38 Saun, 719 ‣ Nashaki
continued from here
The trills following Dion’s little taunt were… a bit of a blur.
“Shut up, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Come on, Dion.”
“Don’ tell mmme t’ shut up, Kalb… not gonna work!”
“Yeah, well, I wish it would. I’m going back to the room. Don’t call for me.”
“Y’gonna cry? ‘S that it?”
“No, I’m not gonna–”
“C’mere, Kalba,”
“–what are you doing?”
“C- cry on my shoulder, little Kalba. G’on.”
“Get–”
“Hey!”
“–off of me, Dion! What the fuck?”
“What y’ don’t… don’ wanna hug? Wha’s wrong? Eh?”
“I just want to go back to sleep, alright? Leave me alone.”
“Thought y’ would’ve liked a hug from’m big strong man like me!”
Laughter in the hall, quiet, muffled by hands.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Aw y’know… you like that sorta thing don’ you?”
“Clarify.”
“You l- y’like it when men touch you?”
“...”
“Don’t you?”
“Kalba?”
“...”
“...Saza?”
And that was about the time Saza swung his fist back.
Knuckles connected in a hard and sudden hit against the underside of Dion’s delicate cheekbone. The bony joints slammed against his face and knocked the human to the side; Dion’s hand reached up defensively and shielded his bruising cheek from anything more.
“What th- fuck!” he spat, dark eyes wild and wide, “fuckin’ – wago! Th’ hell are you hitting me for!”
“Say it again, or leave it the fuck alone already!”
At the opposite end of the hall, Taiseer and Faraj had gone quiet, huddled together for balance and support. Taiseer looked surprised – everyone did, in truth – but Faraj seemed even more so, with his thin, patchy brows raised high on his forehead. Whatever he thought he knew, whatever he thought he’d just learned, it wasn’t true. But Saza’s silver glare didn’t leave Dion’s face, and the human didn’t break the stare either.
“Wago,” he repeated in a snarled breath. He took a step closer to Saza, and the hand fell away from his face. His breath was hot on the biqaj’s silver-dusted cheeks, and the smell of liquor and smoke was overwhelming.
“Just like Is’haaq.”
“Don’t talk about him like that,” Saza’s voice was low as he matched the other man’s tone.
“Why not? Can’t s-peak abouta man ‘cause he’s dead? Hey, Kalba, how’s it that all th’ folks that love y’ have been… what’s it… a wago, an’ a whore, and… who else? What’s Malha think ‘f that?”
Malha? Malha could think whatever she liked. He wanted to care about her opinions, and he’d tried, but he couldn’t. Saza swallowed hard and ignored the question. He’d had enough of it.
“Dion,” he tried one last time, “just drop it. You’re drunk, and I’m tired.”
The human’s lips curved into a wicked smile, and he laughed, “sure, wago.”
He was so close. He was just so close.
Close enough that Saza hardly had to reach when his hands shot forward and grabbed for his neck.
Dion reacted faster this time. The smile was dropped with a surprised grunt, and he grabbed the biqaj’s wrists to push him away. Neither of them were entirely successful – Saza pushed against the resistance, fingers clutching for purchase at the skin of the human’s neck, while Dion continued to press against the force and lifted a leg to kick at the blond. Faraj and Taiseer rushed over, stumbling over each other in the process, and grabbed at the spatting soldiers. Saza managed a few deep scratches as his nails scraped over Dion’s neck – Dion managed a few hard kicks to Saza’s knees – but they were pulled apart by their drunken friends, and held away from each other.
“What’re you two - doing! Gods!” Taiseer jerked at Saza’s elbow for his attention, and the biqaj pulled it away, his silver glare still set upon the man he’d attacked.
“Stay out ‘f this,” hissed Dion, as he wormed out of Faraj’s grip and rushed back to the curly-haired biqaj. He shoved at his shoulders; Saza was knocked back against the wall and he heard a shout from the occupied room behind it.
Dion’s fingers clung to the loose fabric of his shirt. Yanking the taller soldier forward and away from the wall, he pushed him down the dark hall, and Saza stumbled back… and back...
...and his feet tripped over themselves...
...and Saza felt a shift somewhere within his body, in the very moment that his heel slipped from the solid surface of the top step.
“Shit,” he heard Taiseer gasp, and he thought he saw all three of them rush forward in that instant. If he’d had the time or the attention to devote to it, he would’ve noticed that only one of them did.
He didn’t know how long it took to tumble backwards down the rickety set of stairs. He knew that it was a loud, cantankerous noise that followed every bump of his lanky limbs against the steps, and he knew that it was a cold, uncomfortable sweat that drenched his skin as it was poked and prodded by the fall. He knew that it happened too quickly to stop, and too slowly to ignore, and that when he hit the ground at the bottom of the stairs, there was a trill of tense and electrified stillness before his brain could register the pain.
If he could’ve stayed in that trill, he would’ve been content with that stillness. He would’ve laid there forever, permanently unaware of the extent of injury he had sustained. It wouldn’t have been pleasant, to live forever in a moment of apprehension and fear, but it would’ve been better than the overwhelming pain he felt in the moment after.
Saza’s hands curled into fists and slammed in impulsive reaction against the floor. A strangled shout escaped his throat. His eyes were shut tight against the glow of the lanterns that illuminated the tavern. His face was twisted in a painful grimace, teeth ground together; his sweat-soaked skin almost shimmered as it paled. If he had intended for his voice to form words, they were forgotten just as soon, replaced by another strained, shaking shout that betrayed his lost composure.
Footsteps clamored down the stairs, thunderous and hurried. Taiseer was cursing before he’d even reached the floor, “fuck, fuck, fuck, Saza, are you – ah fuck!”
His friend stood above him with his hands pushed halfway back through his hair. His light eyes were wide, and panicked, and a nervous breath was pushed from his open mouth.
“Shit. Uh – shit, uh –”
“What happened?!”
The innkeeper again. Saza figured he should’ve asked for his name… or maybe he already knew it, but at the moment he couldn’t think of anything at all besides the sharp, burning pain that shot outward from his knee. And what was underneath it? Something… he could feel something there, propping it up into an awkward position. He didn’t want to look. He opened his eyes and looked at Taiseer instead, and the reddened, burgundy irises were quickly overwhelmed and flooded with tears.
Why the fuck was he crying? It hurt – it didn’t hurt that bad! Not enough to fucking cry about it!
“He – he fell,” Taiseer’s voice was weak, and it wobbled over the partial lie.
Saza slammed his fist against the floor again as he felt something touch his leg. It was hard enough to bruise the side of his hand, if it hadn’t been bruised by his fall already. The innkeeper pulled his hand away from the limb, “he needs help – you’re his friend? Stay here, I’m going to grab someone, okay?”
Blond curls stuck to his forehead and tangled together beneath his head as he knocked it back against the floor. Whether a defiant gesture or a pained one, it wasn’t clear, and it didn’t matter. Saza breathed in quick, short breaths and pushed his fists against the floor in an attempt to sit up.
“Stop! Saza stop! Stay still–”
“Wh-at the fuckohmygodswhattheFUCK!”
Violet eyes peered past the tears and widened in sudden surprise. It was a broken chair beneath his knee – one that must’ve broken with his fall – but it wasn’t the furniture he was worried about.
“G- wh- what! What am I–”
A knee was not supposed to bend like that. He didn’t know much but he knew that. His right leg was pulled longer than the left, if only by an inch or so, and draped over the broken chair in awkward and obviously disconnected form. Taiseer worsened with his reaction, and when Saza’s wide-eyed stare lifted to the human, he saw the other man’s tears begin to fall.
“S-stop crying,” urged Saza, “stop it, there’s n-nothing to - to–”
He was cut off by his own sharp inhale, as his breaths quickened with his building panic. What was he supposed to do? His leg wouldn’t be like that forever, would it? It would be fine, right? It would heal? It would – it – it would. It had to. All he had to do… he just had to get up, and find someone that would… adjust it, or pop it, or whatever they had to do to fix it. That was all. That was–
“TAISEER!”
The human jumped at the sudden call from the top of the stairs.
“Dion, he’s hurt!”
But the soldier above them wasn’t moved.
“Get up here now!”
“No, stay,” Saza leaned forward in a reach for Taiseer’s leg – his voice was warped into another pained groan, and the noise was cut off with an angry sob.
“I’m sorry.”
Taiseer stepped out of reach. He gave the injured blond one last glance, and then disappeared into the darkness of the stairs, leaving him behind in the company of bewildered tavern-goers.
Saza didn’t watch him go. He looked down, to the leg pulled over a heap of broken wood… and his head fell back to the floor in a sudden, but fortunate, loss of consciousness.
