homeless_pard | A flight long in the running...

Entry tags:

jason au,
starter

A flight long in the running...

Who: Khem and a new world!
When: Start of canon smash here!
What: Terrified kitty arrives in the vague area of St. Louis.

Tired. She was so bone weary that had someone told her that she'd die but it would be in a bed, she might honestly accept that trade at this point. The pads of her feet were leaving red marks along the rough stone she scrambled and clawed haphazardly upward, ever upward, ever away, through so many terrains they all blurred together in a haze of color and snatched hunts.

She should have lost him. Should have, and there had been times over the past turns where she had almost believed him gone. Finally shaken from her trail and naught more than a shadow left in her mind to spur her onward. Any hunter would eventually give up on game when coursing it had run to long...

...surely?

Ah, but she'd little experience with hunters, those near the abbey were more farmers with the occasional lord's man, and even had they needed care it was likelier that they would seek tending from their own ladies. AN isolated abbey was not easy to seek out when ill.

Still, it had seemed logical that he'd stop. At the Wastes perhaps.

At the Falls.

At the turn of blasted scree to strange, new lands past where tales she knew ended...

...and yet here she was, his shadow practically nipping at her heels. She was flagging and he hadn't stopped. This hunt was soon to end, as any chased thing knew in time, escape simply wasn't going to happen. Mayhap it would kinder, cleaner, to miss a jump. To tumble and not reach for ledges as she went down.

Kinder...but she shrank from it none the less. A little further...

...a little further...

...until there was naught left but sheer walls and a deep, dark crack between. A cave, not a passage. No exit. A tomb for one hard worn girl who had thought, foolishly, that finding fur had granted her freedom. And so it was to end.

If he hounded her even here, his bootsteps harsh on the stones behind her, then she was determined he would know who he was to slay. Not some cat that had teased him, not some furred prize, but as a woman. If he was to slay her, let him slay a woman and be haunted by her face. An unkindness perhaps, but she was far past ability to feel for him.

To wonder if she could explain, or beg her safety somehow.

No, let him have a flickering pang of conscience as he did his fell deeds. And so as the mouth of the cave darkened she set her back to the stone, fingers rather than claws lifted to shade her face, skin covered in long, dark hair and gooseflesh that gave some semblance of proper depth to her too-thin frame.

Let him slay a woman.

And yet, as she watched the dull, metallic sheen of a dart gun rising, it wasn't pain she felt burn through her chest but warmth where her single item, the amber stone on a string about her neck graced to her by Gunnora, flickered like sunlight and the wall at her back faded to naught so that she was falling...

...falling...

...falling...

...there was a brief scream, she couldn't help it, as her shoulders struck beaten grass and tree roots, shock making the sound choke off as abruptly as it had started. A heartbeat, two, as she stared up at tangled tree limbs and dappled light she shouldn't be seeing then she was sitting up with a gasp, trying to espy the Hunter.

And he was not there. Somehow, somehow...he was not there, and she sat in a wood far younger than the one before the stones she'd climbed, hands and feet still bleeding harshly from the abuse she'd pounded into them over the many moons of travel. She was alone and she was...naked. The stone upon her breast cooling from it's earlier warmth. She'd give thanks somehow, later. For now she shivered back into fur in a blur of mist and achingly, carefully, hauled herself up into a tree to try to determine where she might be.

A how would take much longer no doubt, but...

...rest seemed a blessing, and she was still so very, very tired.

With luck there would be no fresh, strange beasts to contest her claiming the crook of a tree, there to watch, or likelier pass into blessed unconsciousness.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Warm, early evening and...oh dear Powers there were some rather harsh scents in this world weren't there? Still, she'd take the sneezing fit over the nausea..."I...cheee..."

Try again...

"m-maybe?" CHU.

Poor girl from another world.

He was trying not to laugh; she seemed like she had been through so much.

"You'll acclimate to the smells, I swear. I'm guessing you don't have cities like this?"

Which got him back to wondering where the hell she had come from.

"N-no," she admitted after another false start for a sneeze. Gleh. Well, she had little dignity to lose given she was terrified in clothing that threatened to slip from her shoulders. "Mayhap over seas? The land of the Witches? But even a gre-" yeah, that was a real sneeze.

"...great keep does not hold so much..."

He hit the button, closing the window again. "Here, let's try this instead." He reached forward to the dashboard and pushed another button. Pleasantly cool air began to blow out of the vents in the dashboard.

"The AC is filtered air, so it should be a little better."

He slowed the car to a stop at a red light. "What's a keep?"

She leaned forward to the extent the belt allowed, near pressing her forehead to the vent, leading to...well, AC playing through a lot of dark hair? Yup. Better to a degree yes, at least the scents were limited...if odd. "Metal...and summat else? But at least fewer," she agreed softly.

"A keep is....a high lord's abode and the village about such? Walled, usually, for safety as villages are not?"

He couldn't help but watch the wisps of dark hair dancing back as she leaned into the vent. So much so that he nearly missed the light turning green and quietly reprimanded himself.

"Oh, like a...castle? Or those walled cities around the castles." He paused. "Yeah, you are definitely not in Kansas anymore," he said more to himself than to her.

He pulled off the road, stopping the car in an empty space amidst other cars of different shapes and sizes. He turned to look at her. "Do you want me to carry you again? There're stairs inside."

"Walled keeps, some may have towers, some are akin to castles...my mother's was I'm told..." she sighed, easier to talk with the airflow. "...I am not late of Kansas." What?

Oh, they were stopping properly now. Thank the Powers! She looked up, swallowing, then finally nodded. Her feet had gone a touch ominously numb since she'd been sitting.

"Your mom had a castle?!" He seemed genuinely impressed.

He slid out of the car and opened her car door, crouching beside her on the balls of his feet and offering his arms again. "I've got some first aid supplies in my room. We can get you fixed up before the vampires wake for the night."

"Once I was told. The Kolder shattered many such in the war, and she had but a horse, my father dying upon the saddlebow, and me upon her back when she came to the abbey," she admitted, much like anyone reciting rote. This was fact, she was no person of consequence now.

Ah, "a basin of water, some vervain, and clean cloth? I was...was a stillmistress."

He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry about your father. And your mom losing her home."

He lifted her easily and kicked the door closed. The door to the building opened at his approach, and when he entered there was only a brief greeting of, "Jason" by the guard sitting at the small desk. If it was strange for Jason to be walking in carrying a strange woman, the guard certainly didn't show it.

Jason in turn nodded and started down the oddly spaced stairs. It was a long stair, ending in a large gate. "Can I set you down here," he asked, "I have to unlock the gate."

The guard got a glance, but as she was not asked to justify her monopoloy of Jason she stated silent. Oddly she was comforted by the stairs, they were common in most stone buildings in the Dales. Spaced awkwardly and unpredictably was a simple defense mechanism in case of invasion! "Of course lord Jason," she nodded easily. Night Walkers were vulnerable in daylight hours, of course things would be secure.

"Are they like to take my presence amiss by coming when they were...at rest?"

He unlocked the gate and shook his head. "Not if you're with me. Jean Claude is the master vampire here, and I'm his...well, I feed him. I'm not about to let someone in who is going to do harm to his people."

He walked slowly, letting her ease her damaged feet into following him down a corridor to a spacious room. Flicking on the light revealed a large bed that took up a good portion of the room, but there was also a small armchair with a lamp perched on a mini fridge just beside it. He gestured for her to enter. "This one's mine. You can sit in that chair and I'll grab what I have."

He disappeared through a door beside the bed, with light spilling out from the room once he entered. Whatever he was grabbing must not have been difficult to get to, as he was back quickly with a plastic tub of warm water, a towel, and a small box tucked under his arm. "I don't know what that stuff you asked for was, but I have gauze, tape, and some antibiotic ointment. It might be a little old because I don't really need it, but it should still be good."

If the stairs had been a touch or normality for her the corridor was more so honestly. It was more spacious than that she'd grown with but thick walls and muffling stone meant safety!

"And so he is your liege lord? And Hogh lord of this keep?" She mused, trying to place dynamics into things she knew. A chair was quite welcome, the water more so! She hissed as she set her feet in it, knowing any scabbing would need to soften. "Ah, if you've no stillroom of your own in these walls then herbs shouldst be lacking. I did not think, my apologies lord."

Though..." ointments and ungents might spoil in time, if you'll let me sample from the jar I might tell you if it shouldst be disposed?"

"I guess you could say that," he said after some consideration. He handed over the box of supplies, rummaging quickly within to produce a small plastic tube and handing it to her. "Our stuff tends to have preservatives in it, so it doesn't really spoil quickly."

He took a moment to watch her ease her feet into the warm water, his brows drawing together sympathetically at that hiss of pain. "You don't need to apologize, Khemrys. How would you know what I've got stashed around my room?"

Noticing what he'd forgotten, he disappeared back into the small room and returned with a second, smaller towel and a small bar of soap. "I don't buy the antibacterial stuff, but if you wanted try to clean the dirt out of those wounds I have this soap." The possibly familiar scents of lavender, spruce, and cedar rose sharply but pleasantly from the bar.

Ah the small box was a treasure honestly, she peered into it curiously as he set it down, and while packaging and odds and ends were hard to identify a healers kit was something she desperately wanted to poke through. Later perhaps, as it was his and not granted to her honestly, so she took the tube passed and sniffed at it curiously.

Huh.

Very...odd scented for an ointment. She rub a tiny sample between her fingers trying to identify things in it, then brief touched fingers to her tongue. Hmmm. It had the proper tingle she associated with what his world would know as antibacterial so she nodded to herself, but it wasn't made properly at all as far as she could tell. "This will work, but it is a terrible mix," she sighed at last. That was more confident than most her statements earlier, stillwork she knew, cold.

Oh, soap! That drew a true smile from her as she accepted the familiar scents, "that is a true boon, this is well crafted." Perhaps this place had two different stillworkers? One who did soaps and one who did herbals?

He stood awkwardly for a moment, just watching her as she inspected the items. "I bought the soap online," he offered weakly, "but I like it."

He suddenly moved beside her to the small fridge. "Do you want something to eat or drink? I only have snacks down here, but it'll be something until we can order some real food." He opened the fridge to show some gatorade bottles, a few bottles of water, and what seemed to be small prepackaged snacks of meat, cheese, nuts, and fruit.

"Ah, a still sells their work...?" In a town called 'Onlihn'. Mayhap "wouldst they have need of another hand in their work?" she mused. If she was to be trapped in this strange place it was best to consider how not to be a burden, and as there was no stillroom to work here well...

"Is Onlihn far?" She slid carefully off the chair to add her hands to the water, though at the offer of some sort of meal she was staring at him, eyes bleeding to gold as a matter of course. Hunger, oh yes, she was a disciplined creature, tending her wounds came first, but conversation might be a bit...ah...there was no food she could identify in that box he opened. It was all strange colors and shining exteriors...?

He laughed. "Online. It's...you can buy something from someone far away and they send it to you. I can show you later...it's kind of hard to explain." He still had moments of frustration having to help some of the vamps who couldn't be bothered to learn how to use technology. "But there's local people who make soaps and lotions and...stuff like that. I think."

The shift in her eyes made his breath catch. While hers were stunning, most lycanthropes kept their eyes human-looking unless they were really close to losing control. He made sure to keep his movements calm and even, pulling out a package of snacks and tearing the plastic off. Not the best quality, but still the scent of the meat and cheese wafted enticingly. He made a show of setting it on the arm of the chair and reached back into the fridge for a bottle of Gatorade. The unnaturally bright color of the liquid was hard not to notice. "Here," he said, cracking the seal on the cap, "it's probably going to taste strange to you, but you could probably use the electrolytes."

"Ah, bespoke items from other provinces?" she mused, considering that. She was...busy. Yes she was busy, she couldn't stop for food, but she was keeping that offered parcel within her sight. "Stillwork covers all of that. Healing items, medicines, herbals, preserves, teas, lotions, and soaps..." yes.

Great keeps and towns find it easiest to have a stillroom of their own to supply the House or the people..." rather than depending on merchants to bring what was wanted. "And they are often the healers, Stillworkers."

That was a truly evil looking potion yes. It was...kept in view much as the snack was yes as she finally deemed the scabbing on her feet soft enough to bear soap.

He moved back a step and tucked one leg under him on the bed, settling in to watch her. "Ok, yeah I didn't recognize the term "stillworker". Healer makes more sense."

She clearly knew her craft well. "Let me know if I can do anything, ok? I know it gets tricky trying to bandage your own feet."

He cracked open his own Gatorade and took a long swallow.

"Stillwork covers more than healcraft, and not all healers know stillwork," she admitted quietly. "But there was naught else to follow the craft when Dame Rimia grew ill, so I learned all at her hand." As one did apparently, yes.

"It was thought at the time it would set me in good stead even if my blood was doubted, to serve well in a holding." Whether she wed or went to serve, the skills would be useful. At his offer she blinked, "are you well used to bandaging?"

"Why would your blood be doubted?" He was listening politely, but a lot of it he still didn't understand completely.

He gave a little shrug, gesturing to the well-stocked kit. "I'm not a pro, but I've done it enough." He nodded to her feet. "You eat something, and I can help out with your feet. It'll be easier for me to see any embedded gravel anyway, and then you can grade me on my bandaging."

She blinked, a touch bemused, "I am not as others of the Dales. They are like unto you, well built, sunkissed of skin and hair. As such it is hard to truly believe me born of the Dales and the parentage the Dames proclaimed, even as such it cannot be proved my father was the man brought to die there." Many assumed the woman in question had found herself with an unwelcome pregnancy in flight and picked up a dying soldier to sell a story honestly.

She eyed her feet another moment then offered him the wash rag hesitantly? Much like being carried, she'd not had another tend her since very small. "A grade?"

There was a small glint in his eye at that comment on his appearance, but he didn't say anything. He took the wash rag from her and sat easily on the floor in front of her, turning his full attention to her feet.

"Well that's some bullshit," he muttered, "You're a knockout. They really had a problem because you weren't blonde? Can you hand me those tweezers in the box?"

He waited patiently, dabbing gently at her raw feet. "Well no one here is going to care who your parents were. You can be good enough just being you. Sorry, this might hurt a little but you have some crap really deep in here."

He didn't have a healer's touch, but he was precise and as gentle as he could be while still getting the job done. One foot was securely wrapped when he stopped, smiling up at her. "A grade, like at school? How well you do when you're tested on what you learned. A is the highest, and I'm not telling you any others because this deserves an A."

"It is oft easiest to exclude the strange creature," she noted gently, foot managing to stay utterly relaxed in his. She knew not to fight someone attempting to help, so at least there was that? "I am not at all fair in their eyes, lacking all one might wish in a marriage bed." From curves to smiles to coloring, yes.

That was just fact honestly.

Anyway. Passing the tweezers it was, oddly that tool name was the same! "It is still best to come to any land with a skill."

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