• Mature • Strays and Orphans (Max) (Graded)

[Kasoria]

40th Trial, Zi'Da, Arc 711
Outer Perimeter, South Side
14th bell

"Need some help wiv' that, sir?"

That I should live long enough to be so damn shamed.

"I've got it, thank you."

The boy who'd been sweeping was apparently not convinced. He gave the little man a once over and decided again that it was quite a lot of groceries one man. He set his broom to one side and walked over, all ruddy features and good intention and when he made a move for the basket-

-a hand moved with speed and sureness that belied any notions of infirmity. He nearly flinched at the sound of fingers snapping around the handle, and when he looked down, black eyes like midnight steel were looking back at him.

"Once again: I've got it."

"Oh, well... ah... then have a good day."

Behind the counter, Titus' father smiled softly to himself, hidden behind his thick beard. He'd grown up on the South Side, outside the vast and impenetrable walls, in the Outer Perimeter. And he'd lived there long enough and in the circles where it was simply known as the "Oh'Pee". Those circles, those childhood friends that had grown to leave the gutter behind or simply become bigger rats, they still came to him for groceries. They chatted and they talked and he'd heard the name of the little man who worked for Bangun Vorund.

He knew it long before, of course. When the man was a boy, about the same age as him. They knew of each other, but were not friends... and, more importantly, were not enemies. Both South Siders, and when Kasoria had come home, Bertrand had noticed. The little man had shuffled into his store at the start of the season, and the two had just shared a nod. That was all. A spark of recognition, and then he let the man go about his business.

He preferred not to think about the thrill of fear that had stopped his heart for a trill. The way his throat dried up until he remembered the swallow. He'd heard the stories, after all. Some maniac from the North Side, who'd had a whole crew of cutthroats thrown at him and sliced and chopped and bludgeoned and battered them all into paste. Walked out of his wrecked house alive, with only a single wound. The stories said that man was named Kasoria, and since that night, he'd not been seen in that part of town.

So he came home.

"See ya next time, sir."

Kasoria turned at the door, looking back at Bertrand with a cold face but amused eyes. Even the grocer knew not to shout his name about. This was his neighborhood, after all. Most people already knew who he was, from back when he was a gutter runner like so many other little shites. The rest knew what he was, and how he didn't like any attention. He shuffled out the door and bundled up against the cold, driving, hungry wind lashing at him as he went.

He walked home and passed the beggars, swaddled in rags and bags and sacks and anything else they could find for warmth. He ignored them. Didn't want them to get ideas, like after you feed a stray dog. Fuckers keep coming back and back and-

Says the man with a squad of cats always hanging around his home.

The assassin grunted to himself. Yes, and didn't they come in handy when the cunts knocked down his door last season? Their cacophony had opened his eyes a precious handful of trills early... and one of them had even saved his life, used as it was like an improvised weapon. So yes, he kept cats, or at least maintained them as his own personal alarm system. A modest chunk of the milk and odds-n-ends meat he had in the basket was for them, after all.

You named them. Means it's not just about utility. Kasoria frowned, not enjoying where his mind was going. It's that kid. Changed you.

He couldn't deny that. Having a son... Fates, four arcs had gone by and he still found it hard to find the words. He'd been dwelling in darkness, no light to navigate by, almost hoping for the release of a blade or an arrow and then there was a sunrise. Screaming and pink and hairless and he'd held him just once - once - and remembered he was a human being. Kasoria plodded along the cobbles and thought of his son. Thought how precious and secret he was.

Thought of the horrible things he'd done to ensure no-one would ever learn about him.

Then his ears pricked, maybe five streets from his home. Sometimes it wasn't anything definite or observed, just... a feeling. Something niggling and scratching at the back of your neck until you looked over your shoulder-

-and saw a small figure tailing you.

Hmm.

Kasoria turned the corner, a sidestreet, ill-used and narrow. He kept walking down it, and at the end, as he turned, used the motion to score another quick look-

Same figure. Same distance.

He was getting closer to his home. He'd moved after that clusterfuck in the North Side, deciding that staying in the South, in the heart of his master's territory, was a smarter option. But you never knew, not for certain. In the aftermath of that night, Bangun had talked with him about the "message" he'd been given. From The Fence. The one power in the Etzos underworld that could not just rival him, but crush him. Such an organization, well... they wouldn't give much of a shit about turf.

He took another alley, and slowed his steps. Enough to hear the careful footfalls behind him. He was halfway down the alley when he suddenly stopped. Decided not to turn. Just talk. So the figure following him would understand he knew they were there, and he wasn't bloody impressed.

"I don't like bein' followed," he said, loud enough for (what he assumed was) the child to hear. "So youse best hurry the fuck up an' tell me what y'want."

Only then did he look over his shoulder.

"Gotta learn t'keep yer distance, by the way."

[Max]

She'd driven the last matron across the sea, Hilda, to wit's end. It was only by the grace of the woman's merchant brother, who tired so easily of his sibling's griping, that Hilda was freed of the troublesome brat. He sailed away with the eight year old menace as soon as the ice broke from the harbor. At the first port of his voyage he dragged the orphan up the docks, through the crowds, and dropped her off at the door step of a new orphanage. It was just as raw a deal for the establishment as it was for the little girl named Maxine. Her peers were no less rough around the edges than she was. From trial one she was tried and tested, encouraged with force to adhere to the established hierarchy already firmly in place. The trouble was...Max never did all that well with structure. No more than she did authority.

Hair pulling, face-pummeling, and rib-kicking became a staple of her daily routine. Sometimes she was the only giving. Other times she was the one painfully receiving. Only one thing remained consistent: Max never learned her lesson. It would've been easier, smarter even, if she just rolled with the status quo. She could've followed the herd, ducked her head, and done her time in peace. Instead she was committed to the tireless resistance of it all. She thrived off the pettiness of juvenile violence. Her inability to emotionally regulate or suffer even the most minor offenses made her a glutton for punishment. Yet, for all the consequences her stubbornness wrought, there was reward in the struggle. Children began to respect her in certain ways. Some bullies learned to find new or weaker targets, remembering the pain of her ire even if they'd successfully pummeled her docile. Some accepted her as she was, admiring her foolhardy bravery and willingness to take a hit on principle alone. Others simply left her alone. Sometimes that was all she wanted: to be left the fuck alone.

Maxine's peers weren't the only danger. Her antics commonly left her stomach empty or fresh bruises painted upon her flesh. This matron was far better equipped to handle the unruly, belligerent orphan than the last. The battle was an immovable object against an unstoppable force. Max was determined to break before she bent, and Immortals be damned, this matron was committed to breaking her like a stallion.

A full arc had come and gone since Max's arrival to Etzos. She was nine going on ten years old now, and none the wiser. Problems were still sorted with action rather than diplomatic word. Bruises intended to convince her to repent still colored her skin. A flurry of curse words flung at the matron had been her latest offense. Rather than subject herself to trials of her caretaker's wrath, she elected to escape the orphanage altogether. With a hole-ridden coat wrapped around her shoulders, Max trudged aimlessly through the streets of the southern side of the Outer Perimeter. There was no plan floating through her thick head. She had no idea where she planned to sleep, or any idea on how she'd acquire her next meal. As always, Maxine merely continued to forge her irregular path on the premise that she'd find a way. She always found a way.

Her nose led her through the doors of an unassuming building adjacent to the street. Huddled in her dull, grey ensemble issued to her by her hosts, she made for a nonchalant, unoriginal visitor wading through the store. The only eyes that likely cared to follow her were likely the proprietor's, who might've failed to recognize her as a familiar face in his rough neighborhood. Then again, a child running errands for their hardworking family wasn't all that uncommon. Unfortunately, that wasn't the good-natured role Maxine had come to play. This trial she merely donned what she always was: a street rat just as willing to swipe their way to a full belly as the next. The orphan was characteristically no thief. Desperate times called for desperate measures though. Her loose concept of morals wouldn't be sweat over a missing loaf of bread from the shelf. She was simply going to do what she had to do. Everyone else be damned.

Guess it doesn't really matter which one I snag.

Her eyes were roving the small selection of loaves, when the nervous voice of the sweeper drew attention to a pair of bodies in her peripheral vision. With wide eyes, she turned her head to take in the sight of steely, warning eyes fixed on the face of the helpful sweeper. The fear was evident in the employee's stare. The stranger's expression was one that was even and self-assured of his independence. Somehow Max felt sure that, with one wrong move, the hairy shop visitor would've decked the employee right then and there without giving pause. This was not a man who was sullied in moments of such decision by worthless scruples. He was as he was, and ironically, had she not seen the agility with which he reacted to the boy's intruding approach, Maxine would've pinned him for no more than a coinless bum; a vagabond or a drunk too down on his luck to bother with a razor. He was the sort of man no one made a double-take for. Forgotten. Unseen. Underestimated. Until the blade tucked inside a baggy sleeve was at your throat. And then, just like that, he was the only thing one saw. The center of their ending world. An inspiration of visible fear. At least that's the what the wild, imaginative mind of the child had conjured up.

Bread loaf forgotten, Max's feet followed after the enigmatic man just as her eyes did. Back into the cold she wandered in his wake. She clutched the clothes she was swaddled in about her frame, warding off the wind that effortlessly shot through the cheap layers. Truth be told, the child wasn't entirely sure just what she was doing. All that remained at the surface of her consciousness was the mystery of the man. Curiosity had gotten the better of her once again, and the game had begun. Too close and he'd catch on. Too far back and she'd lose him among the other bodies. The orphan tailed the dangerous figure through the streets. She turned when he turned, paused in blissful ignorance when he did too. Thoughts of a trap never crossed her young mind when she rounded into an alley after him. All too late she noticed the sluggishness in his gait until he came to a firm halt.

Ah, shit...

Max planted her feet and froze in place. Her teeth sunk into her lip, nervous eyes trained on the back of the figure paused ahead of her. Berating thoughts started to enter her mind. Moments ago she'd seen him nearly snap on a guy just trying to lend a hand. Clearly he wasn't the friendly type, and still her stupid ass had felt compelled to linger at his heels. She swallowed hard. Her weight began to shift toward her heels. Thoughts of turning and darting into the street and banking on blending into a crowd crossed her mind. All she could think about was the sharpness of his ominous stare fixed on her instead of the well-meaning sweeper. There were no prying eyes here to deter him from raising a hand should he so decide.

"W-want?" Max wasn't sure if it was surfacing fear or the cold that elicited the dumb stutter when she first opened her mouth. "Nothin'! I want nothin' from you!" Now that he was turned fully toward her and she could get a good look at him though...
"But you, you looks like you could use a shave, mister." Curse that fuckin' smart mouth of hers. Could she ever properly help herself?
"Distance?" her focus abruptly changed. Brow furrowed, lips pressed into a pout. "That's what gave me away?" Nimble like a cat was how she imagined herself; silent as a shadow. Reality did always have a way of shattering childhood fun.

[Kasoria]

What are you, giving lessons now?

No, was the first retort Kasoria's mind came up with, but even as it shot through his mind, he knew it was false. If he'd not intended to instruct, or correct, he'd never have made that crack about distance. He would just have given his ultimatum and waited in stony silence for a reply. But he'd looked over his shoulder, like an idiot. He looked and saw a raggedy girl dressed like a boy, with the softness of skin childhood granted you, married to the hard eyes of one that had seen too much in too few arcs.

Kasoria looked back and saw himself, thirty arcs and an age ago. So that's why he turned all the way around and gave her that titbit.

Like the twat you are.

"Yer followin' a man in broad daylight," he said, taking slow, measured steps towards her as he spoke. The way one would approach a skittish foal in the wilderness. "Unless yer up high on a roof, in the sewers, or invisible, he's gonna keep seeing you if he looks around enough. So you make sure you keep yer distance. A whole street's length, if y'can. So he can't hear you, can barely see you. It's a tricky game, but..."

He stopped again, within arm's length. The fact she'd let him get that close... concerned and intrigued him at the same time. Etzos could be cruel with little girls like her, scrappy and defiant or not. Letting a strange man get so close, close enough to crack her around the jaw and toss her over his shoulder and bear her away?

She's still got a lot to learn.

"It's worth learnin'. An' I like my fuckin' beard." He paused long enough for her to dare a smile, then leaned forward with nothing so human as mirth in his eyes. He let that brief ripple of ease fool her, disarm her, and then he got back to business. Because he knew, too, that children were not always children in this shitty part of town. He'd started young. Mayhap so had she. "This is Etzos. Everyone wants something from everyone else. So yeah, y'do want something. Even if y'don't now what. So I'll ask again: wadaya want?"

He straightened back up, letting some ease creep into his limbs, unbunching his shoulders. His free hand crept into the basket and plucked an apple from inside. he took one heft bite, revealing teeth more yellow than white but still sharp. Canines like tiny daggers ripping a thick chunk from around the core with a crack.

He spoke with his mouth full. Hardly a shining adult example.

"Take yer time. Jus' don't take alla' mine..."

Crack

[Max]

She was playing a dangerous game. It was something she was wont to do, but a perilous exploit all the same. Her young mind was absorbing his points on her flawed tailing skills like a sponge, but still she remained wary as each calculated step brought him closer. Her dark eyes darted from his bearded face to his hands, back and forth several times as the space between them condensed. One of her feet took a small, heedful step backward. It wasn't necessary his proximity that alarmed her. It was the way in which he shared the treasured knowledge. The stranger wasn't just spewing logic. He was speaking from a place of certainty; as though following someone without discovery was something in which he had a wealth of experience.

Maxine had two options the way she saw it: make a run for it or stand her ground. The speed with which the old man moved in the store made hopes of escaping his grasp, if he so chose to try and catch her, made running away an unlikely option. Besides, running inherently entailed her turning her back. She didn't need to be as seasoned as the veteran before her to know the error of that. Street urchins and fellow orphans alike had already taught her that lesson. The only reasonable thing to do was to plant herself confidently in place. Perhaps, like a wild, territorial beast, he'd hesitate to do her harm if she hid timidness in his shadow. It was more than likely though that could already smell it on her.
Rooted where she stood, Max stared up at the man with fingers curled into tight little fists. In the face of his continued interrogation she would refuse to tremble. Not yet.

"I saw the way they looked at you," Max explained, her voice becoming more sure than it had sounded when she'd first tried to answer his question. "Y'know...those men in the store. The one with the broom and the one behind the counter." She pursed her lips and paused for a moment. The furrow of her brow and brief flicker of frustration in her eyes appeared as she tried to articulate what was on her mind. "They were afraid of you, I think....but you're not loud to be scary. You're not big like the men that stand next to important people. You didn't even promise to do bad things to them. You just bought groceries." She shuffled her feet and did her best to keep her stare trained on the man that made others tremble. "I wanted to know why you make people afraid...so I followed you."

Maxine eyed the hairy figure as he chomped away at the apple with all the grace of a heathen. Briefly, her gaze drifted to the juicy, marred flesh of the apple. She could feel the tightness growing in her stomach. It wasn't so foreign a feeling as one might've hoped for a child. It was one she was accustomed to nevertheless. At other orphanages it wasn't uncommon for her to refuse what a matron made out of spite. As she always had, she'd continue to easily weather the punishment of the new Etzos matron. An orphan could always resort to stealing when necessary. Maybe she could give the store another go tonight if it wasn't too late.

[Kasoria]

He took his time, but it was not out of malice. Well, maybe just a little bit. She did follow him, after all. Barge into his neat, ordered, lonely little world with her questions and incessant, obnoxious reminders of what he'd been, lifetimes ago. Everything about her seemed to strike a new chord with him. His black eyes dancd with activity even as his faced stayed immobile behind that mass of hair. The tension in her body, the hardness of her jaw, the way her lips pressed into a hard line when he approached... and her hands into tight, determined fists.

She wasn't born here. He could tell that from her accent. But she'd grasped the essentials of street life in Etzos with unerring ease.

Never show weakness. Never act like prey. Because if you're not a predator, that's all you are.

Then she spoke, and his eyes dimmed. Became colder. Harder. Like a roaring campfire burned down to ashes and charcoal, memories of light and warmth forgotten in their husks. Watchful, too. Perceptive. Again the whispers crowded into his mind, telling him that foolish indulgence was one thing, but letting in a spy was another. Which is what she could be, quite easily. Wouldn't be the first time some ganglord or another had a wing of scampering brats doing his dirty work here and there.

But Kasoria didn't look away, nor spur her to flee. She spoke, her measured and careful words, each one plucked and nocked and let fly with the precision of an archer. He listened to her summation, punctuated only by more bites from his apple. Then when she finished he stared at her. Nothing moving on him save for his hand, rising and falling to his mouth, and his jaw constantly churning, chewing, crushing, crunching.

She could see decisions in his eyes, though. The way he was evaluating not just her, but her words, the situation... the myriad of consequences he would face if he took one action over another. Ranging from indifference to-

"An' why'd you wanna know that?" He said genially as he perused the ravaged core of the apple. Only a couple of bites left on it. But more than a couple, if you were a child. "Wanna be scary yerself, you yeh? There's more t'life than that-"

He tossed the apple, and gave Little Maxine a lesson in trust. Straight from the gutters of The Big Rock.

The green-and-red orb flew in a light arc towards her, and as soon as he eyes snapped to it, let alone her hand, Kasoria was moving-

Or so she would later assume. Later, she would put aside her childish thought and realize there'd been a while system and process of muscles and tendons and ligaments and decisions made. But at the time, it was just... a great and blackened wind. It swept him over to her in an instant, faster than she could look back from the mid-air apple to his lunging form. By the time he did, he was looming over her, hand snatching her up and close by the collar.

The apple thunked onto the cobbles and rolled away. Half a trial's food to the waif, but merely a convenient prop to the assassin, and it had served its purpose.

Maxine would grow taller than him, in the fullness of time. Most people did, in fairness, but at that time, in that place, she was smaller. Weaker. He didn't need to say as much, but that was half the point. Those same eyes that had shut down Titus without a single threat... no... no, it wasn't just them. That was the equivalent of a lion growling sleepily at a distant hyena. The barest ounces of effort. What Kasoria turned on her now, staring down with eyes that burned and froze all at once, was the face many had seen and never forgotten.

Either due to the terror he implanted in their souls, or the fact he took them not long after.

"They're afraid because they know me," he said, words so low they seemed dredged up from a sewer. "What I've done. What I do. What I am. You're a watcher. A thinker. A clever girl. But you ain't cleverer than them." He let go of her, letting her drop back to the cobbles and slink away from him in the same movement. "Because they know better than t'ask."

There was more he could say, and part of him even wanted to. But that professional wall came down on his tongue after those last words. Not just because his was a world of secrets, but because of what he saw birthed in her eyes. Something quivering and vaguely betrayed, but immediately squashed by hard will, a wordless defiance, a grim resolve to show no fear. She'd already learned not to expect anything from anyone. Let alone kindness.

Some corner of Kasoria sighed and shook its head. This fucking city. It made monsters of those it couldn't kill, if you ran in the wrong circles for long enough.

"Follow a stone mason, or a merchant, or an actress," he advised, half-turning away from her again, wordlessly decreeing their little chat at an end. "You'll make more, an' live longer."

With that he turned, and he started to walk away. Leaving her like so many others had. Imparting what rough, blunt wisdom he felt capable of, and then abandoning her. She watched him go, and was about to leave or reply when his hand jerked up at his side-

-tossing something else back over his shoulder-

An apple slapped into her palm. Whole and unspoiled.

Then he was gone.

[Max]

Max was prey caught frozen under the stare of a formidable predator. He was a different type of predator from the ones she was used to. He wasn't muscular and boisterous in his arrogance. He didn't lunge to take a hold of her. His eyes roved her with a dark curiosity, not one of malice or inappropriate lust. His stature was unimposing and his self maintenance lacking. He was a mess of hair with a general disdain for the world around him. His fuck-off attitude practically radiated from every inch of him. His yellowed teeth tore into the apple, juice from the fruit running into his beard. This wasn't what one pictured when they thought of a monster lurking under the bed or in the closet. Yet the body language of those that knew him well enough in this neighborhood promised him to be something worthy of their fear. He hadn't hurt her. Not yet. That didn't mean she was about to forget what her young mind had already suspected he was.

The hardness in his expression made her heart flutter with anxiety. Her stomach plummeted. The tightening of her throat made even spit that much harder to swallow. The stranger had demanded from her the truth, and truth is what Maxine had given him. She bit her lip. Apparently it had been a truth that displeased him. If she could've reached out, grabbed the words in the air, and consumed them so that they were never spoken aloud, she would've. The child could only stand in place possessed by the fear he inspired in her. The only thing that kept her hopeful she'd escape some sort of punishment was his continued eating. If he was busy biting into the apple, he was still too relaxed to do her ill. The trills filled with his munching before he finally spoke again were agonizing. A relief washed over her thereafter, but it was a subtle one.

It didn't take a well-trained eye to see a man who likely had an upbringing just as rough as hers had already started. Max, never one for silence, knew she didn't need to interject and make her case. This was a man of the streets. It clung to him like the stench of the city itself, and whatever reputation he'd earned in Etzos had been born in the streets too. Cities were jungles in their own right. Be strong or be weak. Kill or be killed. The latter was more metaphorical, but for some, it was a lesson that was all too literal. A frightening presence was its own currency nonetheless. Possessing one brought with it a priceless wealth she craved. Like this stranger she was determined to have it. The real question was just how he'd managed to score it for himself. To answer that, the orphan understood the time had come to listen rather than speak.

Her brow rose in surprise when the apple came her way. Her hungry eyes locked upon the spinning core, stomach growling with anticipation. Her hands began to move toward its landing space when the violence of movement began. Her eyes blinked away from the apple but it was too late. A surprised gasp erupted from her lungs in time with her feet's vacancy from the ground, the stranger's hands lifting her by the collar. Her thundering heart in her chest negated the disappointing thud of the mostly eaten apple upon the cobbles. Maxine swallowed hard. Her hands instinctively snapped to his wrists, futilely attempting to wrench herself free of his hold with airborne legs flailing. Panicked as she was, the return of his speech slowed her struggle. Then, knowledge imparted, he dropped her.

Her rump smacked upon the unforgiving ground. Hands and heels skittered along the cobbles, scampering her backward and away from peril. A swirl of fright and fury swelled in her darkened gaze, which glanced between ruined apple and cruel teacher. Pride dictated that she refuse to lick her wounds, and instead rush toward the baggy creature that made her into a gullible fool. At this point, what did a few more bruises or worse matter? Crueler matrons had promised a sewer or a drainage ditch would serve as her final resting place. In what city and by whom hardly seemed to make much difference. The future was a concept the struggling orphan failed to grasp. There was only the now. And now? She was turned bitter and hopeless. Until the stranger tossed a fresh apple over his shoulder as he made his departure. Hunger superseded pettiness. She scampered forth to claim the prize, forehead scrunched as her small teeth bit into the snack. One moment he was there. In the next he had vanished along with all his mixed messages. And as she filled the void of hunger, Maxine was left to meditate on all he'd just said.

"Don't make the image of something to be scared of," she murmured to herself, chewing upon the fruit. "Just become it."

[Rynata]

Reverse Pirate Rynata,
here to reverse pirate your rewards!

Name: Max

Knowledge:
Intelligence: Following a Mark for Information
Intelligence: Stating What You Want to Know
Intimidation: Inspiring Fear Through Reputation
Stealth: Avoiding the Gaze of Your Target
Stealth: Following in a Crowd
Stealth: Keep Your Distance
Stealth: Broad Daylight Makes It Easy to be Seen
Stealth: Sewers and Rooftops May Be Good Places to Hide

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A
Expenses: N/A
Renown: N/A
Magic XP: N/A

Points: 15
Name: Kasoria

Knowledge:
Discipline: Never Reveal Details Of What You Do
Intelligence: Noticing When You're Being Followed
Intelligence: Using a Turn At a Corner to Have a Brief Look at Your Tail
Intimidation: Using Size and Speed to Surprise and Silence a Victim
Tactics: Choosing a Narrow, Isolated Alley to Confront Your Tail
Teaching: How to PROPERLY Follow Someone

Non-Skill Knowledge:
Etzos: Outer Perimeter is a Harsh Place to Grow Up
Etzos Underworld: Gangsters Often Use Children
Location: Bertrand and Son's Grocery

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A
Expenses: N/A
Renown: N/A
Magic XP: N/A

Points: 15

Comments: Very quirky interaction, scrappy young Max and streetwise Kasoria. Max's almost awe like appreciation for the strange man's knowledge and reputation were fun to read along. Kasoria, your subtle descriptions of character actions and such really bring the scene to life. Great collab!

If you feel I've missed anything or if you have questions about your review, please don't hesitate to send me a quick PM. Also, please indicate on your request thread that this has been reviewed. Thanks!

Code: Select all

[align=center][img]/gallery/image.php?album_id=500&image_id=13942[/img][/align]