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Post by MP on May 30, 2018 16:55:53 GMT -6
“Because they had so much trouble getting to me before?” Sarkany said dryly.
With the angels’ numbers, it wasn’t hard to track down a stray. Especially when the stray in question had been baiting them, needling, staying only just ahead of them to give the impression that the prey was all but caught. It had been a careful diversion, a delicate dance - one he’d ultimately lost. They hardly needed the uglier tactics now. Still, the kuwha had a point. Sarkany repressed a strained sigh, relenting.
“No immediate danger, then. He knows how to mask his trail. As long as he stays put, he should be out of their way. And they were never much for hurting pups, whatever else they get up to.”
He felt the angels deserved this. Whatever Sarkany thought of them, he couldn’t deny the qualities of a worthy enemy. They hadn’t raised a hand to Az, even at the height of her anger.
Not that this helped their situation at all. Sarkany’s pupils narrowed at the light as he refocused. It was a band beyond the shadow of the roof’s edge, no more than a few feet even if he knelt. But that was enough to see a strobing patch - a barely-there thing - that hadn't been there a minute before. It was very high up to cast such a soft shadow. A bird, he would have said. Except that birds moved on.
Sarkany took a neat step back, looking from one rusted door to the other.
“I think,” he said quietly, "it's time to go."
Perhaps the angels were only guessing, searching through any likely place. But they were taking no chances. The shadows outside were paling, eaten away on both ends. Not a smite yet, but the air was gaining a quality like building thunder. Burn all exits, leaving no shadows to hide in. Flush the game, or immobilize it. Then move in for the kill. It was what he would have done. Sarkany was at the kuwha's side now, eyes darkening, ready to shift - to fight if the man couldn't manage another escape.
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Post by Sharei on Jun 6, 2018 0:33:29 GMT -6
Isaac's eyes shot open at the urgency in Sarkany's tone. He spread his senses out at once, searching and probing in the dark, and found the shadows that would have typically been cast by the building's sides to be all but gone. Light ate away at the edges of what remained, shrinking the darkness under an ever-widening glow. With his physical eyes he saw other evidence of their danger - a pale face over Sarkany's shoulder, barely there in the grimy interior window, a flicker and then gone. The stillness of the air made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
"Agreed," Isaac said and put a hand on Sarkany's arm. The physical contact wasn't necessary, but it would help keep them together during the jump.
The angels moved then, blasting down the doors of the car wash's two entrances with enough force that they ricocheted into the dark interior. Light poured in, flooding the space, filling every nook and twisted shadow. The heat it brought was like nothing else, burning and force all at once. But when it cleared the car wash was empty but for the angels standing on either end.
In the heart of the city, Sarkany and Isaac spilled out of the shadows and into a cleaning closet of one of Wathais' major malls. The cool, unfinished cement and scent of bleach rose up around them, and with it unclean water and chemicals. The harsh smell burned his nose, to say nothing of Sarkany, but it was dark and the murmur of life beyond a distant hallway offered sanctuary.
Isaac placed one arm against the wall near the door and tried to listen to the sounds from outside while he caught his breath. His ribs were screaming at him, but it was better than when he'd first landed in the car wash. He could stand, for one, even if his ribs were protesting the change in position.
"Wester Marketplace, I think," Isaac said in between pained breaths. "The big mall in the central district. Should give us some cover for a while." A thin smile. "Lovely food court. Hungry?"
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Post by MP on Jun 9, 2018 23:00:26 GMT -6
Sarkany stumbled rather than stepped out of the dark. It was not a graceful landing. But then, he was fairly rusty, and it was better than the last one at least. He straightened in the sour space, intent and listening, eyes fixed on the narrow band of light beneath the door. No sound of footsteps. No sign of an unnatural glow. His shoulders relaxed a fraction, eyes flickering to acknowledge Isaac's words. Wester. He'd been here once or twice - never in the closets, admittedly - but there were worse places to end up.
He opened his mouth to answer. There was a silent catch in the dark as Sarkany hesitated. Might as well go out on a full stomach, he'd almost said. But that was no way to think with an ally to work with and a pup still waiting on the both of you. What he said instead was: "We can go for that hat on the way. Get you some proper clothes."
A faint smile. Then he looked back to the door, pretending not to hear the kuwha's labored breathing. He didn't care for the stink of the closet of course. But there was no blending in or walking in Isaac’s current state. And it was uncouth to hover and watch him like a scavenger. He waited patiently, listening to the outside with an incidental air, as if he hardly noticed Isaac’s weakness at all.
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Post by Sharei on Jun 18, 2018 15:02:46 GMT -6
"What's wrong with my clothes?" Isaac demanded at once, before he could completely remember that he wasn't in his typical suit and tie but was in fact in his biking leathers. He looked like he'd just come off a race track, not been strolling through the mall, and that wasn't exactly conducive to blending in. He didn't need to see the voak's raised eyebrow in the dark to know he was doing it.
"Right," he grunted. Isaac pushed off the wall with a tiny groan and stretched. Things popped, clicked and pinched, and when he exhaled it was with another pained sound, but he did feel better than he had when they'd first shadowstepped to the car wash.
"We should- ugh - hit the shops." Disdain dripped from his voice. He hadn't set foot in an off-the-rack place since he'd first come to Wathais, and the thought of doing so now made his skin crawl. "You should get a change of clothes too, since those will be recognized. I'll pay for it, since I doubt you have any money to spare."
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Post by MP on Jun 18, 2018 21:03:27 GMT -6
Sarkany was half into the hallway, listening more for echoes of approaching company than to Isaac's words. But at that he glanced down at his clothing, rumpled and dust-stained from weeks of hideouts and hard living - to say nothing of the construction site.
"These," he said, hand to his chest with mock affront "are specially treated. I'll lose the new clothes in a second if I shift, and that is too much glory for the public eye. We won’t be able to hide after that."
There was a thoughtful 'hmm,' and then he fell silent as they walked. They slipped out into the main portion of the mall, two stray figures swept away in the crowd. Sarkany never seemed to check that Isaac was keeping up, but as soon as they left the doors, his steps took on the painful pace of a slow walker. He tested this speed while the kuwha recovered, noting the gazes of more impatient shoppers on their backs with growing satisfaction. The crowds broke and parted around them, bodies brushing past. Sarkany noted every one of them.
"It occurs to me," he said, his voice barely audible above the bustle, "it might not be a bad thing. Attention."
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Post by Sharei on Jul 17, 2018 13:17:14 GMT -6
Isaac's red eyes darted to Sarkany and then away thoughtfully, his gaze roaming with a casual disinterest over the storefronts and staircases leading to upper and lower levels. It was an act, because he was aware of each face they passed. He knew that Sarkany was doing the same.
"Depends on the attention," Isaac grunted, briefly imagining a scenario where the angels hunting them swooped down from on high and started bombarding the mall and killing people, the two of them included. "It's my experience that there's usually two types - those who will stay quiet not to get caught, and those who don't really give a damn because its not their home turf they're ruining. I don't suppose you know which our friends might be?"
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Post by MP on Jul 20, 2018 20:17:14 GMT -6
"Oh, they love these people. Shepherding and stewarding and all that." Sarkany's brief glance at the skylights might have been vigilance or simply rolling his eyes. "I’ve never seen them to raise a hand to one."
He wondered if they shouldn't pick up the pace, cover more ground before their pursuers found them. But he kept himself to an easy stride.
"They were a small faction when I knew them. Too few to risk a war over an old grudge. My guess is they'll avoid upsetting the locals."
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Post by Sharei on Aug 2, 2018 13:09:46 GMT -6
Isaac stretched his arms carefully over his head to test where along the route to recovery his ribs were. To anyone watching them, it just seemed like he was trying to get a kink out of his back. He lowered them a breathed out a satisfied sigh. For Sarkany's sake, he said, "almost ninety percent."
"There's another option," the Director added after a few more paces had taken them around a display of mobile phones and closer to the food court. "Now that we're no longer confined to a condemned building outside, there are dark shadows here."
A small gesture with his hand indicated the many maintenance doors down side hallways that could be slipped into at a moment's notice. "We could go somewhere else - anywhere else - and wait it out until nightfall. My home is secure and has all of the necessities we may require, including light defusing glass. And a bed," he said, glancing sideways at the dark circles under Sarkany's eyes. "It is also central in a suburb and less likely to be openly and dramatically assaulted, if what you say is true."
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Post by MP on Aug 2, 2018 15:10:20 GMT -6
The suggestion only conformed to Sarkany’s own opinions: get more distance, set their ground while they had breathing room, regain some element of surprise before nightfall. Still, he took a moment to consider. Fleeing back to one’s home was predictable. But then, the WDSA was just as dubious, given recent events. Yellow eyes flitted over the crowds, staring through them.
In truth, it was hard to focus. The adrenaline of the trap was fading. His thoughts went in bleary circles - half-formed plans and tricks repeating over and over like the passage of a late night book. He had nothing better to offer. Recognizing it, Sarkany shrugged a shoulder in assent.
“If you’re confident we can secure it,” he said simply.
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Post by Sharei on Aug 7, 2018 11:21:55 GMT -6
"I assure you that there are few places more secure," Isaac said as he eased them in the direction of a maintenance door. It took only a touch of hypnosis to stop the janitor coming out of it noticing their presence at all, and he went about his business while they slipped in behind him. Isaac hit the light switch on his way in and plunged the room into darkness.
The shadows rippled, and when they resolved themselves again it was no longer a maintenance closet they were in, but a large room meant for storing jackets and outerwear. It was difficult to tell what the room looked like or contained in the dark, but a stripe of dark walnut flooring and white crown molding was revealed when Isaac opened the door and sunlight flooded in.
But there was a strange cast to the light, as though it were less full, slightly grey, lacking something of the richness it usually possessed.
"Welcome to my home," the Director said, casting a glance back at Sarkany over one shoulder as he toed off his boots. The massive lobby beyond the door stretched out of sight, and the brief glimpses revealed a magnificent staircase in white marble to match the flooring, which was crossed with dark stripes of wood the same color as the railing. The walls were equally white and covered in a decorative square paneling that brought artistic life to what might have been boring and bare without it. "Do take your shoes off. Maria will get mad at the both of us if you track dirt and mud onto the floors."
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Post by MP on Aug 8, 2018 14:43:35 GMT -6
Sarkany glanced up from his discarded shoes, a slant threatening at the corner of his mouth.
“Staff?” He asked. The word had a strain of reservation.
“I trust they can handle themselves, if we’re found here?” He glanced around the finery with a flat, animal watchfulness, memorizing layout and material with an utterly pragmatic eye. Here an ideal surface for a command; there a hindrance, a space to be avoided. “Or do you plan to send them home?”
He followed Isaac, mismatched white and lavender socks on polished floors. In the blunted light of the windows, Sarkany looked haggard, greycast even by his standards. But his shoulders were straight, his stride smooth, and he kept a constant eye on the windows, alert for a silhouette or an unfriendly twist to the air.
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Post by Sharei on Sept 23, 2018 8:51:35 GMT -6
"They are home," Isaac replied with a single shouldered shrug that bordered on indifferent. "There would be nowhere to send them but to their rooms. It will be fine. We have a sealed panic room that prevents the entrance of non-native creatures. That will keep your angels out indefinitely."
What he did not say was that the panic room was their safe haven from him, and that they'd had to use it more than once.
As if by discussing them was enough to summon them, a tall, elderly-looking man appeared at Isaac's side as they made it to the base of the staircase. He wore a primly pressed three-piece suit and his steel grey hair was combed back, but there was nothing about his posture that suggested he was as old as he looked. The man stood straight, shoulders back, and had the quiet alertness in his eyes of a man who saw everything.
"Ah, Gregor, excellent timing. This is Sarkany. He will be staying with us for a short time."
"Very good, sir. The guest bedrooms are already prepared," Gregor said with an incline of his head. "I shall have refreshments brought to his room, as it appears Sir is in need of some sleep."
Isaac cast Sarkany a sidelong look and did not say anything to argue the point. The Icarim looked like he'd fall down if given the chance.
"Do," Isaac agreed. "The crescent suit. Have Maria put the house into lockdown."
"Are we expecting attackers, sir?" Gregor raised an eyebrow.
"Of the angelic variety."
"I see. I will have Roland standby in the panic room and instruct Maria to watch the grounds," Gregor said, and with a smart turn on his heel went back the way that he had come. Isaac watched him go with obvious fondness, then turned and went up the central staircase. To Sarkany, he said, "sleep until nightfall. There will be food prepared and waiting when you wake up. You're no use to us dead on your feet."
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Post by MP on Sept 24, 2018 1:15:25 GMT -6
"Thank you."
The words were quiet but uncharacteristically genuine. Sarkany was regarding the kuwha strangely, but whether it was curiosity, skepticism, or even newfound respect in his gaze, it was impossible to say. They were not allies - but Isaac had stepped in when he hadn't needed to, had stayed when it was entirely detrimental to himself. He could have sent agents instead, could have gone his own way once the immediate threat was past. Instead, they were here. That awareness was present in those two words. But Sarkany only nodded and followed directions to the suite. To wait, not to sleep.
For the most part, the seraph drifted from wall to wall, watching the windows or listening to the sounds of the house, accustoming himself to his temporary quarters. This might serve as a weapon. That as a shield. He left the bed alone, leaning or sitting in defensible spots to snatch minutes of sleep at a time. At the first approaching sound, the yellow eyes were instantly open and alert. Shelter or not, this was a foreign place with unknown residents, and old habits were very hard to break. In his natural shape, the seraph could sleep and hear every whisper, and maneuver before properly awake. His human shape had none of these advantages. Until the visitors came and went, until he was sure they hadn't been followed, he was not inclined to sleep.
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Post by Sharei on Oct 1, 2018 11:12:40 GMT -6
The knock that came at the door was sharp and crisp, a warning that someone was about to enter rather than a request. The door opened and Gregor stepped inside, hands curled around a large platinum tray laden with food. The smell of good quality, marbled steak seasoned and cooked to perfection mingled with the aroma of roasted sweet potatoes glazed with cilantro pesto. Baked summer squash sprinkled with fresh breadcrumbs and brown sugar sat beside a row of asparagus covered in tangy lemon slices. At the corner of the tray was a crystal pitcher of lemonade next to another of water.
Gregor sat the tray down on the small round table in the seating area off of the sleeping space and deftly set out silverware and napkins, as though you might be setting up a place at a fancy restaurant.
"Do you want me to light the candles or would you prefer to have the interior lighting on?" the steel-haired gentleman said, but before Sarkany could ask why it mattered when the sunlight was so bright this afternoon, a handful of thick metal shutters slid down over the windows, blocking out even the tiniest filter of light. There was the hiss of the hydraulics settling, then silence.
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Post by MP on Oct 15, 2018 14:56:00 GMT -6
The Sarkany who answered was nothing like the exhausted figure who’d first arrived. He was on his feet before the man had even entered the room, all pleasantness and gracious praise for the meal and hospitality. The candles would do very well, thank you, and his only concern was for the imposition caused by his stay. He seemed as comfortable in this environment as he’d been born to it.
It was only once he was alone, and the halls gone quiet, that he finally relaxed the facade. His shoulders slumped; the smile fell away. Sarkany moved for the food with dragging steps. He ate promptly, appreciative, but with the dull impartiality of someone too tired to fully care. With a full stomach came a crushing drowsiness. Sarkany barely finished the meal, let alone made it to the bed. He collapsed onto the covers, ignoring pillows and blankets and all thought of this unknown environment, and was dead to the world in minutes.
The sunlight waned against the shutters. It was a fair sleep - acceptable, but not as long as one would have hoped for. After several hours, maybe sensing the light through the shutters, maybe roused by his flickering dreams, Sarkany startled awake. His eyes were empty, glittering with an animal fierceness as he took in the foreign settings. For a minute, he seemed not to know where he was. Sarkany slipped out into the hallway, bristling, uncertain, watching and listening for...he couldn’t recall. A glimpse of black - no, shining wings. He paused, trying to remember whether he was following or fleeing.
Then, gradually, the reason returned to his eyes. Sarkany passed a hand over his face, brushing away the last of the dream. It was the manor - the kuwha’s home. He stared down the hallway, lucid now, looking for a clock or an open window. Something to gauge the time.
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