Hunters and Prey [ Casmir | Sarkany ]

[MP]

When Casmir turned, it was to an empty landscape. The once-clean snow had been churned up in every direction, chips of wood and debris from the bike littering the clearing. Their scuffle had frightened off any wildlife for a mile, and nothing stirred save for the occasional patter of snow from the canopy. The command worked well against such chaotic scenes. Sarkany sat still in the snow, not tensed, not hiding, simply kneeling several strides to one side. With his lowered head and his averted gaze, he almost seemed to bow to the hunter.

His location might seem coincidental to the outside eye, no more than a random point on the field. But there were patterns to the way the eye scanned - points that drew the gaze, and points it skimmed over. In combat, these locations changed, but the habit grew all the stronger. Sarkany knew the patterns, knew where and how to wait to have the best possible chance of being overlooked. But this hunter was a shrewd one, and uncommonly alert. Though his gaze remained distant, averted, Sarkany never let the man leave his peripherals. A firearm should never be taken lightly, and the Mongoose was likely to have more than a pistol on hand.

Move on, he urged the man silently. Get back to your little friend, before the figments do.

He thought he'd dropped enough hints, needled the man enough to imply a proper threat to the key-maker. But outright aggression had never been his style, and he wondered if he'd still been too subtle. If the man didn't feel immediate pressure, if he sniffed around instead of rushing home, Sarkany would have another fight on his hands, and this time from a disadvantaged position. Even as he knelt there, the seraph was gauging distance, terrain, the angle of the gun, ready to move at the first sign of aggression. Act as if he were invisible; assume he was already found. It was a fine mental balance, and a high risk to take, but the information would be invaluable. If there were hunters who could slip between realities, Sarkany - and the pack - needed to know how, and how many.

[luscen]

Nothing but cold wind and the sound of snow falling from overburdened branches met the Hunter's shrewd, sweeping look. Nevertheless, he didn't lower the gun- he knew that the assassin hadn't actually chased after the key. It had been a deception, though the charm that the stranger had used was one he'd never encountered before. If he hadn't known better, he'd believe even his Eye had been fooled. And yet such a thing should have been impossible.

Or was it? The Eye was powerful, to be certain. But it wasn't infallible- it could only see through magical deceptions. What if this man was using something that wasn't magic? Could something feel like magic, and act like magic, yet not be? Was such a thing even possible?

'You ought to know the answer to that by now,' Casmir thought to himself with a bitter laugh. He'd been in the business of hunting down things that were supposed to be impossible for a long time, now. And yet, even though the Eye showed him nothing, the Hunter's instincts were buzzing; this whole affair reeked of some kind of snare. A trap laid out for him, though for what purpose he couldn't be sure of; the only thing for certain was that the assassin's aims weren't immediately clear, which gnawed away at him. 

'Even if it is a trap, my options aren't exactly good as it is...' Casmir mused, getting up and frowning down at his key. Without the leather strap, he couldn't secure it properly, meaning it would likely slip from his grasp again. A fact that would make a prolonged or re-engaged fight more difficult than it already was. That was besides the fact that he was nearly out of spell scrolls, and ammunition, not to mention his defensive wards needed to be renewed. He also needed to get out of this cold, and see to his wounds on top of that- he hadn't exactly come out of his fight unscathed, and his muscles were starting to ache from over-exertion.

So, left with little in the way of choices, the Hunter placed the key in his pocket. He could still feel the other man's presence somewhere, though it was muted and hard to pin down. But while he was loathe to simply let the gray-haired hitman go, Casmir had to be realistic about the situation. Given that his motorcycle was demolished, he was already starting out from a rough spot.

'It's going to be a long trek back to the old bag's shop,' Casmir grunted, stowing his weapon after making sure it was de-cocked. He adjusted his coat, took a deep breath, and began by heading over to the wreckage of the motorcycle. Salvaging what he could from it, he hefted his pack, then set off on foot. The jaunt was indeed long, and had his equipment not been specifically selected for just such an emergency, he might have been in trouble. But preparedness was one of the blonde's strong suits, so thankfully he didn't want for heat during the long night it took to travel the thirty miles from the lake to the nearby town.

Even still, by the time he walked through the door of the Inuit wise-woman's charm shop, he was hungry, thirsty, aching, and irritable from having looked over his shoulder the whole eight hour hike. He slammed the door sharper than he would have, normally, hanging his damaged helmet on a nearby pair of caribou horns. Isapoinhkyaki's pet crow - perched on the opposite antler - ruffled its feathers at him, squawking disapprovingly, but Casmir ignored the wretched bird. Let him march for eight bloody hours in the Canadian wilderness after having fought off both an Elder Spirit and a time-manipulating assassin, and see whether or not he was in the mood to be respectful.

“So, the mongoose returns from hunting another cobra,” a wizened old woman wearing thick coke-bottle glasses commented. Her hair was dark and bristly, and an assortment of beads and ivory encircled her neck. She was working on a cross-word, cross-referencing the clues to the boxes. “I hope you appreciate the lengths I go to to find new and creative ways to kill you, Quallunaat. At this rate, I'm going to run out of dangerous beasts and fatal hexes.”

“I appreciate your dedication,” Casmir replied dryly as he approached the counter. “If that platitude about getting stronger from what doesn't kill you has any merit, then I'm sure it's done me wonders, thanks to you.” He withdrew the Amaroq's eye from his coat, placing it on the counter. Even removed so long from its owner, the eye radiated powerful magics that the Hunter didn't need his relic to see.

The old woman sat up with interest, now, adjusting her glasses and taking the eye carefully in her long, claw-like hands. “Well now...” she hummed, turning the crystal orb around and examining it with a shrewd eye. “You bested the Night Hunter. There are very few who could claim to have done the same, you know. You should be proud.”

Casmir shook his head. “He's not the one I'm after. He also didn't prey on the weak- just the foolish. The world's worse off with him gone.”

Isapoinhkyaki clucked her tongue. “Don't rush to assumptions. Amaroq's never been one to stay quiet for very long. I suspect tales of thieves and poachers suddenly vanishing in the night will start making the rounds again before you know it.”

She set the eye back down and slid it over to Casmir. He raised an eyebrow in reply. “Your payment. Or at least part of it,” the old woman explained. “I sent you off to fight the Great Wolf because I knew you'd get something useful out of it, and indeed you have. You'd be hard-pressed to find a bauble stronger than that eye, Mongoose. Not these days, certainly. Regrettably, however, it's beyond my ability to work with, but I have little doubt you'll find a way to deal with that particular nit.”

Casmir shrugged and pocketed the eye once more. “We'll see. Though I hope you're not just using that as an excuse to doff the rest of my payment. I'm not exactly in a mood for haggling, Medicine Woman.”

The old shaman snorted derisively at the Hunter. “How rude; I'm a businesswoman, not some shyster. Who do you take me for, anyway?” She reached underneath the desk and pulled out a pendant carved from ivory and labradorite, set in a copper fixture and bound with a cord of sun-dyed leather. “A powerful charm, this. It will protect you from curses and dark magics. I don't doubt that it'll help you with the one you seek.”

Casmir took the charm, examining it with a critical eye. The craftsmanship was flawless, and it hummed with a latent energy. Whether or not it would stand up to Atol's powers, however... well, one needed all the protections they could get, either way. “Thanks,” he said, pocketing the gift. “I'm sure it'll come in handy.”

“Leaving so soon?” the shaman asked, raising an eyebrow as Casmir turned away. “I heard no motorcycle, and you seem exhausted for a forty minute drive. You're welcome to rest for a bit if you'd like?”

The Hunter paused, considering. He was tired, it was true, but that sense of unease hadn't yet left. He was quite sure he was still being followed, even though the mysterious assassin hadn't bothered to strike again the entire time he'd be on the move. That fact alone had been more unnerving than anything else, as it meant that the golden-eyed man was after something besides just Casmir's life, at this point. His thoughts kept going to his Safehouse, and Delphi. Surely... No, that was absurd.

Yet however absurd the thought was, Casmir wasn't about to put anyone else's life at risk; if this hitman tried to follow him into his sanctuary, and failed, he might attempt to draw the Hunter back out again by threatening innocent bystanders. That kind of outcome was not something the Hunter needed to be dealing with. No, it was best for Casmir to leave and go to a secluded area, rather than chance entering his domain here.

“I'm not a fan of the smells, grandma,” Casmir replied eventually, looking back over his shoulder at her. “Raven feathers have a particular stink around them I'm not very fond of.” He gave the bird in question an ugly look for good measure. The feathered creature merely flapped at him indignantly, cawing what was likely a rather rude insult about the Hunter's mother or something. Regardless, the scarred man took his helmet, and his charm, and left the shaman's shop. It was still a ways to walk back to his hotel room, and he would feel better once he was able to freely access his proper home.

At the very least he'd be able to restock and rest. And one of those sounded very good, right about now.

The hour-long walk passed by in silence, and as the dawn broke, Casmir's body practically groaned in protest over its poor treatment. The Hunter studiously ignored said protests, however, knowing that respite was just over the horizon. He had finally reached the hotel, and drawing his key out of his pocket, he inserted it into the door. What was left of his paranoia, however, gave him pause. He looked behind him, mismatched eyes sweeping the area. That itch between his shoulder blades remained, but there was no sign of any assassin.

'I don't know what you're after, friend, but you'll have to settle for being disappointed.' the Hunter thought. If his guess was correct, the pocketwatch was probably waiting for him to enter his Safe House, then he'd attempt to force open the doorway through some arcane mean. He'd used a similar trick himself, before, but that was only really possible when both the start and end point were on the same plane of reality. His was not; as such, it was practically impossible to follow Casmir into his Safehouse. The only way to do so would be to leave the door open, and he wasn't one for taking such foolish chances. Once he passed through the doorway, he'd be safe.

At least, that's what he kept telling himself as his boots crossed the threshold.

[MP]

Got you.

A Sahar couldn't smile in the manner of a man. But the tiercel's mane rose in a lazy ripple of filaments, pupils narrowing as if for a chase. He had the moment of entry. He had the Instance - once he was sure of its purpose. The human would restock and reemerge, or he'd settle in for a proper stay. Either way, he would see.

Satisfied, the tiercel tucked his talons against the wind and settled in for the wait. His own journey back had been far more relaxing. Where the human toiled through the snow, Sarkany drifted along in the cloud cover. From this high up, the trail was straight and clean and impossible to lose. When he grew tired of drifting after his quarry, he left and caught himself a young caribou, tender and satisfying in spite of the aftertaste. Still gnawing a haunch, he picked up the trail again. Drifted along after it. Took a detour to drink at a shallow stream. By the time the human made it back to the shop, Sarkany was fed, watered, and fit as he'd been at his journey's start. The extra wait only meant he could rest off the effects of the shape change.

So he drowsed, floating high above the hotel and stirring only to adjust for the wind. It wasn't the total sleep of his human shape, and he was able to track the comers and goers, few as they were. His quarry never reemerged, and at length when the building had gone quiet, Sarkany blinked awake. He didn't count in minutes or hours, but he felt it had been long enough. Long enough for for the human to unpack, look to his gear, settle down for a rest.

A long shadow darkened the door, resolving into a man. Sarkany put a palm to the surface, feeling through the moments. There was still a trace of otherness to the spot. Whoever the keymaker was, they were either unused to concealing themselves from Walkers or just unconcerned. Sarkany paused, head tipping in thought. He took in the snow-dusted ground. The light through the windows. Then, with a faint smile and a fainter whisper, he twisted something in the doorway. A little insurance if he needed to make a getaway. Then with a phantom click of the lock, the door was open. Sarkany eased it wider. Listened. Stepped through. A moment later, there was only an empty doorway.

[luscen]

Sarkany's human feet met hardwood flooring rather than the expected carpet of a low-rent apartment room. Ahead of him stretched a short hallway, the gentle sound of a ticking clock reaching his ears from the room beyond, with no other noise giving away signs of habitation. The gray-haired figure made his way further in, coming to a sparsely-decorated living room, bookcases laden with volumes of psychological study, language, technical manuals, and other dense, non-fiction works. Off to one side lay a small kitchen area, with a refrigerator, stove, and coffee-maker; quite how such things would work when not connected to any external power sources were a mystery, yet opening the fridge indeed showed that some form of electrical circuit was at work in the house. There wasn't much, admittedly: juice, some meats and fruits, milk a plate of filled, doughy dumplings... off to the side was a box of chocolates, the rich dark confections filled with any number of crème, caramel, nougat, or other such trifles.

Turning away from the kitchen area, the interloper would have been given pause at the bay doors that lead outside. Rather than a typical city or country skyline that would have greeted the viewer, instead there was a heavy shroud of fog that obscured the landscape beyond. Dark silhouettes of still figures, some human-sized, others not, could be seen through the fog dotting the obscure landscape. The whole thing carried with it a sense of impermanence, and gave one a creeping sense of unease or wariness... as if there was some massive and ancient consciousness out there, that was vaguely aware of the intrusion of the modern, but was sleepily dismissive of it. Though that could change in an instant, if the traveler who happened to brave stepping into the silent scenery was too careless.

Putting aside the unnerving sight of the universe beyond the window, a branching hallway past the living room led down the left and the right: the left side had one locked door, with the other two leading to a laundry room and a bathroom, which had a working shower, toilet and sink, white towels hanging from the racks, with more folded neatly and stowed in nearby cabinets. Down the left side were two locked doors, with what seemed to be a dojo as the third room- the bellawood matte patterning of lights and darks giving way to padded mattresses, weights, exercise machines, and a punching bag. Overall, the apartment was comfortable, if utilitarian.

A sudden movement from an unnoticed pull-down ladder caught Sarkany's attention. From the darkness up above the freshly-opened portal descended something that was at once nightmarish yet comically innocent: a large arachnid body, like an orb weaver spider, stepped down into the hallway. The bloated oval-shaped abdomen bearing a purple and gold pattern, and the legs thin and tipped with vicious claws. Rather than a head dripping with venom and full of terrible eyes, however, there was a smiling girl in her twenties, with long black hair and two pair of pale blue eyes, smiling cheerfully and singing some sort of song to herself.

“You've been invited to my spider dance, spider dance~,” she crooned to herself, wiggling her rear end back and forth as she made her way to the kitchen. “So move along with me and clap your hands, clap your hands, clap your hands!~”

[MP]

Sarkany lingered briefly at the window, but with an absent kind of interest. Arms folded, head tipped as if to watch and listen down the hall, the mist peripheral. If the eerie shapes and shadows meant something, sparked something, it had no outward sign in his face. Sarkany dusted a few stray snowflakes from his shoulder. Watched them melt to nothing. Then he turned for the first of the doors.

He moved on soundless steps through the apartment, touching nothing, keeping to the walls and inconspicuous corners of the room. The ghost of a presence, though his yellow eyes moved over every detail. Dust on the counter tops, marks on the floor, and other signs of long habitation. Not a cache or a passage, but a home. As sterile as it was.

He stopped again at one closed door. Turned the knob slowly, slowly until it refused to give further. He eased it soundlessly back in place. Rested a hand against the door, listening. It held a layered sense. Heavy. He left it alone. Paused. Turned back again.

Sarkany considered the door. Glanced up and down the hall, the ghost of a smile on his lips. When his hand touched the door this time, there was a whisper. A glint of gold from fingertip to wood. The human liked his wards. Well he could have another for his collection.

With the seal in place and the command of disguise blurring his features, he felt an extra measure of security, even in the enemy's den. He knew what spaces the eye skipped over. Knew that, if he had to, he could make doors of his own. So when the trapdoor opened, he stayed. Watched from a discreet edge of the room as the bloated spider's body picked its way down from the ceiling. Pupils narrowed. Followed the creature around the room.

"I haven't seen one of the N'Rlak in almost an Age."

He had the wall to his back, open space to either side. Sarkany looked entirely at ease, his shoulders relaxed, as if he belonged there. But he had room to dodge aside, cover within easy distance, the spider within a tiercel's pounce. And he rested his good hand in his pocket, only the dead hand in the open to see. A subtle show of peace. Or frailty. 

"You keep strange company, weaver. Hosting a hunter here."

[luscen]

The strange creature's form jerked, eyes flying open and her song entirely forgotten at the unexpected voice in her ear. She let out a wordless cry of alarm, spinning around deceptively quickly for something so large, her arm slashing through the air, fingers splayed as shimmering strings of gossamer materialized and drew taught in her wake.

There was a sudden lurching sensation, the wall behind the gray-haired man tilting backward, followed by the sensation of free-fall, as the threshold between the hallway and the living room shot upwards like a rocket clearing the stratosphere. When the world finally came to a stop, the strange spider-woman may as well have been at the top of a building, given how far away she now seemed. Standing now at the entrance of the hallway, looking down into the yawning chasm that had just been the border between the living room and the rest of the Safehouse a moment ago, the arachnoid being held her hands up in front of her chest, strings of light darted around between her fingers in some kind of nebulous pattern. It was quite clear she was ready to do more than simply put some distance between them, if need be.

“S'rch kas f'dal!? N'lta ks'dura!?” The strange woman asked in a hysterical voice. After a moment, apparently realizing that she was speaking in a tongue that no one had likely heard in a long time, she spoke again, her words strangely carrying despite the vast distance that now separated her from the golden-eyed interloper.

“Who are you?” she asked, sounding calmer and more resolute than a moment ago. “How did you get in here?”

[MP]

With a supernatural hunter, with the threat to his pack, Sarkany's every motion had been efficient and targeted, every move made with killing intent. But the spider, he could already see, was no such threat. He adjusted his balance, moving with the shifting terrain rather than fighting the change. The spider behaved more like a girl than the formidable Companion he'd been expecting, and her first instinct had been to put distance between them. He stood at the bottom of the long drop, looking up at her.

"I followed the hunter in."

He raised his hands in a show of peace. It was amazing her display hadn't brought the hunter running. Either the man had left through another door, was in worse condition than he thought, or else the spider had perfect control over her little realm. Knowing her kind, most likely the latter.

"I was expecting a Dreamer's nest, to be honest. Or maybe a shard world. But this place is really made for him, isn't it?" He glanced around at their surroundings. Human architecture. Human furnishings. "What is it for?"

[luscen]

“You 'followed him in!?'” Delphi repeated, looking equal parts indignant and anxious. “That's impossible- he wouldn't let someone follow him in here, which means you did something. Even Atol couldn't get in here, so how could someone like you?”

She tried to focus on the intruder's Thread, to scan it for signs of his intent, try and figure out if he had any connections to the Soundless. The only problem was, she couldn't properly see it. 'Does he not have one?' she thought, nervously tapping her legs against the floor. 'No, that's impossible. But there's no magic around him, so he's not hiding it... So, why can't I-?'

She paused, noticing it now, where she couldn't before, and her eyes widened; the figure's thread was dim, and dull. Where most people had a shining thread of gold that stretched up from their person, this man's Lifeline was weak, and frayed, barely visible. Like it was out of sync with the rest of the world around him. “What... are you...?” she muttered, more to herself than to him. She'd never seen anything at all like this before, and her curiosity was starting to get the better of her.

[MP]

"Tired of shouting," Sarkany answered, gesturing at the distance. "Would you mind lowering the ceiling? Kind of a crick in the neck."

He rubbed at his neck with a rueful smile. She really was like a girl - distracted by the first new thing, never mind the threat. But a creature was dangerous on its own ground, girl or not, and he kept his tone polite.

"I have some questions too, so maybe we can agree to an exchange. Answers for answers, ah? Or -" he gave a little shrug. "If my visit is too distressing, I'll just be on my way, with my apologies."

Besides, he had the door and the time of use. If the spider's curiosity didn't get the better of her, he could always slip in another day, and under more favorable conditions.

[luscen]

Delphi's brows lowered, and with a sudden flourish of her hands, the strings of light between her fingers twisted. The interloper felt the ground under his feet suddenly go soft, his body sinking into it like quicksand. When he was up to his hips, the sensation stopped, the floor going solid again.

“I remember what happened the last time a polite stranger said something about asking me 'questions,'” the Dryder's voice, suddenly harsh, said from around Sarkany. With a rippling like water, she phased through the wall in front of the gray-haired man, scowling down at him. “And you're not leaving until I figure out how you got in here. So if you don't mind, I'll do the talking.”

She reached out, then, splaying her fingers, and laid hold of Sarkany's Thread. The old, worn length of string twirled itself around her fingers, for a brief moment flashing with its old light, and the tiercel felt a presence touching his as the two of them connected. A brief cascade of images passed through Delphi's vision, the moments blurring by: the golden eyes of a great, six-legged serpent, fierce and cunning, as it soared over the water. The memory of a world, far distant and removed from her own, split between glorious ever-present day, and mysterious, never-ending night. The playful antics of a dark-green scaled dragon cub jumping into a body of water and electrocuting all the fish, and the wicked red light of a Mage's curse, sending unimaginable pain coursing through her as his red eyes glared cruelly into hers.

But the strongest vision was, interestingly enough, the sight of a tree perched atop the face of a cliff, the sounds of the ocean gently crooning up from below. Underneath the tree sat a small figure- what appeared to be a young girl, her arms and legs wrapped up in strips of cloth. Her long, black hair seemed to be gently swaying in some unseen wind, while her face... Delphi wasn't sure. When she tried to focus on it, the details kept slipping away from her, like grains of sand sifting through her fingers. As she watched, the golden-eyed man quietly walked up, taking the shawl from around her slender shoulders, and replacing it with another he'd had draped over his forearm. He gave her a small, fond smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, then set about tidying up the area she was sitting on, clearing away the leaves and detritus around her.

The connection snapped, then, and Delphi gasped, blinking her two sets of eyes as the present came back to her. Breathlessly, she turned to Sarkany, a single statement on her lips. “You have one, too.”

[MP]

Sarkany blinked at his legs as the floor closed over them. It was a painless feeling - like sinking through sand, hearing the lap and sigh of waves, feeling the vertigo of surf past one's feet. The association was done in an instant, and he could have slipped through it and out of the apartment then. But if he played his tricks now, if the spider knew what he could do, he was unlikely to get in so painlessly the next time. He stayed where he was.

Didn't mean it was pleasant. Sarkany's lip curled as he felt it - a layer of him laid bare, unfurled like a scroll and perused by invasive eyes. If the shade had still been with him, it would have been a hiss in his mind, or the black wings spreading. As it was, his hand closed over Delphi's wrist.

The scenes in his head were worse than the scrying. They rushed over him, lighting the old, savage dread. A many-legged child huddled among the library ruins, the silence like a tomb. A smiling redhead. The warmth in his eyes. Then pain, hunger, an aching guilt. The cold of iron bars seeped into her bones, but then - but then the dawn breaking over the sunflowers. And the hunter's hand on her shoulder, leading her out.

In the grip of this intrusion, Sarkany almost struck back. The spider had hold of his being, so that being also had a hold on her. He was his membrane, and control of it was everything a Walker was. With a twist, with a thought, he could have turned it back on her. Instead, with a terse sigh, he moved her hand firmly off the Thread and let go of her wrist.

"Are you done? Or do you expect me to fruit?"

He gestured at his legs, still buried hip deep. The irritation was obvious in his tone.

"Aash. It's no wonder we stopped contact, with these kinds of manners."

[luscen]

Delphi's eyebrows raised at the strange word he'd used. "Ash?" Why "Ash?" Was it some kind of interjection? A strange human swear word? It wasn't any she'd heard Casmir use before, and yet the way the older man had said it... And what did he mean "Stop contact?" Who stopped speaking with whom? She opened her mouth to speak, but at the sight of his glower, she suddenly felt as though she was being judged by the Elders of her city, back before they had resigned themselves to the Silent Darkness.

“I-I'm sorry...” she said, much like the child she was. “I just... That is.. uh...” she couldn't get the image of the young girl under the tree out of her head. The fondness the gray-haired man had for her, nor the sense of loneliness brought on by his silent vigil over her small, still frame. Delphi knew, even without having seen further evidence, that that wasn't the first time he'd done that, nor had it been the last.

The Dryder quietly drew out her strings again, the pattern between her fingers taking on another shape, and the floor lowered around Sarkany's legs, until he was standing on solid ground once more. Shifting her fingers slightly, the pattern followed suit, the two of them rising as the hallway returned to its original state. The whole while, Delphi kept her eyes downcast, avoiding looking at the older man.

When everything was back to normal, the young girl let her glowing webs fade, rubbing her arm and shooting Sarkany furtive glances. Eventually, she spoke. “Who was she? Why were you taking care of her, like that?” Perhaps not the most important question, but Delphi found that the man's purpose here was of less significance compared to what she just saw.

[MP]

Sarkany brushed off his clothes, though there was nothing there. The mental scouring, the aftermath of a foreign touch, made him feel unclean. Unsafe. It took an effort of will to focus his thoughts here and keep his proverbial hackles smooth.

"Same reason as you, I expect." He nodded at the human furnishings around them.

It was an educated guess, and an opening for exchange - hopefully less invasive this time. His words were still a little terse from the last time. She pried like a child too, and Sarkany wasn't in an especially sharing mood. It made sense now, he thought, how angry the man had been. How desperate to retrieve his key, with his rescue, rescuer, waiting inside.

"We led each other out of the dark."

[luscen]

At the stranger's words, Delphi was reminded that he had breached the domain she'd made, possibly to hurt Casmir. And yet, when she thought of that child beneath the tree, she found she couldn't muster the indignation at his intrusion. Hadn't he said something about an exchange of information? Perhaps it wasn't too late to manage that.

“Um... I- I'd like to hear more about it? If you don't mind...” she said tentatively, running her fingers through her hair nervously and giving him a sidelong look. Like she was asking the intruder for his permission to tell her more about himself before he potentially killed her and her friend. The thought was rather comical, in a way.

”I'm Delphi, by the way," she offered, realizing that they still hadn't exchanged names, yet. That was a thing humans did, or so she was given to understand. "That's... not really my name, but it's what I'm called. I...” she fidgeted with her hands, shifting restlessly on her arachnid legs. “I can make some tea, or- or something?” She didn't know as much about cooking as Casmir did, but she could make that, at least.

The thought of the Hunter, however, drew the Dryder back to the present. How long had this stranger been here, anyway? “Um... what did you...” her eyes drifted back to Casmir's door, and she blinked; something about the door had changed, but she couldn't quite tell what it was; the air around it was... different, somehow. She looked back at the golden-eyed man, wary but clearly biting her tongue, not wanting to throw around accusations after their social faux pas. After what had just happened, she wasn't quite sure what he was capable of, if angered.

[MP]

"I'll take no tea, thank you. Just the name." He answered her introduction with a small incline of his head and a faint smile. "They call me Sarkany, among ruder things. That’ll do fine for now."

As his eyes tracked the spider's gaze, Sarkany wondered if her pairs of eyes could move independently. Wouldn't that be an edge, for battle or mischief.

"It's not a trap, if that's what you're thinking. Just a lock on the door, so he doesn't try and feed me another shotgun if he wakes up."

Sarkany shrugged. That admission was damning enough. He might as well own up to the rest of it.

"I meant to kill him in the woods today, but I felt your marker first. Around his neck." He mimed the string of the key. "I thought I'd see how he'd come by it. Make sure I wasn't hunting someone's agent."

His tone made it clear this was not the case. One child spider did not a jurisdiction make. Sarkany continued dispassionately, but despite his words, his stance didn't speak of aggression.

"This human is a threat to me and mine. If you are his ally, then by rights we would be enemies. But, as you've seen," a small nod to Delphi. "I understand a bond. And I take no pleasure in destroying a worthy hunter, or a good man. So if you want an exchange, then tell me this:"

Another glance around the apartment, as much to brace himself as to emphasize his point.

"Why take a hunter in? Why all this? Your kind never needed hideaways before."