions and herbs and magic. Little Maeve could do nothing. skeyticoded by electric of gangnam style |
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Post by skeyti on May 23, 2014 4:50:58 GMT
[attr="class","scream"] "I'm fine," Luc said. He pressed his right hand against his forehead and grimaced when it came away sticky with blood. Now that the adrenaline was leeching out he could feel his whole body pulse with pain. There must have been a cut there, though he couldn't feel it beyond a vague sense of stinging. His hip twinged where it had been stepped on, and he could already feel a bruise forming, bone-deep. "I'll be fine," he corrected. He'd swipe some cloth from someone and wrap up all his bleeding parts, find a back corner somewhere and sleep it off for a few hours and wake up and get by. "It's no big deal. Get worse in fights all the time. They were wusses."
Luc frowned at the scrapes on Maeve's arm. Tried to think of something that wasn't horrible to talk about. He wasn't good at that. He wasn't exactly a conversationalist, a word he'd overheard in Belle Marché. What Luc was good at was action, gestures.
He reached into his pocket and deliberately didn't wince when the action made his arm flare with pain. It'd be better in a few hours. It would. The apple was smashed beyond saving from the fight: most of the peel had been ripped off during his moments of prolonged contact with the ground, and the exposed flesh was coated with dirt. Luc looked at it for a moment before tossing it over his shoulder.
"I was gonna get you a present before I heard you were here," he said. "Got interrupted, and now that's not any good. You could never eat this, but at least it's still in one piece. Not like the apple."
He offered her the bracelet he'd pilfered from a merchant's stall. Luc didn't kid himself; if it was out on open display it wasn't worth more than two or three crowns, but the jewelery was pretty enough, he thought: a strand of lapis lazuli stones set into a circle of burnished bronze, and it clasped seamlessly for someone to hook it around their wrist. He probably couldn't have sold it without getting caught, anyway. CODED BY ELECTRIC OF GS [newclass=.scream img]border:#191817 5px solid;-webkit-filter: grayscale(1);-webkit-transition: all .4s linear;-moz-transition: all .4s linear;-ms-transition: all .4s linear;-o-transition: all .4s linear;transition: all .4s linear;[/newclass][newclass=.scream img:hover]-webkit-filter: grayscale(0); -webkit-transition: all .4s linear;-moz-transition: all .4s linear;-ms-transition: all .4s linear;-o-transition: all .4s linear;transition: all .4s linear;[/newclass] |
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ELF
“ waste of time or waste of fear? ”
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Post by Maeve Flynn on May 30, 2014 9:01:36 GMT
“I’m fine,” he says, and she frowns as she glances over his bleeding wounds before moving to tear at the very edge of her shirt. If the treasured, hand woven piece of fabric could truly be called a shirt by Orlesian standards. Her mother was angry with her later, but the elven girl either hadn’t considered that or hadn’t cared. It wasn’t enough to wrap anything up but maybe, she had thought, it could help with the bleeding? Her hands were clumsier than her mother healer’s, fumbling even when she tried to wrap wounds. Tasks that she blamed herself for failing at, tasks that perhaps a young girl shouldn’t have had to try and learn in the first place. Maybe, and her heart sunk for a moment at the thought, she would just make it worse. All the same, she moved to press the cloth against his forehead. She wasn’t even sure it would last long, but if it helped at all she wouldn’t consider it a waste. It took a moment for her to realize the meaning behind his words and glance down. She gasped, carefully glancing up so that she could safely lower one of her hands to gingerly touch the bracelet with calloused fingertips just barely tinged with a new reddish-brown. “Luc, it’s the most beautiful thing!” These were not words born of politeness or exaggeration. To her, it truly had been. skeyti coded by electric of gangnam style |
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