A flight long in the running...

[homeless_pard]

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.

Comments

[jasonpschuyler]

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."

[homeless_pard]

"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.

[jasonpschuyler]

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.

[homeless_pard]

"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?"

[jasonpschuyler]

"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."

[homeless_pard]

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?"

[jasonpschuyler]

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."

[homeless_pard]

"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."

[jasonpschuyler]

He stopped and looked her up and down intently, making it clear he was studying her every physical feature but without his usual teasing leer. It wasn't his intent to make her uncomfortable. He'd normally be laying it on extra thick with a gorgeous woman alone in his room, but for once he wasn't trying to flirt.
Well maybe a little...

He dropped his eyes back to his work with a knowing smile quirking the corner of his lip. "They're crazy: you're not lacking a damn thing."

[homeless_pard]

"Then your lands are a kinder place than the Dales," she noted after a moment of paling (somehow) under his gaze, as she had only one other experience with such a weighing of appearance, then managing to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth.

"The lord is kind." Obviously.

[jasonpschuyler]

It took him a moment to realize that she was talking about him and it wasn't some religious affirmation, and he colored slightly. "Jason. You can just call me Jason, Khemrys.

He sat back on his heels. "Want me to see to your hands, or do you want to eat something first?"

[homeless_pard]

"We are not kin," she noted gently, "but lord Jason I may manage." For a form of familiarity? It was hard to slot someone so easily into rusted after knowing them for mere hours now, but that was so.

In answer to his question she offered her hands forward? Long, elegant and pale fingers...just as deeply abused as her feet. Girl had been running a long time.

[jasonpschuyler]

An exhalation of breath and he started on her hands, taking them almost more delicately than he had her feet. "I didn't know we had to be related for you to use my name, but it's gonna raise eyebrows here if you go around calling people 'lord'."

He paused. "I'm sorry, I'm making you uncomfortable. You call me what you're comfortable calling me. The vamps will be more familiar with those forms of address anyway."

[homeless_pard]

"It is a...familiarity that oft is only reserved for kith and kin, though shield brothers and such may drop such, I am not certain?" Having never spoken with such. "Even those I grew among were always Dame or Lady..."

She actually had never called anyone in her life by merely a first name. Odd to realize that.

"All new lands are to be discomfiting are they not?" she laughed a touch sadly.

[jasonpschuyler]

He gave her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze, being mindful of the rawness he was tending to.

"We'll get things figured out. Weird stuff happens a lot, and the vampires that live here have been around for a really long time. Which reminds me," he said, working on her bandages, "when he rises for the night, I'll go see Jean Claude and fill him in. Are you comfortable waiting here for me?"

[homeless_pard]

It would be kinder to squeeze her wrist than any portion of her hand, but the attempt was appreciated?

"I do not wish or intend to intrude," she admitted. "If it is best I continue onward I will do so. All I ask is a chance to rest." She knew high lords may not often see a use in such as she. She did eye the door to the room at his question then nodded, "yes. Are there others with right and call to enter this room?"

[jasonpschuyler]

He shrugged. "My friends have an open invitation to use my room, but it's not likely for anyone to need to for awhile. And I can make sure no one comes in and bothers you."

He started clearing up the mess. "You can lie down again if you want. It's probably another hour or so before he rises."

[homeless_pard]

"I've now time to attempt your...snacks...without leaving blood at each touch," she admitted wryly, shifting in the chair to tuck her feet carefully under herself. "But if others come I shall try not to panic?" While he was away?

Likely she'd end up curled in the chair itself and dozing more than anything!

[jasonpschuyler]

He chuckled. "Don't worry if you don't like them. I'll try to find something better to eat when I head down to see Jean Claude."

He went to the closet, pulling out a blanket and handing it to her. "Here. You can sit here or have the bed. I have some calls to make so I'll step out for awhile. Just try to rest: I won't let anyone bother you."

He gave her a comforting grin and reminded, "There's bottled water in that fridge, too, if you really don't like the Gatorade. Just try to drink a little of it, ok? I promise it helps." He made for the door, stopping again at his closet for something before slipping out the door and closing it gently behind him. He carefully wrapped a snagged sock on the door knob; no one would be bothering her.

[homeless_pard]

"Any food not caught while running is a boon lord," she admitted quietly. Granted, the taste of preservatives was going to make her rub her tongue when he was gone. Dear Powers what did these people do to their food?! The drink was easier, it was a salt slurry, just colored quite oddly!

And yes, she'd be passing out, curled almost as much as the cat that was her other form under the blanket on the chair!

[jasonpschuyler]

It was quiet for some time. Jason had moved down the hall but within eye and earshot of the door to call Nathaniel and fill him in, and before he knew it he could feel Jean Claude's call. He'd scurried off to Jean Claude's room and before long he was trailing just behind his master like an eager puppy.

Jean Claude gestured to the sock as he waited for Jason to open the door. "Was that truly necessary, my wolf?"

Jason quickly pulled the sock free of the door and opened pushed it open. "I didn't want anyone to barge in...you'll see what I mean. Hold on a sec."

He slipped into the room, stopping just before the chair. He didn't want to startle her like in the woods. "Khemrys? Khemrys? Hey, it's Jason: I'm back with Jean Claude."

[homeless_pard]

She had been sleeping deep, but fitfully, and the words made her jump, the odd position making her mewl quietly as she jammed a shoulder. Ack. Still, she managed to blink eyes at him and sigh, "my apologies lord..." she had not meant to sleep so deeply.

[jasonpschuyler]

He'd still startled her...damn. But probably not as much as if he'd touched her again.

"You don't have to apologize, Khemrys. I said you could rest." He glanced back at the door. "Jean Claude? This is Khemrys. Khemrys, this is Jean Claude. He's the Master Vampire of St. Louis."

A pale figure entered the room. Cooling power seemed to radiate from him, and even with his long, dark hair finger combed from sleep and wearing a simple robe, he was breathtaking. The figure inclined his head gracefully at her. "You are welcome here. I trust my wolf has shown adequate hospitality?"

Jason said nothing, but gave Khemrys a reassuring smile.

"Jason tells me there is some confusion regarding your arrival here. Would you care to tell me your story?" His words were calm and kindly, yet commanding: he was clearly used to being obeyed.

[homeless_pard]

She blinked, looking from Jason to Jena Claude and doing the only sensible thing honestly; she flowed off the chair and into a deep curtsy, the draped blanket certainly making a far better picture than her earlier obeisance to Jason had been. "High Lord," she greeted softly.

SHE DID NOT DEAL WITH HIGH LORDS IN HER LIFE NO.

Oddly his general appearance didn't seem to phase her, though her eyes stayed mostly on the floor after a quick check for the hint of taint. No firm, likely not always kind, but not Shadow touched. He was hardly clothed so staring was certainly not called for and she had no desire to be rude.

"From which point would you care for high lord?" Her tale was...a long one. And like any truly well trained young lady, she could stay in the curtsy comfortably for hours for such telling.

[jasonpschuyler]

The corner of Jean Claude's lip made the slightest inclination to smile. He would relish the title of High Lord from her, especially considered where he'd started and the centuries it took to gain this status.

His long, graceful fingers beckoned her upwards. "Rise, Lady. You may avail yourself of the chair as I can see that you are injured." His gently accented voice was enticing, even without intentionally using his power. "Please, from whichever point you are most comfortable. Perhaps you may start with where you are from."