Life, Sex, And The Wasteland (closed)

[Zom_Dom]

It was once believed that human civilization was the be-all-end-all of existence on earth. That one day it would reach out from the blue and green womb that had incubated it and spread its long tendrils out into the cold, unfeeling expanse of space to wrap itself around the harsh, unlivable planetary bulks scattered across the vastness of space and continue to grow and feed as it always had since its inception. In this respect, civilization resembled not some newborn babe eager to escape the confines of its mother’s protective clutches, but actually one of the greatest heights of design and engineering it had ever assembled. Simply put, it was the Titanic. A ship so big it was thought unable to sink, which proved all naysayers right by crashing against an iceberg and rending itself in two before sinking below the icy depths one frigid evening, so the same fate was shared by the human culture and civilization that spawned it.

There were many theories bandied about by pundits, would be politicos, supposed wise men, and countless other masses as to what started the downfall of humanity upon planet Earth. Everyone had their pet theories, and they were as varied as the stars that still hung impassively in the night sky, mocking the remnants of human life with their cold, white, indifferent light. Some said economic collapse, others put forth theories of third world revolution, while still others maintained that it had something to do with a worldwide madness that had suddenly gripped the world without notice, although that wasn’t the most farfetched idea by a long shot. Whatever the beginning though, the events of the interim were well known, thanks to stories that had been recorded and passed along, ingrained into everyone during childhood until every scrap could be repeated from memory. The sky had been scorched, and the land and seas with it, plunging the entire world into utter chaos and scattering the last dregs of humanity across the globe like dandelion seeds scattering in the wind. These days, stories were humanity’s strongest connection to the time before the great disaster. Every community had a storyteller within its boundaries, and they lived a semi-charmed life, never wanting for as much as most despite the fact that they rarely helped with the manual labor. Instead, their task was the recording and remembering of all events, past and present, and the maintenance of the lore and legend of the folk of the community.

Settlements could be found littered all across the landscape, all varying in size although none anywhere near the size of the towns and cities that had once been filled to the brim with teeming masses of humanity and other forms of vibrant life. These days all that was left of those cities were the broken hulks and dilapidated shells that still stood tall against the sky here and there; silently crumbling testaments to the time before the great catastrophe that had almost completely wiped mankind from the face of the planet. Scattered squatters lived among them in some places, although the great majority of humanity stayed away from them, instead settling in the open areas, which were better for farming and eking out their meager existences. These places were known, collectively, as Towns, no matter their size, while all that surrounded them and lay outside their fenced settlements and enclosed areas was known as The Rot And Ruin. The people of the towns knew there were those who lived out among the Rot and Ruin, in the collapsing buildings or even out among the slowly returning nature that seemed intent on taking back the earth from the failed experiment in evolution that was humanity. Raiders, they were mostly; highwaymen, thieves, scoundrels, loners and hermits as well, and that didn’t take into account the varied number of mutations and other strange new breeds of life that existed among the wastes… Those things were only whispered about in the Towns, and they were fodder for children’s stories, morality tales and late night horror stories, as next to nothing was known about anything outside the Towns by those who inhabited them. Occasional trips were made between Towns, although they were infrequent and rarely undertaken lightly. No one liked going out among the Rot and Ruin, or leaving the safety of the known and comfortable Town they lived in, even if it was just a scavenging trip or running news from one settlement to the next.

However, every once in a while a need arose for a great trip from one place to another. In this case, a settlement was in need of a new Storyteller, as theirs had grown sick and died suddenly without even an apprentice to carry on in his wake. Word spread to the surrounding Towns of the tragedy, and the void it had created, and so a hasty caravan was put together by one of the larger Towns in the area, as they had a Storyteller who had almost completed her apprenticeship, and would be able to serve the poor fractured community who had lost theirs. She, along with several other members of the Town had all piled into the back of an old, dilapidated flat bed cargo truck, intent on delivering not just her but also a few items for trade and barter as well as a few letters, notices, and the like. It would have been easier had there been a traveling merchant in town, one who was used to being out among the Rot and Ruin, and had the caravan guards to aid and protect them on their journey, but at the time of the tragedy, there hadn’t been a single merchant anywhere near their Town. So, they began their hastily prepared journey, leaving the safety and comfort of the fenced in confines and making their way slowly out of Town and into the great Rot and Ruin…

Several miles away, a highwaymen rolled out of his makeshift bed, blinking the sleep from his eyes and stretching his tired muscles. Looking around, he picked up the pieces of clothing he had shed before climbing onto the fur covered broken down old mattress he had claimed for a bed the night before, and slowly got dressed. His head rang with the throb of a hangover, courtesy of several of the bottles of home-made beer they “appropriated” from a traveling merchant two nights before as he’d made his way too close to their current encampment. They had already divided up the takings after dealing with him, dismantled the cart he carried the rest of his possessions upon, and tied up the horse that had pulled it a little ways away. The raider pulled on his boots as his stomach growled, and he left the relative comfort of the darkened little room he had called a bedroom the night before, shielding his eyes against the harsh glare of the sun above as he walked towards the still smoldering embers of the last night’s cooking fire. Picking up a large leftover leg of rabbit the size of his forearm, he bit off a piece and swallowed it as he looked around the camp. They had shielded themselves in the alleyway between two old, broken brick buildings, one corner of which had held a mattress and was given a modicum of privacy thanks to a few sheets tacked up around it. He, being the leader of the twelve-raider-strong party, had taken the mattress while the men and few women who made up the rest of the band of highwaymen had curled up wherever they could. “Alright you sodding bastards! Get up!!” He barked at them with a snarl, a wicked smile gracing his lips as he looked over the stirring bodies that littered the camp. “That bloody convoy’s gonna be passin by this way probably by midday, and we’re gonna be ready for ‘em by then.” They had heard from the merchant, before he expired but after a bit of painful inducement and incentive, that there was to be a large party of men and women traveling from one of the local Towns to the one just east of this old city, and he aimed to meet them there within the city’s bounds and take them for everything they had. Perhaps, he thought to himself, they’ll even have a few women amongst them… He was growing tired of the four that comprised a part of their raiding party, as though they were in a sense feminine, they were also just as hardened and rough as the men. It just wasn’t the same, and it had been a long time since he’d had the money to afford a woman’s company in town, so if this caravan had a few amongst them, he would make sure to keep them around.

“I said get up!” He growled and spat, placing a kick squarely in the stomach of the closest man, rolling him over onto his back and eliciting a sorry groan of pain. “This’s going to go smoothly, or else it’s your hides! All of yours! Now, I want a lookout at the highest point of the building across the street, and the one behind us too, just in case they try to go around instead of through here.” They had made sure to pick a place to camp that was in line with the path of least resistance through the city; just off a wide open boulevard, only a few minor obstructions present. There was still the possibility the caravan would try to divert around the tiny city entirely though, and he aimed to be prepared in case they did. Looking from one side to the other, he watched the men and women struggle to their feet and begin adjusting themselves and their clothing as they got ready for the day that lay before them. He spied his hunting rifle and took it in both hands, looking it over carefully for signs of wear before slinging the strap over his shoulder and pushing the gun across his back. He licked his lips in anticipation of the action to come, and the prospect of finding a woman who was good and soft and warm for the first time in months.

 

[SubjectObject]

She was extremely fortunate, everyone said so. She had been born in as prosperous a Town as she had heard existed in the current day and excelled early on in her schooling, well enough to be brought to the attention of the Master Storyteller and marked to become a Storyteller herself at the age of 8. While her peers left their classes after learning the basic Tales and their numbers to work the fields and hunt the wastes or take up trades of manual labor, she continued to study, not only the Tales but the greater Stories and Histories, first the words, then the meaning, then the performance.

She learned the responsibilities of a Storyteller, part historian, part priest, part judge, a resource to the townsfolk not only for teaching the young and entertaining at festivals and the fireside, but knowing the right of things and the records and mediating any disputes. A Storyteller's judgment had to be as keen as her memory.

Her Town supported three of its own Storytellers, a handful of apprentices and a full class called the University for the children of the most well off to gain as much schooling as their families could afford. When the message of the death came her Master asked her what her plans were. She had never really thought about what it would mean to become a full Storyteller, in some small Town where she was the only one. She knew it was the norm, but she had envisioned staying in her own Town, perhaps teaching children, enjoying the yearly festivals and the not infrequent traders and the luxuries and news they brought with them.

She had heard stories of life in a small Town, living practically in the Rot and Ruin. But what was worse, to leave all she had ever known or to leave a Town without a 'teller? It wasn't civilized for a Town to not have a spiritual center, and if she were afraid, how much more afraid would the Townspeople be, so close to the Rot and Ruin, so close to being swallowed up and lost in it themselves.

She accepted with no small blush of pride on her pale cheek, it was exciting to know that the Master Storyteller thought her prepared for such a post. She was sure that the new Town would enjoy her coming, with new Stories and a new voice for the classic Tales. She bathed carefully, her skin soft and untouched by the marks of labor or sun, and bound her strawberry blonde hair into a series of braids for the trip. She took the great colorful patchwork cloak of a Storyteller from her trunk, each patch of color embroidered with a scene from a Story or Tale or History that she had learned to speak, and then edged when she had perfected its Performance. She removed the dingy grey cotton lining of an apprentice, it would be replaced with the colors of the Town she served when she took her place there. The cloak was her diploma and resume and badge of office in a Town, and in the Rot it was her passport. The repercussions of injuring a Storyteller kept them safer in the Rot than most. At least from raiders, though not from the many other dangers of such a trip.

She packed simply, her small room becoming bare in under an hour, her few mementos and clothes for the trip not even filling the ancient footlocker the Town representatives found for her. The group left at dawn, they had weighed the danger of waiting for an experienced and protected merchant against the time it could take and decided to move quickly and lightly. The party looked small to her, accustomed to being on the larger trade routes and seeing hands of trucks or dozens of wagons with outriders for security. She tried not to compare the four men and the pile of boxes on the flat bed to the vastness of the unknown wastes. She tucked her colorful cloak closer around her white dress and face, trying to shield herself from the worst of the dust and sun. The trip would take about three weeks, if they were lucky.

The driver stopped midmorning for a cold breakfast and asked her opinion about the route. They were coming up on a small old town, and the map they had didn't have a good way around it. They could lose days. Her behind was already hurting from the incessant shaking and her lips were getting chapped in the dirty air. She didn't want to contemplate extra days of this. Her companions looked to her, asking for her judgment, almost like she was a real Storyteller. She looked at the map and at the dust already coating her fine cloak and nodded to the road.

"We go quickly. And soon, and hope that its too early for any trouble to be awake to catch us." She pronounced her words so they carried, just as she was taught, her sea green eyes stern and solemn and they nodded back to her. They finished the last few bites of fruit and started the truck again. She tried not to look curious as they approached the old buildings, and gave up when the truck drew closer, finding a perch to stand in and gape at the buildings, even fallen, that dwarfed the finest structures of her Town.

She rode past the raider's hiding place standing on the bed, her bright cloak flapping behind her like a sail, for the first time seeing the proof of mankind's lost dominion, the truth of all the Tales she spoke and trying to accept it. She didn't notice the first, or even third raider appearing from the rubble, she didn't pull her eyes down from the broken teeth of the old town until the lookout cried his warning, far too late. They were surrounded. She forced her fear from her face and remained standing, still, tall, an elegance seemingly untouched by the Rot and Ruin surrounding her.

 

[Zom_Dom]

They watched from their hiding places as the tiny would-be “caravan” approached the town and began trundling down the broken boulevard. The asphalt they drove over was cracked and broken where it still showed beneath the cover of dust and barren dirt, a sprinkling of small saplings and bitter weeds straining to grow amidst the faded blacktop. A hot wind blew in from the west, bringing with it little dust devils that danced and swirled about in the stale, hot air of the ruined, collapsing city. Somewhere in the distance a bird twittered to itself, singing softly to anyone and no one from its perch atop one of the piles of rubble. Slowly the flatbed that carried the unknown passengers from the Town passed closer and closer to the little camp, although the only one left by that point was the leader, and the only reason he remained there at all was because it was partially shadowed despite the height of the sun in the sky and provided just enough cover to hide until the moment the caravan was completely surrounded. As the truck rolled slowly past, his ears were filled with the crack and pop of its tires as they pressed rocks and stones and crumbling asphalt beneath its wheels. There wasn’t a single sound from those on board, as though a respectful, wary hush had befallen them as they entered the old city. He had noticed the same behavior among most who lived in the great Towns. All held a respectful reverence for the old cities and the old world, as though the remnants of it were some holy relic that they were not fit to look upon. Personally, he had never understood that about the Town dwellers.

That might have been due to the fact that he’d grown up out among the Rot and Ruin, and broken down cities like this had been his home since he’d begun to crawl. They had been his playground during the brief time his mother still lived and sheltered him from the harshness that was life in the wastes. His only fond childhood memories were of her, and those were all from a time when he was very small, when she had seemed larger than life. During that time, he had played among the burned out, broken building they had called home, chasing the rats which had been almost as tall as his knees with a large stick or broken pipe or whatever was close at hand. He had liked to think then that he was protecting her from them, that he was master of that domain, and he had never cared to think of any way that might change. That was, until the thing came. He had only been nine years old at the time, and he had been searching through a burned out building in search of something to present his mother with for her birthday, which was right around the corner. He was searching through the remains of what used to be a store of some kind for he knew not what, sifting through the tattered remains of plastic and metal, the only things which had survived that long under the harsh sunlight and strong winds, not to mention the erosive effects of time and heat and cold and countless other factors his mother had done her best to teach him about. He was in the process of sifting through a pile of broken red bricks when he’d heard the scream. It rent and tore the air, sending a shiver of abject terror straight through him, causing every hair on his young body to stand on end and a cold shiver of fear to run down his spine, shaking him and setting him on alert. Looking around, he quickly spied the large piece of steel pipe that served as his weapon of choice on that outing and ran back to the camp he shared with his mother. Not seeing her anywhere about, he searched the area, and as he did so, another terrifying shriek sounded, although this one much closer. As he ran in that direction, he caught a view out of the corner of his eye of sudden movement, and turned just in time to see his mother’s leg disappear into the shadow of a tall, crumbling building. Rushing after her, he glimpsed the thing that held her, a horrid, greasy, greenish-black limb, gangrenous and devoid of any skin to cover the muscles. He cried out for her then, rushing into the shadow, club brandished to take a swing at whatever had taken hold of her and reclaim her from it. There was a horrid crack and a great rumble as though the building were about to collapse on top of him, and he rushed through the shadow and back into sunlight, watching as his mother’s limp arm was dragged quickly through an open manhole and disappeared. That was the last he ever saw of her, and since that day he’d been alone, even among a crowd.

For that reason, principal among several, he made a point never to make any of those mistakes again. These days he was always on guard, ever ready for the next skirmish, never letting anyone in, and above all, he always knew the full extent of his surroundings. That was another reason he had never understood the morbid reverence the Town-dwellers held for the old burned out cities. To him they were just piles of rubble, occasional treasures hidden beneath the slag and stone, but otherwise every bit the Rot and Ruin they exemplified. He waited in his alleyway as the truck passed, counting the number of passengers as they moved by. This must surely have been a hastily concocted venture, he realized, as they didn’t have a single competent guard among them, and they were traveling lighter than he’d seen in a long time. That, or they’re just stupid… He shook his head, smirking and laughing softly to himself at the thought. None of the men wore proper armor, the truck hadn’t been rigged to withstand attack, indeed one of the passengers even stood in the flatbed in back. His eyes were immediately drawn to her as they passed, for he realized that the caravan did in fact contain a woman. His heart leapt up in his chest, threatening to throttle his brain, while at the same time all the blood rushed from his head, down past his stomach and began pulsing and throbbing between his legs as need overtook him. He hadn’t been with a woman in weeks, not an actual, soft, feminine woman anyway, and it was starting to take a toll on him. Shaking the desire from his mind, he gritted his teeth and watched the truck roll a little further down the boulevard before stepping out from the alleyway in its wake, and joining the few member of his crew the truck had already passed. Any moment the truck would reach the rusted hulk of a car that had been rigged with a quarter stick of dynamite they had taken off the same obliging merchant who had supplied them with information about this caravan in the first place. Hmph. Useful bugger, that one. Perhaps we didn’t need to kill him, at least not until Josie’d had her fill of him first… Josie was the largest woman among their band, and also the fiercest and meanest member overall, and a true demon when it came to taking her pleasure. None of the men in their group had been with her more than once, no matter how desperate they were, and he resolved that if possible, he would save one of these men for her to play with.

He watched as the truck carrying the captivating young woman and the unremarkable men ambled slowly down the street and more raiders slipped from the shadows to slowly surround and enclose the vehicle. A glint from one of the buildings ahead of him caught his sight and he looked up at the signal from the lookout above him. Retrieving a small compact mirror from his pocket, he returned the signal, turning the scavenged makeup mirror so that it caught the light and reflected it back at the man atop the crumbling building. He watched as the lookout then flashed another signal to a woman crouched a few short feet from the rusted out car, who lit a fuse and ran clear of the impending blast radius. His breath caught in his throat and he held it in, waiting as second ticked past and the length of fuse burned down. One… Two… Three seconds passed. Nothing. A growl began echoing up his throat, frustration beginning to cross his face, when suddenly the silent tableau was rocked by an explosion and the broken down previously immobile shell jumped several feet in the air, rocks and dust and glass and other debris raining down upon everyone. The entire raiding party, minus the two lookouts atop the building, suddenly burst from their silent crouches and hiding places and rushed the flatbed and its startled riders. Zarah, one of the few among them who carried a rifle similar to his, raised it to her shoulder and drew the driver into her sights, a blood curdling scream passing her lips as she let loose a bullet which broke through the windshield and caught the driver, rending the life from him and causing the truck to list to the left slowly, drifting to a stop against a mass of rubble piled in the middle of the boulevard. Meanwhile, the remaining three men on the back of the flatbed flew into action, taking up arms and turning about, overcome by the explosion and the flurry of action from the raiders about to beset them. One fired desperately at the enclosing crowd, catching the raider in the neck with a lucky shot before being felled in return by a burst of gunfire from three other raiders.

More screams tore the air, although he remained silent as he dashed closer to the truck, pulling to a stop within a few yards and raising his rifle, taking down another man with a shot in the chest. Stupid. Who goes out without full body armor these days? He strained to see the woman, although she had broken into a tight crouch, almost pressing flat against the bed of the truck the moment the explosion sounded. All he could see was her cloak, and she didn’t look to be moving. He growled loudly and spat, swearing to himself that he would personally tear off the head of anyone fool enough to shoot her. The last man fell in another hail of gunfire, although he took down two more highwaymen before his gun stopped spitting lead and fire. The group encroached ever closer to the vehicle, guns raised in case there were any surprises, although when he reached the back of the flatbed, he saw none. He looked down upon her, cowering where she lay flattened out against the cold steel of the truck among the boxes and crates, sobbing softly and shivering, her hands clasped over her head as though to shield it from the violence and block out the world around her. He signaled to the group that all was clear, and they gave a triumphant shout, filling the air with a loud, boisterous noise before falling silent again at his next signal. “Alright. Get the cargo unloaded and sort through it.” He turned his eyes back to the young woman, “I’ll take care of this one. Make camp, get a fire going, pull the vehicles back into town. We ride out first thing in the morning.” One of the men climbed into the back of the flatbed and stood next to him, looking over the goods to be unloaded and the bodies to be disposed of. “Sir,” he said softly, “this one’s still alive…” gesturing to the man who’d been shot in the chest. Apparently the shot had been high, and caught the shoulder more than the chest. He looked at the man and nudged him with a foot, eliciting a groan and a twitch. Never taking his eyes from the young woman, he gestured again “Hmph. Very well. Give him to Josie.” At that, a particularly lusty, bawdy cheer rose from one of the raiders beside the truck. The others laughed heartily and the one standing over the injured man struck him with the butt of his rifle, rending him unconscious. “And her?” the man asked, tentatively. Still gazing at her, his mind awhirl with possibilities and thoughts, he spoke to the man standing beside him. “She comes with us.” The raider gave his leader a nod of understanding and bashed her head with the butt of his rifle as well, and the fell still and silent, unconscious as well. “Goddamnit!!” He snarled at the man, turning and pulling a pistol from his belt, pressing the barrel against his forehead and pulling the trigger. “Nobody touches her but me, and nobody, I mean NOBODY is to harm her!”

 

[SubjectObject]

The world went from serene and solemn to chaos almost before she could react. The explosion rocked the truck, making her stumble and scream. The gunfire seemed quiet to her ringing ears and she flattened herself to the bed of the truck, trying to unsee the image of the driver's head exploding in a mess of blood and brains, going in an instant from a human being to... a wetness, a splash that smelled of copper.

The raiders were too close, too quickly and far too many. She covered her ears with her hands and tried to find what shelter she could in the open truck bed. The noise of shouts and gunfire seemed to go on forever, but the quiet after it was over was unlike anything she had ever heard. She looked up slowly and gasped at what had become of her companions. She crouched among the boxes and tried not to think about why she was still alive.

She looked up to see one man, the leader?, checking the truck for signs of life. He didn't seem to register as a threat. Or as anything more important or different from the rest of the cargo. The raiders shouted their triumph like a pack of wild dogs. They quieted as he jumped into the truck and began giving orders, and her stomach sank as he claimed her.

Her mind was spinning in confusion when she heard the name Josie and the lusty shouts of the rest of the raiders. The obscene gestures of the man next to the leader left nothing to her imagination. She hadn't even noticed that there were women among the raiders and she allowed herself a bit of hope that they weren't completely uncivilized. Until she saw the aforementioned Josie and her obvious attentions to the wounded man. There was no civility here. The poor man might survive the wound, but no one was going to take any pains for that outcome.

She looked up at the leader, eyes tearfilled, as he pronounced her fate. He couldn't just take her, could her.

She tried to protest, to explain that she wasn't something to just be taken, but she barely got two words out before the rifle butt came down and cracked into her skull, sending black stars over her vision. She yelped, holding her hand to her head as he retaliated against the man who had struck her. Her vision cleared just in time for the raider's body to thump down in front of her and she jumped again, an absurd reflex twitching her cloak from the growing pool of blood.

She forced herself to stand, ignoring the warning flop of her nauseated stomach and the threatening greyness seeping into her vision, holding herself steady against some of the boxes. Her fingers were wet with her own blood, leaving fingerprints on the cargo, but she stood, facing the leader.

"Do you have any idea what you have done? We have no cargo of interest to your kind, only the supplies for our journey. I am a Storyteller, on my way to a new posting. The Town will come for me."

His mocking smile was not the answer she was looking for, but she chalked it up to not being her best performance ever, as unsteady on her feet as she was. She tried to avoid his grasp when he reached for her, but sudden movements just made her head spin painfully and he ended up half dragging her, half helping her to the rough camp his men had set up. She tried to ignore the outright hungry gazes of the other men, shrinking away from them and against the solid mass of the leader until she noticed her own dependence on him and stiffly pulled herself away from him as well. He pushed her roughly toward an old mattress, hard enough to make her stumble and fall, her pounding head giving another vision blackening lurch.

Looking up at him from his feet for the second time that day, she felt very, very small. "W-what do you want from me?"

 

[Zom_Dom]

The body slumped to the metal floor of the flatbed in a heap with a wet thud, sprawling amongst the crates and other bodies already crowding the space. He looked from the crates to the dead men and bellowed to the raiders gathered around the truck again, “And somebody bury these things properly this time! We’ve got enough problems without worrying about wolves or cats or those things coming into the area looking for food.” He snarled to himself and nudged the dear raider with his boot as if to make sure he was really dead. The body rolled slightly and he saw the bloody hole in the back of the head exposed to the midday sun, then turned away satisfied. The injured caravan guard moaned and slowly tried to contort his limbs together, pulling himself into a fetal position where he lay, and the leader just grunted, shaking his head softly as he crouched next to the man and whispered softly to him. “Don’t worry, Josie’ll take good care of ye. Ye may even last out the week… Hehehehehe…” He chuckled softly to himself before standing up and looking over the side, watching as the woman in question drew closer to the truck to claim her prize. She was a beast of a woman if there ever was one, and more than one of the group, himself included, had suspected at one time or another that she had grown to her size and bulk thanks to too much exposure or radiation during her youth, or maybe even earlier during her mother’s pregnancy. Some of the highwaymen said her mother wasn’t even really human, but one of those things instead, but he’d always broken up that kind of talk the moment it started if he was around. For one thing, it was certain to cause infighting, and he couldn’t have that. For another, it reminded him of his own mother, and the last time he’d seen her, and that was just too painful to think about, even then.

No matter the cause, Josie was a large woman, just over six feet tall, only marginally shorter than the leader himself, and bigger in other ways. Where he bordered on thin, with a body like a taut bowstring about to snap, she was built more like a tank, with arms and legs like tree trunks and a great barrel chest (and breasts she herself had dubbed “the big guns”) and a large jutting jaw. Her great bear-like paw smacked the back of the flatbed as she hoisted herself onto it and the entire truck shook and sank a little as she took one great step towards the jumble of bodies, both alive and dead, before scooping up the injured man and tossing him over one arm. She smiled wide, exposing her uneven teeth, sending a shiver through the leader. She was a frightening sight when she was happy, although doubly so when she was upset, and even more so when she was angry. She winked at him then, closing one of the great glassy brown orbs and turned, took one great step and hopped to the ground, leaving the truck shaking and rocking. He turned from her and returned his gaze to the woman, the true prize he claimed from this venture, and wondered if she were merely dazed and stunned by the blow, or if perhaps she were unconscious like her friend whom Josie was currently carrying off to the camp being hurriedly constructed nearby.

She stirred, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief. Unconsciousness wasn’t a bad thing at times, when stealth was needed, or pockets required artful picking, especially when one planned on disposing of the unconscious person in the near future; but he had nothing like that in mind for her in the slightest. Indeed he had plans for her, but they would be greatly delayed if she had a concussion or worse and they were forced to treat and doctor her up beforehand. Surprisingly, she stirred, apparently just dazed by the blow for her face was turned towards the back of the truck which Josie had just vacated with her friend in tow. Whether she sensed him watching her, or merely in an attempt to discern who was standing over her, she turned to look at him, an expression of shock and awe and fear written across her face. He merely smiled down at her, his lips pulled back in a predatory grin which exposed his teeth as the light caught his eye with a glint. Despite the dirt that marred her face, and the tangle her hair had attained during the brief skirmish, he could see she was quite beautiful. Her skin was a little pale, unlike that of every member of the raiding party, which was deeply bronzed thanks to countless hours spent out of doors and under the harsh, unforgiving sun. Her eyes were bright and wide with wonder, her lips soft and plush, and even the fear in her face couldn’t hide the bright fire of life that burned deep within her. Truly a worthy prize… He thought, his eyes traveling down her body, drinking her in joyously. She attempted to stand, wavering and wobbling a bit as she did so, and put a hand out against the crates at her side to steady herself. He was so enraptured with this “catch” that he was rooted to the spot, and didn’t move to help her or hold her steady, not just yet. It was enough to look upon her for the moment, a radiant vision of clean warmth and soft curves that stood out against the harsh landscape around them like a beacon of light in darkness. When she spoke, the words that slipped past those full lips were as honey to his ears which had heard nothing but the guttural growls of his band, the harsh rasp of the wind, cracking gunfire and animalistic grunts and growls for so long. She protested their actions, and threatened him with the reprisal of her Town, at which he almost laughed.

He merely smiled at her, wider than before as if to challenge her to make good on her threat and call her bluff. She wavered slightly and he reached out for her, causing her to wobble worse than before and practically sway into his arms, disoriented and dizzily. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her against him, her head lolling against his chest as he gazed over her shoulder towards the modest fire pit at the center of the latest camp. He adjusted his hold on her and moved her to the edge of the truck, then to the ground below, sometimes pulling and other times merely supporting her as she attempted to walk without swaying. He growled to himself, sneering as he realized that she would need to rest up lest she grow topple and possibly hurt herself worse. Any plans for her would have to wait, at least until morning, and then they would be on the road again, either heading back to more permanent lodging or onto another ruined city to scavenge and possibly pillage. As they reached the camp, he half dragged, half walked her past the campfire and lean-tos and ramshackle tents the others had constructed on his way to the back of the alley which still housed his covered mattress. The others whistled and made cat calls as they passed, each looking at her like a piece of meat ready for the taking. He sneered at them and they fell silent as she pressed herself against him, then pushed off of him and attempted to walk on her own. Growling at the sudden harsh treatment, he gave her a push and propelled her forward, stumbling and tumbling with a crunch onto the mattress. She righted herself and looked up at him, her eyes pleading as she spoke, asking in a trembling voice what he wanted of her. He merely laughed, tilting his head back, hands on his hips, a strong, hearty laugh as he looked to the sky. After a few moments his laughter died and his gaze settled upon her once more, a wide predatory smile crossing his lips as he looked upon her soft flesh once more. “Oh, I’ve got plans for you, don’t worry… Hehehe… But first, you rest up. You certainly look like you need it.” He turned and gathered up a large length of canvas from the ground, casting it across the scrap that hung across the alleyway overhead, allowing it to drape down between them and cast her in darkness before turning back towards the band of highwaymen. “What’s for dinner tonight?” He called, striding towards the campfire and looking over the haunch of prairie wolf they had already begun roasting.

A thought came to him then, What if she’s not as weak as she seems? She may try to escape. Well, can’t have that! Taking the large knife from his belt, he cut a chunk of meat from the huge leg and placed it upon one of the battered tins beside the fire pit, then filled an equally battered metal mug with water from one a large plastic jug by the crate one of the raiders was sitting upon. Looking back to the flatbed, he turned to Zarah and Slag, who sat across the fire from him. “After we eat, I want that truck unloaded. Bring the crates down here, see what the damage to the vehicle is. Strip it down, and before nightfall, bury those damned bodies!” He snarled the last at them, although all of them surely still remembered the last time they had left a body out after nightfall, the scent of death wafting through the air on the night wind and attracting them. He turned and walked back down the alley to his new charge, pushing aside the canvas sheet he had hung for privacy and placing the tin plate of food and mug of water at the foot of the mattress. She looked up at him as though still dazed, her head swaying slightly from side to side as she brought a hand up to shield her eyes from the sun which shone down from behind him and right into her eyes. “Eat. Then rest. We’ll talk later. Maybe come night fall, you’ll even spin us a tale, Storyteller. Your Town won’t come for you, I know their lot, and they can’t. Too scared of the damned Rot and Ruin. Anyway, the water’s pure, you’re lucky there. Oh, one more thing…” He moved towards her, blocking out the harsh glare of sunlight and casting her in shadow before leaning in close, his face only inches from hers. He was close enough to breath in her scent, and it was every bit as soft and fragrant as he’d imagined. He stared into her eyes, “Don’t try to escape, it won’t do you any good. There’s worse things than us out here, little girl. How long do you think you’ll manage, how far do you think you’ll make it before you’re picked off?” He smiled widely at her, chuckling before turning back around and wandering back to the campfire, leaving the canvas flap open and letting the sunlight stream back in across her as he strode away.

 

[SubjectObject]

The mattress was in a niche in an alley, old walls and rubble giving it the suggestion of a room, if not the completeness of one. She squirmed under the gaze of the leader, pulling her great cloak closer hiding her shape in the thin white dress under its bright folds. She ducked her head as he settled the dirty canvas over the entrance to the nook, leaving her in a twilight darkness.

She felt like she was in a dream, his footsteps retreating into the busy noise of the raider's camp. She heard bawdy comments about Josie and her recent traveling companion and quieter suggestive encouragements toward the leader, about her. She blushed deeply in her shadows and tried to avoid thinking about what his plans might be, and almost certainly were.

She cast her fingers around the ground near the mattress, finding a fist sized shard of glass and tucking it into her cloak. She didn't have much of a chance, but she had none at all without something like a weapon.

She jumped at his voice, shouting orders about the crates. The crates! Her trunk, her clothes. She didn't have much, but what she had was out there, with them. Her masks for Festival stories, her small collection of jewelry, her silver mirror and some of the fine soap from the last far trader, a few changes of clothes, her comb and hair ribbons. Things she needed to remind herself of who and what she was, that she was not one of these animals. She started to stand up when the canvas was tossed back and the sun poured into her eyes, making her blink and recoil. She startled, drawing back from him defensively but relaxing a bit as he delivered food and water. She licked her lips, she hadn't noticed how thirsty she had become.

She couldn't quite stop herself from whimpering as he bent close, her heart beating so loudly in her ears she could barely hear his warning. He didn't smell like any man she had ever met, dirt, sweat, leather and smoke mixed with a dry harsh smell she could only think of as Ruin strong against her face. His eyes held animal anger and power, but also a glimmer of intellect and sensitivity that she did not expect out here. She gasped softly and shifted her fingers on the glass shard, wrapping it in her cloak to keep her fingers safer. "I know my Tales, I know better than to wander the Rot and Ruin alone. Monsters on two legs or more take good people out here back to their lairs and death is a blessing."

They were still for a moment before his jackal smile grew wide again to take over his face and he pulled away, leaving her sitting where she was, but not pulling the flap closed. She scrambled to her feet, following him for a few steps.

"Wait! On the truck is a small trunk of my things. I would like it brought to me. And water for a wash." Her voice sounded small against the rough clatter of the camp, but the rest of them grew quiet as she continued, looking to their leader for direction as to how to respond. She tucked the glass into an internal pocket and brushed her hands over her skirt and cloak, trying to set herself to rights. "If you expect me to perform as a 'teller, I expect to be treated as one." She hoped she wasn't trembling as hard as she felt she was, her mouth as dry as the dirt, but she kept her eyes on his, standing proud and straight.

 

[Zom_Dom]

As he walked toward the campfire the smell of smoke blew down the alleyway towards him, and with it the scent of cooking meat, which made his stomach growl and begin to turn. But, as happened in those battered old wrecks that once passed for vibrant, living communities and were now relegated to sometime squatters and most of the time animals, or worse, the wind changed direction and began blowing softly at his back. Dust kicked at his back and fell down his neck as it so often did when he left it exposed for even the briefest moment. With it though, came a soft scent, a floral bouquet that he was completely unused to and which caught him by surprise almost as quickly as the patter of feet behind him, treading over the refuse and crumbling masonry that littered the alleyway and most of the city. Then, in stark contrast to the gruff gamboling of those seated around the fire, a sweet yet insistent voice came to his ears; that of the Storyteller. It, more than anything, caused him to break stride and stop hesitantly just a few feet outside of the alleyway. She had drawn up behind him as she spoke, and her words had been carried by the wind out into the open, giving an earful to the entire band situated around the fire. He put down the foot that had stopped in the air mid-stride, slowly turning on his heel to face her and cocking his head to one side. Her face was bright, despite the shadow he cast across it as he stood before her, blocking the sun’s rays and casting her in a slight darkness which seemed only to make her clothing and appearance that much brighter and cleaner. There was something about the way she carried herself, the way she walked and moved and spoke, perhaps it was the combination of all of these things and more, but whatever it was it bespoke one thing to him: she didn’t belong there. She belonged within the sheltered confines of some Town, speaking and spinning tales, recording events and whatever else it was Storytellers did to earn their keep. He, personally, didn’t know; none of them did really. All they had heard of Storytellers had been learned through hearsay or gossip passed in canteens or from traders or merchants. The only thing all of them knew for certain was that they were valuable in their community, and a Town would pay greatly for her return.

That was of course, assuming he decided to give her up, and in that matter he wouldn’t even begin to wonder until he’d had a chance to “try her out.” So, despite the fact that in her own community she might have been held with esteem, and the fact that she undoubtedly would fetch a high price, either with the Towns, or the slavers, or even some rich merchant trader, at the moment she had absolutely no place making demands of him or his crew. So, they all listened with baited breath for his reaction to her list of demands. He looked her over again, starting with her feet and letting his eyes slip over her legs, peering through the material as though it were translucent to the luscious flesh beneath, across her stomach before lingering upon her chest, although his eyes didn’t stay because of the fancy clothing she wore. That was much too impractical in this environment to merit much attention, aside from initial shock at the garishness of it (compared to the rest of them, all in brown and grey and black, although whether that was clothing or dirt, it was impossible to say anymore) which came with bright colors and sweeping lengths of fabric. Finally his eyes came to meet hers, reading the steady, stern expression on her face and peering straight into her eyes, looking for the fire that burned deep within them which had caused this outburst. At that moment his reaction began bubbling up from the pit of his stomach, flowing easily throughout his limbs as his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, his legs tensing as his entire body began to quiver slightly. What started out as a low growl in the back of his throat ebbed up past his lips, which parted widely as it transformed into raucous laughter. The entire band of raiders, waiting on pins and needles, saw this and joined in, their boisterous cries and laughs joining his and swelling into a cacophony which surrounded the camp with the first real honest mirth it had seen in days. The leader practically bent double he laughed so hard, finally coming back to himself after a full two or three minutes, his laughter ebbing away as he watched her face again, red eyed and teary, until the last chuckle ran from his lips and the only sound to be heard again was the whistling of the wind. “And what makes you think you’ll get all that, huh?” His arms spread out from his sides in a wide, encompassing gesture. “What makes you think that anywhere out among the entire blasted Rot and Ruin, you’ll be able to find water for a wash? This aint no Town, little girl, this is life’s scrapheap. You’re damned lucky the water I gave you is pure, most of the time out here you’re takin’ a chance, drinkin irradiated water when you can even find it, or else paying through the nose for it…”

His face grew stern, his glare burning into her as his words lost all mirth and took on an icy chill of control, “You’re bloody lucky you’re eating tonight. ‘Till we bagged that lobo we hadn’t seen fresh meat in a week. I’ll make one concession to you though, and that’s your things. If you can get ‘em from by the fire back down the alleyway, they’re yours. BUT! I expect somethin’ in return…” Everyone around the campfire began to chuckle bawdily as their minds flocked in the same direction, some jabbing others with elbows while others winked and shared knowing grins and looks. A wicked smile played across his face as his hand grazed across the stubble on his chin. “If you’re expectin’ to be treated like a Storyteller, then ye’ll be performin’ like a storyteller as well. Once you get your crate back to your bed over there, and have a rest, you’ll be tellin’ us a story around the campfire tonight. That’s my deal: take it or leave it.” He started to turn, and halfway through thought better of it, looking over his shoulder at her where she still stood, stock still, proud and straight before him as though she were carved of stone. “After the story, or at least later on tonight after the sun goes down, you’ll have to find some way to earn your keep for the night. We aint exactly runnin’ a ‘charity’ outfit here, and I’m thinkin’ you’ll be much happier with me than you would be left with this bunch…” He winked at her then, still giving her that same animalistic, primal smile which bared his teeth and told her wordlessly which one of them was the predator, and which one was prey. As he finished, the crowd of men and women around him gave loud choruses of “boo’s” and sorry groans, seeing that their fun had clearly been ruined for the night. Turning from her to fix his gaze on them, he shouted “If you’re all feelin’ lonely, you can always go shack up with Josie and her new playmate! I’m sure she’ll take on all comers, and he’ll be glad for some relief by nightfall.” The groans dissipated slowly and the chatter returned, so he took one final half glance over his shoulder at the girl in the flowing robes, not quite catching her eye but almost, and said “Either go get your things or go eat your meal. Lobo’s even worse when it gets cold, trust me. After that, we’ll see about the rest of the night.”

 

[SubjectObject]

She stood still, the dry dusty breeze flowing around her, shifting her heavy cloak and stirring the lighter fabric of her dress, teasing over her legs. She waited, she had said her piece, and his response would be telling. His eyes took her in like a possession, and she felt her cheeks flush as his gaze lingered on her chest and she became all too aware of the bare flesh above the neckline of the dress and below the clasp of her cloak. Those few inches felt unbearably vulnerable, she knew her breasts rose and fell with her breathing but couldn't calm herself enough to deny him that sight. She had heard stories of the human monsters that roamed the Rot and Ruin, she knew them as she knew most stories.

Finally, his eyes met hers and she suppressed a shudder. She had taunted an animal in his own territory and she knew that such an act would not be borne without reprisal. His laughter was almost a comfort in comparison to what she had been steeling herself to handle. The laughter of his crew was soft on the wind, she was focused only on him. His crew would not menace her if he didn't.

“And what makes you think you’ll get all that, huh?”

She smiled softly and raised her eyebrows archly while he made his speech. When his mood turned her eyes widened and she gasped, stepping back quickly. It took her a moment to understand that he was giving her one of her demands. Giving it to her with a caveat that made her stomach clench and her mind twist away from the lurid teasing of his crew. His smile accepted their suggestions and delivered them to her with his own wicked thoughts. She watched him finish his performance, hoping it was mostly for the benefit of his men. She closed her eyes briefly at the thought of her travel companion and the treatment he was receiving. She looked beggingly at the leader, trying to figure out some way to help the Townsman and not coming up with anything that she had to bargain with. As much as she hated the choice, she narrowed her focus to her own survival.

“Either go get your things or go eat your meal. Lobo’s even worse when it gets cold, trust me. After that, we’ll see about the rest of the night.”

She nodded to him, but he had already turned away from her, and set out for the small pile of cargo that had been unloaded from the truck, the hem of her cloak just brushing across from the back of his boot as they both left the alley.

"I'll tell Stories, for you and your crew. That is how I earn my keep in Town and how I'll earn it here."

She found her small trunk past the edge of the firelight, a wordless glare getting the laughing raiders to let her have it. The men watched her with hungry grins, a few fingers toying with her cloak and dress as she passed, but no one barred her path and no one touched her outright, obeying the letter of the law laid down by their leader. She looked hopefully for anything like a friendly face, but the ones that weren't enjoying her predicament were ignoring her existence.

She struggled her trunk over the uneven ground back to the alley, trying not to think how undignified she must look. She winced at the marks and scars on the previously unmarred wood when she finally got back to the mattress. The tour through camp had been dismally educational. Few of the raiders had equivalent bedding, most had hammocks or cobbled bedrolls. Without the benefit of walls, the raiders had to set man heavy watches and sleep in shifts. He had told the truth about the food and water, that was all they had and the raiders ate with unfeigned pleasure. She shook her head softly, wondering why people would choose to live like this.

She set about cleaning and organizing the small space set aside for her, doing what she could to get the rubble out of it and hanging the canvas curtain straight, tying it back with a bit of found wire. She laid out her quilt and pillows on the bed and choked down the lobo meat while trying not to think about where it had come from. She used some of her precious cup of water to dab at the blood on her face, sighing at the stiffened blood in her hair but deciding that nothing could be done about it at the moment.

She listened to the work and the leisure of the raiders, the protests of the Townsman and the joyful shouts and encouragement of the others and felt vaguely ill. She didn't belong out here. She took her shoes off and curled up on the mattress, folding the hood of her cloak up around her face and covering herself wholly in the drape of her stories.

 

[Zom_Dom]

"I'll tell Stories, for you and your crew. That is how I earn my keep in Town and how I'll earn it here."

He chuckled softly to himself as he strode towards the campfire, shaking his head slowly from side to side. When he reached a haunch still spitted although now hung beside the fire, rather than over it, he took the knife from his belt once more and cut himself a portion of prairie wolf, setting it on a tin plate as he wiped his knife upon the least dirty portion of his pant leg before replacing it in its sheath. He moved between the carousing, laughing raiders assembled raggedly around the fire’s meager warmth, watching the flicker of shadows that danced over the assembled crew and their ragtag camp. He came upon a small crate set back from the others, seated himself upon it and began to eat, his eyes roving, looking for the young woman as she reached her wooden trunk and began dragging it along the arduous stretch of ground between its former resting place and her little hideaway in the back of the alley. Here and there the men and women of his crew jostled her slightly, teasing her with tugs at the hem of her robe, making catcalls and obscene gestures as she passed, although none dared lay a hand on her possessively. All of them knew that he would personally cut that hand from them and feed it to the things that lurked out among the rubble, just beyond their view, always hovering just out of range like an ever present specter that haunts the tortured souls of the guilty. His eyes caught something over her shoulder, a few buildings down the street, and instinctively his eyes watched for some sign of further movement. Perhaps a breeze caught a patch of rubble, or a rat had scurried across an already weathered beam and disturbed something; whatever it was, it held his attention only momentarily, and his gaze quickly fell back upon her again, watching her struggle with the large wooden container, working her way slowly back to the alley.

It left a furrow in the in the dust that had settled over the road as she dragged it along, and for a moment he wondered just what it might contain. They would go over the contents of the other crates soon enough, before night fall at least, and perhaps while the rest of the highwaymen did that, he would see just what she considered valuable enough to drag along with her through the Rot and Ruin, and what she still clung to even then. His eyes rested upon it only briefly before returning to her lithe body as she dragged it along the ground. Her arms stretched taut with the weight of it, the strong muscles of her thighs pumping as she struggled over the uneven ground and rocky terrain of the broken road. Sweat began to break out across her soft, pale skin and she glistened beneath the harsh glow of the midday sun. As undignified and ridiculous as she looked, dragging the trunk towards the little hovel in the alley, she remained as tantalizing and enticing as ever, a bundle of soft curves and fluid movements, an invigorating form that roused his desire and stirred the depths of him, stoking the burning embers of passion and need that dwelt inside of him. She disappeared into the alleyway, his view of her cut off thanks to his position set far back from the fire, and he turned his attention to the rest of the temporary camp, watching the cajoling raiders as they talked and laughed and finished their meals. He tore off a bite of meat, sneering at the gristly texture of it and the semisweet flavor. He had never been a fan of Lobo, although it was better than the alternative of nothing…

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he set down the plate of half finished food and stood, clapping his hands together and addressing those assembled around the campfire, “Alright, enough bloody messin’ about. Half of you get those crates opened and sorted, the other half get the vehicles circled around; I don’t want any surprises blowing in and catching us with our pants down. Zarah and Pigeon, get up top and keep a lookout.” The assembled crew stood hurriedly, bustling about randomly but with a semblance of order as some gathered up pry- and crowbars while a few others went to the buildings and alleys where their trucks and jeeps were parked, starting them up with loud roars, belching thick clouds of acrid smoke into the air as they rumbled to life and rolled across the crackling rubble. A loud groan echoed from a tent strung and set up haphazardly between two trees on the median, near the place the convoy truck had come to rest. He growled, “And for Ruin’s bloody sake, someone get Josie off of her trophy for a bit, else those moans are going to keep me up tonight…” He walked across the campground, back towards the alley, looking down it at the canvas curtain which she’d found some way to tie back, creating the illusion of a doorway. Harsh, bright sunlight shone down upon the alleyway, although her niche was cast in shadow which blurred the soft dark outline of her form, reclined upon the mattress, covered entirely within her cloak. He could just barely make out the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the slow, controlled breaths moving in and out, and it was easy to see that she had drifted off to sleep. No doubt tiredness and fatigue and shock had all combined to overwhelm her and put her under. “Hmph… Get some rest now, you certainly won’t be getting much later… Hehehe…” He grinned wickedly as he spoke to no one in particular, his voice drifting out and being caught by the breeze which whisked it away unanswered as he turned and strode back to the campfire.

The rest of the day passed in earnest, slowly and quietly, which was a rarity out among the Rot and Ruin. The sun hung high in the sky and drifted lazily along its path through the heavens, dust blew through the ravaged cityscape around them, and despite the flurry of activity that proceeded the meal, things settled down after the crates had been unpacked and sorted through. The few who’d sorted through them had first choice of the pickings, although they’d been slim. Clothing was passed around, along with ammunition and foodstuffs, whereas tools were secreted away into pockets the moment they were discovered. A pair of solitary books was found buried within one of the crates, and before they were torn up for kindling and fire starter, the leader took them from the hands of the scavenging highwaymen who held them aloft, tearing them from his grasp with a snarl, “Don’t ever let me see you treatin’ a book that way. They’re rarer than clean water these days, and the next time I hear you talkin’ about burnin’ one, it’ll be your ass in the fire piled atop the logs!” He took the books in one hand and cuffed the man upside the back of the head with the other, then walked purposefully down the alleyway to the covered semi-private area where the young Storyteller slept, tossing the books down beside the mattress. The hit with a gentle thud, and she stirred slightly in her sleep while he stood over her, watching her restful form upon the bed, torn between conflicting emotions. On the one hand, he knew she needed her rest, and if she followed through with the stories she had promised that evening, she would prove a boon to their party’s morale, for nothing sucked the joy out of life like the Rot and Ruin. The men and women may have been jovial earlier, but when the food and water ran short, or if they happened upon a desperate situation like the one of a few weeks back… A Storyteller would be a good one to have around, someone who could take their mind off the harshness of the day, beat back the loneliness of the night, hush the uttered fears that gripped them in their weaker moments… On the other hand, though, she would also be a personal comfort to him, and he relished the thought of her soft skin pressing against his, the sweet smell of her wafting to him then. He could almost taste the salt of her skin upon his lips, and he licked across them slowly as his mind began to drift.

When evening finally began to fall and the day began to wind down, he returned again to her hovel in the alley. A blazing fire grew by the moment in the pit centered amongst the crates once more, its bright orange and golden hues blending with the fiery crimson and deep blood red bands that streaked across the sky just above the vermillion of encroaching night. Light twinkled in the panes of reinforced glass and reflected off the dusty armor plating of the trucks and jeeps circled around the band. The low thrum of conversation bubbled up throughout the camp, supplanting the crackling of the fire and the hissing of the wind through the rubble strewn cityscape. The last of the prairie wolf was spitted over the fire, tins of pure water had been passed around along with the standard small bottles of home distilled grain alcohol. The lookouts had been called back from their rooftop vantage points to join the meal; even Josie and her “guest” were situated by the fire, she with her arm wrapped tightly around him as though supporting him and keeping him from toppling to the ground before him. He winced slightly, thinking of what the man had surely endured earlier in the day and evening, then laughed softly to himself, knowing from the wide, hungry smile upon her lips that Josie was nowhere near finished with him yet. He strode down the tiny alleyway, following the impression dug through the rubble by the young woman’s trunk earlier, to the canvas sheet that had been unfurled and hung down, an improvised door barring his access to her. He drew the sheet aside and poked his head in, letting the last ruby rays of sunset spill in across her, giving her an almost ethereal look. “Alright ‘teller, time to earn your keep. The first part of it anyway… Hehehe. Better make it a good one, else you’ll have to try that much harder later on, unless you want to be left out in the cold tonight…”

 

[SubjectObject]

She opened her eyes at his voice, the last rays of the setting sun drenching the small space in blood toned light, his body looming over her in black silhouette. She started to stretch but stopped at his innuendo filled half threat, all of a sudden aware of every bit of skin that would be revealed by the long, spine arching stretch she had intended. She settled for a lazy yawn and sat up cross legged, pulling her hood back and running her fingers through her hair.

"I earn my keep with my 'telling. That is *all*." She tried to look stern and bored in spite of her pounding heart and the terror seething in her mind. She stood and brushed herself off, pushing past him toward the fire and the rest of his gang, leaving her back to him deliberately.

She stepped into the circle of the fire, drawing the light to her form as if by some subtle magic, until the fire seemed to respond to her, pulsing with the pattern of her breath, her heart, the jeers of the raiders quieting to curiosity, if not respect. She watched the sparks of the fire join the stars for a long moment.

"It is a rare moment when a Storyteller gets to face a new audience, and rarer still when that audience is so unfamiliar with a 'teller's wares. So, however our paths have come together, tonight is a very special night for all of us, if we choose to take advantage of it."

She looked around, gauging her audience and pulling them in with the smallest of smiles, beginning to relax as she did what she had trained for years to do, she Told a Story.

"Tonight, in this company, in this pace, I wonder how many of us have heard the Story of the Forge Valley and the winter the old country was born from the efforts of a group no better organized or outfitted than this one, when a father of the old country took a collection of outcast men and made an army fit to take on the rest of the world and make the greatest country of man from the wilds of a planet."

And so she began the story of General Washington and the winter at Valley Forge, a piece of American History that bored thousands of school children before the Fall, and now, with her lilting, sweet voice, brought the story alive for band of rough men and women. She drew the parallels between their situations, digging out a meager survival in harsh conditions under a strong leader, and hinted at the aspiration for building civilization from the wilderness, hinting at their greater birthright as men. The fire danced with her words, at times being the dim light of a hearth fire in a small cabin, at others the swirling sparks of a winter's storm, always seeming to give a picture appropriate to the History.

Her voice was growing rougher before she finished, clearing her throat and wetting her lips with her tongue, ending with her message of hope from effort and the worth of what was once built, and could be again.

She put her hood up, the sign that a Tale was done, and pulled herself out of the firelight, going to the water jug and half filling her cup, drinking in small sips, and giving them all back to their usual reality.

 

[Zom_Dom]

Her voice was stern and hard, but it was easy enough to see that it was a patina meant to cover the fear inside. He could see it in her eyes, plainly enough. Try as hard as she might to conceal it, keep the quaking from her voice, stand tall and proud, her eyes gave her away. She was still a Townie, out among thugs and highwaymen and the ruins of a world long dead, the Rot and Ruin proper, and she was scared. It was hard to tell though whether she was more afraid of her situation and the surroundings or of him and his intentions toward her. His last remark hadn’t exactly been a veiled threat, or ominous portent of what might happen to her if she were unable to perform either as a Storyteller or something else later on, but it had clearly shaken her. As she brushed past him her shoulder clipped his, and he turned to watch her as she moved towards the firelight. Whatever, he thought, she’ll find out soon enough what the world’s really like. ‘Till then, let her believe in her fairytales. He kept a few steps behind her, and took a seat opposite the fire from her so he could watch her performance from a proper vantage, or at least as proper as was possible given the circumstances. He settled down upon the creaking wooden crate, its slats groaning under his weight, but holding out as they bowed and flexed underneath him.

None of them had ever experienced a true tale before, and most of them sneered and grumbled and fidgeted as she prepared herself. Only one of their number had ever been a Townie, Pigeon, and he had come to them by way of a desecrated caravan when he was a boy. The only reason he hadn’t killed him outright or left him for dead was that he had already been trained with a rifle by (he guessed) his father, one of the caravan guards, and had proved himself capable with it; taking down two of their number before they were able to outflank him and he personally wrested the gun from the boy’s hands. Still, Pigeon had spent so little time actually inside the walled confines of a Town that his fractured, distorted memories of those places were useless to them. He had, though, grasped the significance of the Storyteller and her caravan as quickly as their leader, and was the first to point out her possible worth. He looked around for Pigeon, spotting him a few seats away, hushing the others around him in preparation for the tale. “Hmph.” He chuckled to himself, shaking his head softly before returning it to the Teller, her face cast towards the sky above the fire, eyes fixed upon the sparks that jumped and danced above the crackling logs as they wound their way towards the darkened heavens above. A change had come over her, and a noticeable one at that. All the fear and worry had left her, to be replaced by a calm, almost complacent expression, and as she looked around the fire at her potential audience, she seemed to radiate warmth, although of a different kind than the fire that sat between them. Her voice was serene at first, and everyone around tensed at the sound of it, unused to the way the words seemed to flow so easily and endlessly from her lips like a river, washing over all of them and bathing them in her narrative. Her inflection and tone changed as she continued on, describing a long forgotten place and time with such ease that even he was drawn in, hanging on her every word as though compelled by some magical, unseen force.

The men and women around the campfire sat enthralled, completely taken with the story of this strong man of legend and his hearty band, easily slipping themselves into the roles and empathizing completely with their heroic plight. It brought up memories of past winters, harsh and long and unforgiving, flecks of snow that burned skin wherever they touched and bitter winds that whipped through the cracked and broken landscape as though churned up straight from the deepest icy depths of hell itself. He wondered if that was what it was like for the men of her tale, if all they had suffered through was truly worth the eventual outcome. They had struggled so long and hard for an idea and an ideal, unflinching even in the face of bitter defeat and terrible extremes, and the survivors had claimed victory for their own. By the end of her story, the entire camp of raiders and highwaymen was wrapped about her words, clinging to them as if they were life itself, and when it finally drew to a close, they all sat in silent contemplation, dozens of eyes wavering between the black sky above, the spitting flames of the campfire, and the ground at their feet. None dared look at her lest the spell she had woven over them be broken.

As she slipped quietly into the shadows, life returned to the camp, albeit slowly. He was the first to break the silence that had begun with the end of her tale, “Alright. Time to set up watch! Usual shifts, I don’t wanna see anyone sleeping at their post, or I’ll gut ‘em myself.” He felt the need to return to order, the disentangle himself from the story and remind them all of the reality around them. “There’s lots of creeping nasties out there, remember, so I want you all on guard. We pack it in and move out at first light.” With that, he stood and strode across the campsite, pausing only briefly to glance down at Pigeon as he passed, who smiled up at him with a boyish grin, his eyes sparkling in the firelight, hands clasped tightly in front of him. “Thanks, Cly- I mean, boss.” Pigeon mumbled, casting his eyes down. His lips caught in a sneer, which broke almost instantly; he couldn’t get mad at Pigeon, not when he reminded him so much of his own self of years ago. “S’alright. Just make sure nothing gets in tonight.” He turned towards the young woman standing just outside the ambient glow of the firelight, nursing a small cup of water, and walked briskly towards her, catching her eye as he drew close but not slowing. “You, come with me.” The order was short and clipped but obviously offered no room for argument or complaint. He headed for the alleyway, listening to the soft crunch of gravel as she fell in line behind him. When he reached the tiny makeshift hideaway, he pulled back the curtain, turned and gestured for her to enter, ushering her in and following close behind before letting the canvas curtain fall back into place. Being the head of the outfit he was afforded a few small perks, and he made use of one of them then, pulling an old dented zippo from his pocket and lighting it. He touched the tiny naked flame to the wick of a homemade candle cobbled together from bees wax and scavenged rope; he still had a few leftover from a small fortune in candles they had appropriated from a caravan a while back. When he lit one then, it was to see her better and maneuver about the small space more easily without opening them back up to the elements or the prying eyes of the other raiders. “Sit.” Again, the order brooked no argument, and she sat, carefully settling upon the mattress, her soft cloak billowing about her as she did so like the fantastic trappings of a wraith. Her pale complexion lent credence to the description, the soft light of the candle casting flickering shadows across it and giving her soft lips an almost unearthly pallor. He sat beside her, his face just barely illuminated by the edge of the sputtering candle’s light, waiting for the flame to actually take hold of the wick and the light to improve.

“What you did out there tonight was good. Damn good, I won’t lie. I suspect you’ve got a hundred other stories too, maybe more, but if you think that’s the only way you’ll be paying your way around here, you’re mistaken. Now you’ve got a choice, you can either be my girl, stay here with me, or I can let you go and you can try to find your way out in the Rot and Ruin, although no story’s gonna save you from those things out there… No Lobo’s gonna stop to admire that pretty cloak before eating you, the bats’ll tear right through it to get at your neck, termites are more liable to drag you underground before you’ve got a chance to even defend yourself, and those things…” He practically spat out the word, “Well, assuming they’ve still got ears to listen with, I doubt they’ll listen long before they mark you as dinner.” He grinned at her, reaching out to close his hand over hers, her skin warm and soft despite the chill of the night air, looking deep into her eyes as he waited for her to respond. He could see the wheels turning behind her bright eyes, although the ever present fear of before was harder to discern, but perhaps that was just the low light. The silence dragged on, and after clearing his throat, he spoke again, “Tell you what. While you think it over, why don’t you tell me about yourself, get comfortable and all that. ‘Less you decide to leave, you’re gonna be with us a good long while, so maybe we should be getting’ to names and whatnot, first.” He winked and chuckled softly as the wheels began turning in her head once more.

 

[SubjectObject]

It was a good Telling. Not her best, mayhaps, but under the circumstances she had done very well. She watched the raiders blink and recover, not quite understanding or believing in the subtle magic of a shared Tale.

He regained control of his men with a shout, setting sentries or somesuch, his growling voice ripping the last of the Tale's mark from their faces and driving them back into the dirt and the darkness. She licked her lips with the return of her nervousness as he came toward her, turning slightly away, hiding her face until he spoke, calling her like chattel.

Her heart leapt to her throat as she followed him, her eyes glancing around for some source of succor. No one looked at her, not even to come close enough to brush against her as they had earlier. She might as well have been a ghost. He opened the curtain, gesturing her into the tiny space with a mockery of civil politeness, closing them in together as if in a cell.

They were in the deep dark for only a moment, her breathing rasping quickly in the close space, hopefully loudly enough to cover her panicking heartbeat. She fingered the long shard of glass tucked in her cloak, asking herself if she could really bring herself to attack this man. Fearing that it wouldn't matter.

She jumped when the zippo lit, almost running then, but calming enough to follow his order to sit. She settled herself on the far end of the mattress, flipping her cloak around her like a shield. His looming figure in the flickering light was barely distinguishable from one of the monsters of the Rot and Ruin, only somewhat related to her mental picture of a man. Hie eyes glinted in the dark, sliding over her features with a possessive curiosity that was all too close to a predetor's hunger.

She looked away at the mention of being "his girl" and tried not to respond to the imagery of the other monsters he threatened to leave her for. She flinched at his touch, looking to him wide eyed with a mix of terror and anger, her hand still under his like a rabbit that freezes under a hawk's shadow.

She waited, calming slowly, but wary. "I am not going to run. I'm not dim, this is no place for civilized folks and I don't want to face it on my lonesome. I'm better off with you and yours than I am dead, though maybe not by much." She challenged him to argue, her eyes bright.

"I wouldn't have thought you wanted to know anything more about me, I'm worthy tradegoods to any Town you come to, as long as I'm well treated. What more does your sort like to know of a woman, wouldn't one do as well as another for your purposes?"

She sighed, "I'm called Lily. Marksbend lost their 'teller and the Master Teller in Ferry says I'm ready, so I was going to where I was needed. I know far more than a hundred of the Stories, but technically, tonight I Told a History." She sniffed with professional disdain. "Or a bit of one. the full litany is an entire war, and is a performance more suited to a festival." She shook her head, "Its no matter. Pearls before swine."

"You, rogue, what is your name? If we are doing introductions."

 

[Zom_Dom]

He chuckled softly to himself as she stared into his eyes, hers burning with a ferocity born of righteous anger and wrongful imprisonment. The way she spoke showed more about her than she probably intended, and he took as much from her manner and the inflection of her voice as she railed against him as he did from the slightly hurried explanation of her situation. So she knows her worth… Why wouldn’t she, though? She’s clearly been educated. Wheels began turning in his head as the thought of ransoming her off drifted through his mind, battled by the idea of keeping her a part of their roving band, for all the good she might do them in either case. It was still too early to decide one way or another, although he knew sooner or later he would need to come to a decision. Perhaps in the morning he would take stock of the situation with fresh eyes and his muddled thinking would clear, allowing him some insight that was denied him that night thanks to the rapid pace of the day’s events.

For the moment, though, he had to consider the rest of the night, and he mulled her explanation around in his mind again as he formulated his response. She had called him a rogue, a term which he hadn’t heard outside of trading circles, suggesting she’d had at least some contact with the Rot and Ruin, although how much exactly he couldn’t judge from her brief monologue. Silence began to stretch out between them, the flickering light casting them both partially in shadow and illuminating the darker parts of their features as they watched each other. A stern expression stood strong upon her face, her eyes burning fiercely as they bore into him while his own expression was feral hunger mixed with inquisitive curiosity and a hint of amusement. She’d already proved herself to be quite strong-willed, with a barbed tongue that was capable of spinning silver tales so immersive that even he’d been swept up in them earlier. However it was a different story then, and he was in control. He took a deep breath, his chest heaving as he did so, and opened his mouth to speak. “Very well, if that’s how we’re going to do things, so be it. Is it so surprising that I’d wish to know about you, though? I’m not the monster you’ve painted me as in your mind’s eye already. I may not have your fancy Town upbringing, but we’re not really that bad off here, believe it or not. I can still keep a civil tongue in my head when I choose. My name’s Cly, but most everybody around here calls me ‘boss’ or ‘sir.’ I’d prefer either of those when we’re among the others, as it helps keep the order, but when it’s just you and I…” He chuckled a little louder, lewdly as he let the unspoken implications sink in, “Well, you can call me whatever you want then.” He finished with a wink, grinning at her before readjusting his weight and stance.

“You probably know part of the outfit by now, and you surely know enough about the Rot and Ruin that you won’t be wonderin’ too much what we have to do to survive out here, so I don’t think my situation needs much explanation. As for sellin’ you off, we’ll figure that out when it crops up. ‘Till then, you’ll be a ‘guest’ of ours, so I suggest you make nice.” With that he began to lean closer and closer, his lips drawing back to expose a wide row of teeth that glinted in the low light as his eyes sparkled with desire and need, a hand reaching across the gap between them to clasp her thigh through the soft material of her cloak, his fingers tightening around her leg and clutching it tightly, as though hanging on for dear life as it ebbed and slipped away. Her short gasps of breath blew across his skin, setting it alight like fire taking to kindling, and though their lips were barely a hair’s breadth apart it still felt to him as though a mile wide gap stretched out between them. Suddenly though, a shot rang out in the darkness and instinctively he shot up ramrod straight and reached out, searching for his rifle which had fallen to the “floor” of the tiny hideaway. Quick as a rabbit darting from a fox, he stood and brushed aside the canvas again. A faint cry sounded from one of the rooftops, “I got two! South end, closing fast!”

Cly turned back to Lily where she sat, a look of concern and confusion mixing with relief upon her face. “Stay here, don’t move until I get back.” He snarled before dashing down the alleyway towards the camp which was already a bustle of motion as highwaymen took up defensible position behind cars and piles of rubble. Zarah’s voice sounded high and clear in the night air, “I got one! Three o’ clock!” Her words were quickly followed by the loud crack of her rifle, then the crumbling of mortar and brick as shots ricocheted off of it and blew away into the darkness. More guns trained in that direction as other raiders took aim and all began firing blindly as a shadowy figure shambled too quickly for their tastes through the darkened street. A low guttural moan escaped its lips, followed by a growl of challenge and the scraping of metal against stone as the figure dashed towards the camp. Gunfire rang out loud and brilliant in the night, muzzles flashing as bullets ricocheted off broken buildings, crumbled asphalt and piles of brick and stone and metal. The thing that moved out among the shadows let out a bloodcurdling cry as some of them found their mark, giving the others a point to fix upon, and another hail of bullets rained down upon it. The cry turned to a garbled gurgle, low and wet, which echoed almost as loudly as the previous cry though not as badly as the gunfire, which still rang in Cly’s ears. Finally silence returned to the street and the tiny campsite, punctuated by shuffling of feet over the broken ground and the sound of guns being checked and reloaded as everyone searched for the other shadowy figured that still loomed out in the darkness. A sound behind him caused him to spin on his heel just as he saw a large figure drop from an old broken out window to the rubble laden alleyway he had rushed from. Even from there he could still smell the young woman’s soft scent upon the wind, and he was sure it had drawn the thing to her position more readily than the dying embers of the campfire and their latent aromas of food and humanity. “Ahhhhh hell…” He grunted as he sprang back to the alleyway, rifle at his hip as he chambered a cartridge, hoping against hope that he would be able to reach the girl before that monstrosity did and highly doubting it.

 

[SubjectObject]

She watched hm process her words, he was entirely too thoughtful, his rough demeanor doing little to hide the keen mind at its core. He had the strength and will to survive out here on his own terms as a man, not simply by joining the monsters created by happenstance and the fall of mankind. She was taut as a guitar string, vibrating gently with his words, to aware not to realize that her life's path was in this man's hands and too stubborn to bow to it.

Her eyes flashed with indignant dispeasure at his blantant innuendo, anger and fear cutting into her thought of what he could have been like had he grown up in a Town. She bit back a retort of what she would call him and shrunk from his advance, but there was nowhere to go. His hand found her thigh, pinning her tightly though the fabric of cloak and dress. She felt sick at the inevitable assault, the greasy lobo meat held down only by the lump of her heart in her throat. She shifted slightly, wrapping her fingers around the glass shard and pulling it from its hiding place, readying herself to do something she had never had to do in her life – attack another living being. She couldn't catch a full breath, each tiny gasp stabbing into her like ice. Then, as quickly as her fears had started to come to life, he released her. She noticed her deliverance before she registered the activity of the camp outside, processing the sound of the gunshot a heartbeat after her heart leapt at the disappearance of the weight on her thigh.

The calls of the raiders were marked with fear and the smoothness of practice, they moved as a unit, drawing into a defensive posture, sleepers waking and arming themselves as quickly as their leader. He had obviously taken stock of the situation before she had fully realized he was standing. The hard look on Cly's face made her joy at her unlikely salvation taste leaden in her mouth. Anything that could make him look like that was not a welcome savior.

She was alone. More shots rang in the darkness but she could do no more than what she was told, no more than the soft parts of civilization have ever done when the wolf howled at the door, but huddle down by a small light and hope the hard, quick, violent men would be hard, quick and violent enough. She heard scuffling, running, more quick cries of the raider's hunting pack, and under it running footsteps, breaths and cries from beings that could not be human at all. As far from the raider's life of dirt and blood as she felt, something in her gut, or sub conscious, knew that these things were leagues beyond the raiders alienness. She jumped and cowered from every gunshot, sitting up cautiously when the camp went quiet. She looked up at the noise outside the canvas curtain, the small candle sputtering as it struggled to give even its weak light.

“Cly?” she said, her voice small and wishful, but the footsteps that had shambled to the curtain were anything but human. She saw only a flash of the thing as it took down the curtain and knocked over the candle, extinguishing its flame. That instant burned into her mind with nightmare clarity, a horror of teeth and claws and twisted flesh. She screamed, high and hoarse, her carefully calibrated and controlled voice breaking under the strain. The piercing shriek was cut short as the thing pounced, driving the breath from her body and driving her to the ground. Something hard and heavy trapped her arm and blocked out the stars.

She forgot her worries and the confusion of the day, she ignored the smell of the dirt and ruins and the thing filling her nostrils, harsh enough to taste. The pain in her head and her chest and her arm ceased to matter. All her world narrowed to the glowing eyes of the beast and the pure terror it filled her with. She gripped the glass with panic induced strength and thrust it up, toward the eyes. She hit, the shard slipping once before sinking in, sour hot liquid dripping onto her. The creature pulled back in something like surprise and she stabbed at it again and again, wildly, sometimes finding flesh, sometimes not, slicing her hand deeply in the process.

 

[Zom_Dom]

He rushed down the darkened, rubble strewn alleyway as quickly as he was able, lunging after the monstrous form that loomed across the doorway to the tiny niche in back of which Lily still presumably sat. He couldn’t see around the figure’s broad, muscled shoulders, or through the tiny gap between its tree trunk legs. A long arm which more closely resembled the gnarled, twisted branch of a tree than anything once human reached out, a large beefy claw of a hand clutched the canvas curtain and tore it away. The light of the candle inside flickered and died, and for the briefest second he saw it as a portent of Lily’s life being snuffed out just as quickly and easily, the last vestiges of it ebbing away across the ground like molten wax, draining from her limp form up into the night sky like a wisp of smoke rising from her cold wick of a body. His legs pumped hard as he scrambled over the fallen brick and mortar, stumbling and slipping on the loose bits of gravel in his haste. Pain shot through him as he reached out to break his fall with his free hand, the other still clutching the rifle tightly, clattering as it hit the ground a short second before him.

Suddenly a loud, harsh cry tore through the night air, ripping it in twain like a strip of old, dry paper. It shook him from the stupor that held him against the ground, and he struggled to his feet, rushing the last few feet down the alley to the huddled form that had curled itself over the mattress and the Teller. It reared back and let loose a loud snarl which rumbled through his bones and practically shook him off his feet again. As he lurched to a stop behind the monstrosity, he dropped the gun and wrapped both arms around its neck, hauling back with all his strength, practically falling over and onto his back with the weight of it as he arched and yanked. His fingers dug into its thick, bark-like skin, further reinforcing the image of a twisted old tree come to life. It was cold and rough to the touch, yet the thing that that struck him first was the overwhelming stench of the thing. It was somewhere between an open pit of sewage, sweet and rotten; and three day old sweat, harsh and acrid. It assailed him, and he reeled from it, his grip upon the thing loosening slightly as it bucked and threw him to the ground. He crashed with a loud thud and a crunch, his head lolling to the side to see Lily’s still moving form upon the mattress turning to look at him, one hand covered in bright red blood. It ran in rivulets down her hand and forearm, a dull grayish crimson in the glow of the starlight, like mercury.

The thing reached out and gripped him roughly by the front of his shirt, yanking him back to his feet and propelling him against the crumbly brick wall. Breath shot out of his chest in a harsh gasp, and he suddenly felt like a crumpled up paper bag, unable to suck air back into his lungs as he slumped to the ground. His fingers darted this way and that, looking for something sharp or heavy with which to attack. His fingers wrapped around the barrel of his gun, tightening around it and drawing it tightly into his grasp, both hands wrapping around the barrel as he swung out hard at the nearest leg. It hit with a sickening crack, just below what he assumed was the knee, and the thing went down with a fierce shriek of pain and agony, toppling down on top of him, fingers tearing at him and the wall for purchase. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, he attempted to turn the rifle around in his grip, settling his quaking fingers around the stock and shoving the barrel into the things chest. His finger tightened around the trigger, the muzzle flashing twice in quick succession, illuminating the mottled, grey skin around it as it broke and thick, viscous liquid splattered all over him and began to run down the thing’s chest. The smell grew to an almost unbearable stench, sharper and more acrid than ever. The thing let out a garbled, almost strangled moan as its frantic grasping slowed and it tumbled to the ground beside him. He grunted and gave it a shove, breathing deeply and coughing as dust filled his lungs. He struggled to a standing position, his knees wobbling and his legs quavering like there was a localized earthquake happening under his feet, and leaned against the wall, clutching his shoulder where it had hit the wall.

Turning his gaze upon the Storyteller, a worried expression crossed his face, his eyes soaking up as much of her as he could in the low light, and he took a hesitant step towards her, fearful of what he might find. Falling to his knees beside her, he looked into her eyes, which were still wide with fear and apprehension, the starlight sparkling in them despite the shadows that were thrown across the little hideaway by the buildings around them. His fingers fumbled for the candle while the other hand gripped the cold steel of the lighter in his pocket, pulling it out and giving it a few flicks, although his hand shook so bad it took a few tries to get it lit. Finally it caught, and he held the naked flame to the wick, bathing the two of them in soft yellow light and the sickly sweet smell of butane mixed with the harshness of smoke from the burning wick. Clicking the lighter closed, he shoved it back in his pocket and reached out tentatively to take her wrist in his hand, which was sticky from the not quite dried blood on her hand. “Let’s have a look at that hand…” He whispered, bringing the candle closer to examine her as his eyes darted up to meet hers.

 

[SubjectObject]

There didn't seem to be enough time for the entire struggle to be over so quickly. She struggled to catch up with the last few seconds, the fact she was alive and the monster wasn't. She blinked in confusion and wonder at Cly, not understanding how he was there, how he could have taken on that thing and lived.

She tried to put the pieces together, one moment she had been under the thing, the next it had simply left her, falling backward like... well like a tree. She got her first glimpse of Cly when the creature reeled back and tossed him against the wall, and had not seen a way for them to best the creature until it occurred, they had survived.

The candle flame reappeared, drawing her focus as she numbly allowed him to take her bloody hand and coax her fingers open. The single shard of glass had broken into a dozen pieces during the attack, her panic gripping them tightly. The mass of bloody flesh and bloody glass seemed somehow separate from herself, separate from the dull shriek of pain somewhere in her nervous system. The candle light reflected merrily on the sparkling glass and the shiny fresh crimson pooling in her palm, giving a terrifying beauty to the bright colored blood and pale skin.

"I stabbed it." she said softly, her voice questioning, "You killed it. It fell on you." She looked to him for confirmation of her recollection of events, perhaps the most vulnerable action she could do, admitting she may have forgotten even a new story. She looked down at her hand, still cradled in his. "Hurts." With a calm deftness that seemed out of place in this corner of the world she began to pluck the larger shards of glass out of her palm and fingers and toss them aside.

She had just about finished when she started shaking.

 

[Zom_Dom]

Cly looked into her eyes, sparkling brightly in the glow from the candle, wide with fear and apprehension, desperate to take in everything around her. There was shock and pain and loss and confusion and terror in those eyes, open to the world and exposed for everyone to see, but there was still the undercurrent of questioning and curiosity, the spark of intelligence and the fire of intensity as well. For a brief moment he lost himself within them, feeling himself slip and tumble into their depths, letting them engulf him and swallow him whole, sending a cold shiver of shock and awe through him which rocked him and brought him back to the present. There was something about her eyes… Doors to the soul, his mother had said. Not windows, but doors… He had never understood what she’d meant by it, but in that instant he’d lost himself within them, swept away by the wave of emotion they struggled to convey. He understood then. His mouth opened and closed, his tongue feeling like a dry, swollen, useless lump as he struggled to formulate his thoughts into words, give voice to what he’d just seen and finding himself wanting. Instead, he simply closed his mouth and listened to her, tearing his eyes from hers and turning to look at her hand as she spoke.

The candle threw every shard of glass into sharp relief amidst the surrounding darkness, each one a tiny mirror reflecting and refracting the light like tiny prisms. Where the bloody hell did she get that piece of glass? He wondered idly to himself, And what was she planning on doing with it? He risked another glance at her eyes, watching the way the image of the candle flame reflected in them like two miniature suns dancing and flickering in a nonexistent breeze. Her expression seemed to plead for understanding and confirmation of her side of the story, and he set his lips into a firm, tight line and nodded slowly at her. It seemed to be the confirmation she needed, as she began pulling shards from her hand and tossing them aside. He realized then that his grip around her wrist had tightened thanks to the paleness of her skin and the way the blood seemed to ooze and trickle from the gash in her hand. Crimson ichor ran in a little rivulet from her palm, falling to the floor in fat drops and hitting the mattress with a silent plop. He helped her pick out the other large pieces, his voice finally returning as he searched and probed her hand for shards. “Doesn’t look too deep, shouldn’t leave too much of a scar. That hand’s gonna be useless for days, though…” He trailed off as he noticed her hand beginning to shake, despite the vice-like grip which held her wrist tight.

Looking into her eyes again, he muttered to himself, “Ahhh bloody fan-TAS-tic, she’s in shock…” Quickly pushing her back onto the mattress and laying her down, he set the candle on the ground next to them in the tin cup left there from the night before. The candle lolled to one side, leaning against the rim and rolling from side to side but didn’t tip over, just dripped wax in fat splotches upon the ground so similar to the drops of her blood which had dripped to the mattress a moment before. “Look at me, girly. Look!” He took her head in his hands, turning it to face him and staring straight into her eyes, his wide with concern. “Lily!” He hoped her name would get her attention, and reached out to take her wrist in hand again as he slid between her legs and leaned down over her, bringing his face into the faint yellow candle light again. “You’re gonna be fine, hear me?” His voice was low now, the need forced out of it and replaced by a calm he struggled to maintain. “We’ll get something on that hand and you’ll be fine…” He leaned closer, his face held a foot from hers, watching her shake beneath him and pressing his weight into her in what he hoped was a reassuring matter. Cly’s hands slid down to her shoulders, squeezing them gently, trying to calm her back down. He leaned in closer until his lips were hovering a mere few inches above hers, and whispered, “It’s over now, hear me? It’s gone and it’s not comin back. Yes, I killed it, but it was either it or us. Not the first time that kind of thing’s happened, and it certainly won’t be the last.”

 

[SubjectObject]

She frowned in confusion at her shaking fingers, not noticing how deeply the rest of her body was shuddering, or really listening to Cly's words at all, the stillness crept into her making her dreamily focused on some far away place. The candlelight flickered, echoing the stars in the dark sky and she could only really feel her hand if she tried hard, but why would she? Her head lolled back against the mattress as he pinned her down, his warm weight uncomfortable and real, pulling her attention from the tiny bits of light and back to the closer problems.

She winced and muttered as he pulled her head to face him, her vision filling with his concerned eyes. He was so worried, so close, so real... His strong arms held her tightly, refusing to let her go, to let her follow her blood drops into the dark. Her pupils grew and shrank, responding to the change between worlds, finding a focus on Cly. She touched his cheek gently, almost wonderingly, trying to soothe the fear she found there.

"You kill them every time, Cly... I don't... I don't know that I could. I don't belong here." She curled up against him, burying her face against his chest and pulling him down to her, still shivering. "I don't belong here. I don't think anyone does. Please... just... it's not a promise of anything...but if you could hold me...just for a bit... I want to touch someone human. I want to know I'm human. If anyone can be such a thing here."

She placed her hands on his shoulders, pulling away enough to look into his eyes, her own shiny with unshed tears. "Why do you do this to yourself? Why are you out here with ... with things like that? What is worth living like this? You could... you're capable and strong and bright, you have the skills and ability to make any Town stronger and safer and happy to have you, make a good life for yourself, why are you here?" She pressed back close against him, her cloak loose against her back, her torn, dirty thin dress all that protected her from his touch, and let out a soft sob. "and why won't you let me go home..."

 

[Zom_Dom]

He sighed deeply his chest heaving slightly against Lily as she buried her face in it, his hands sliding to her back, caressing it as gently as he could, trying to assuage the fears and worry from her mind as best he could. Cly didn’t know how best to go about it, but he had vague recollections of his mother cradling him in a similar manner when he had been small and had gone running to her with a cut up hand or some other trivial childhood injury. The only difference, aside from the vast expanse of years that separated the two instances, were that his had only been minor scrapes by comparison whereas Lily had just suffered through a horrific ordeal and it was a wonder she’d come out intelligible, let alone still this close to control. He’d seen others, those who’d grown up in the Rot and Ruin, lived their entire lives out amongst the worst dregs the world had to offer, break out in tears and fall to their knees, never to get up again after witnessing similar events. Hell, Cly had even put down one or two to ease their suffering… Lily was clearly made of stronger stuff than he’d expected, but that didn’t mean she would simply shrug the whole ordeal off like it was a stubbed toe then return to playing amidst the cracked and crumbling rubble like he had.

He attempted to shush her the best he could, pursing his lips and making soft “Shhh…” noises as he stroked her hair, trying to recall what exactly it had been about his mother that had always calmed him down. Twice in one day… he thought, which struck him as odd because he never thought about his mother these days. It was just too painful. Perhaps it was just the fact that there was finally a soft, comforting female presence about again… Pushing the idle train of thought to the back of his mind, he simply held her tight as she spoke into his chest, clutching her tight in an effort to ease the shivers that continued to wrack her fragile body. He chuckled softly, his chest heaving slightly against her as his fingers reached up and twined in her hair, stroking through it in what he hoped was a reassuring, soothing manner. Not a promise of anything? That’s a good one… Cly was torn between warring emotions at that moment. As he clutched her against him he felt the familiar stir of desire within him, the embers glowing brighter at her words, stirred back to life by the prospect… On the other hand, though, her reactions to the things had stirred some equally primal, animalistic urge inside him; something protective and instinctual which urged him towards comforting her in her time of need. He felt as though his mind would split straight down the middle, cleaving his head in twain along with it…

When she pulled away and looked deep into his eyes, the firelight of the sputtering candle reflecting brightly in the tears welling up at the edges of her own, his brow furrowed questioningly and his lips curled into a twisted sneer. Unable to stem the flow of questions which raged forth from her lips he simply let her sputter out, finally reaching the heart of the matter before trailing off. He took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh, shaking his head and causing a new dance of shadows to fall across the mattress upon which they lay. Cly could easily feel Lily’s great wracking sob from where she lay pressed against him once more, and wrapped his arms tight about her once more. With a soft “Hmph,” he attempted to shift his weight and find a more comfortable position. Unable, he rolled to his side upon the mattress, arms still wrapped tightly about her and rolling her along with him to slump against his chest once more, her breathing coming in short, almost tortured gasps which gave him the impression that she had begun to cry. He simply pulled her tighter against him, comforting her as best he could and holding her warmth against his own to beat back the chill night air which seemed to eke its way down into the cracks of his clothing, finding the exposed skin underneath and burrowing into him, straight to his bones. Cly gave a weary sigh which turned to a gentle “Shhhhh…”

Clearing his throat, he felt it best to speak, anything to get their minds off the events still so fresh and vivid and clear in their shocked memories. “Why do we do this? Life this way, out among the Rot and Ruin when there are so many Towns about. I’ve got news for you Lily that you may not like. Those precious Towns you adore, the home you still cling to so tightly, aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. There are more of us out here than there are in there, in any of them, in all of them combined. Some of us because it’s all we’ve known, others because there’s more opportunity out here than in there. They may be some glowing safe haven for you, but for the rest of us they’re just the opposite. Life here may be harsh, but there’s freedom to be had out here as well. The men of that story you told earlier, don’t try to tell me you weren’t drawing a parallel between them and my band, I saw it easily enough even if maybe some of my men didn’t. Well, those men fought and struggled through a long harsh winter for an ideal, for freedom. So do we, though the big difference is our winter is never ending… And instead of other men from faraway lands we’ve got the lobos and rats and cats and those things to deal with.” He gave a gruff, derisive laugh before continuing, “As far as why we don’t simply join up with those precious Towns of yours… Well, some of us have reason enough to stay well clear of them. Yours may have been sweet and wonderful on the surface but underneath…” Visions of his mother’s warm smile came swimming to his mind again and he brushed them away with a brisk shake of his head, “As far as letting you go home, I never said you wouldn’t be getting there eventually. It’ll just be a matter of them raising the proper funds…” His voice came out in a harsher tone than he’d intended as he continued to dwell on long buried memories he would rather have blocked out entirely. His hatred for the Towns showed thickly in his tone.