• PM To Join • [Painted Swine] Darker than Black

[Rozkia]

Ymiden 7th, Arc 722 - 18th break, Evening

For the purpose of getting acclimated to the highs and lows of her second 'job', Rozkia was out and about late in the trial. She had heard from her sources that - if she should have a need - she could seek healing from a certain tavern in the dust quarter. Perhaps a reward for her work for the now deceased crystal, or some other plan to further her, but she would investigate to verify the claims to her satisfaction. It was a smile plan really, just inject a certain word into her speech thrice and see how the tavern's barkeep responded. The way to identify like-minds was simple but effective within the quarter. She figured that, being in the darkness on her walk would give her some much needed time to rethink and clear her mind beforehand.

She had worked it out a few different ways, being a bit more thorough than usual. After the incident with her... acquaintance, she didn't dare go in unprepared as she had when seeking the quarter in the first place. She had dressed casually despite her line of thought when she put her plan into motion. A dark blouse and pants that made the cooler night air easier to blend in with if she stood still. Her sword clinked against her hip in it's hilt, but her aim was not outright stealth so it didn't hurt anything. Her boots crouched against the dirt and pebbles on her path to the Painted Swine, and she took in the city despite already being bored of it.

Rharne was impressive, sure, but she'd been staying in the city for a few arcs now and the scenery was growing stale in the dust quarter, at least. There were very few outright ramshackle buildings - apparently someone had tried to reform the dust quarter. A woman, if she recalled correctly. Well, she didn't bother to get details ad the like - she wasn't interested. Still, it was a commendable job if the previous rumors of the situation were anything to go by. Thankfully, the evening still let the tavern operate. The Painted swine was a smaller tavern, clean, bland... but it had a certain air to it that appealed to her more. As she pushed through the swinging doors, she noted that the smell of tobacco was thick in the tavern and not even the strongest of perfumes could cut through it by her guess. She scrunched her face as waved around her face to try and break up the thick air as she moved further in.

Perhaps if she was fond of second hand smoke or some of the more unpleasant cigars she could have handled it better, but as she was not her scowl seemed to live on her lips. There were a few patrons milling about, but the bar stools in the back stood relatively empty. She took a seat on one of the stools (they were much more comfortable than she expected) and paid no mind to those around her as she gestured for the barkeep, the owner if that lack of waitresses was any indication, to take her order.

"New face, eh? Welcome lass. What can a get ya?" The barkeep asked with a business voice. It was neither welcoming nor hostile, it just was. He said it simply and Rozkia rolled her shoulders as she settled into her seat. She took a few trills to study him from head to waist (which was everything she could see from the other side of the countertop). Dark, slicked hair, pale skin... the man was clean shaven too. He looked like an everyday lesser, dressed in neat but simple clothing. There were very few stains on the apron from what she could see...

"That depends, we are looking for Tom Barber." The naer replied, eyes scanning his face for a reaction. He paused in his tankard scrubbing for a brief moment (Rozkia caught it since she was actively looking) and then set it down when he followed her gaze to it. Her lip twitched briefly into a smirk but she forced it back down into a neutral expression within a few trills.

"You found him, lass. What d'ya need?"

"We have heard marrow is in popular. The marrow in animal bones is supposedly a delicacy. Would you happen to have any marrow soups?" She would have cringed at her wordage but she didn't have time as Tom's eyes lit up. He gave her a crooked grin she didn't exactly expect for the prim and proper looking man. He nodded at her but spoke differently to let her know his stance was similar.

"Oh I've heard lass. Sadly marrow, marrow stews, anything with animal marrow really... We don't exactly stock it. Perhaps I can interest ya in a drink instead? A Sweat of the Tater, on the house since this'll be your first stop here." Rozkia smiled about as pleasantly as she could and nodded with a strained word of gratitude. As Tom went to mix the drink, she left out a breath. Not her brightest moment of creativity, but ti would have to do. Thankfully Tom took pity on her and played along. She rolled the anxiety from her shoulders and waited for her drink with her eyes forced to the wall in front of her.

[Leander]

It had been two trials. Two trials since Leander had been in a tavern. Two trials since he had been approached by a mysterious woman, named Sarah. Two trials since she had offered him a lucrative - if deadly - deal. Two trials since she had subtly threatened him. Two trials since he had accepted her offer.

Since then, he had not left his home, instead working with what scant resources he had had in his abode, rather than the equipment and ingredients he had in his rambshack workshop. He had also spent more time than he cared to admit peering through his curtains, looking out to see if people outside paused outside his house or carried on walking by.

He was nervous. He was paranoid.

He couldn’t keep this up.

Towards the end of the day, Leander finally decided enough was enough and he left his home. It would not stop him. The Shadow Quarter wanted him, for whatever reason… they were not going to kill him. He had his uses, and obviously they had seen it and that was why he had been approached by them. He would not hide away. He had a life to live. Things to make, people to meet, drinks to drink.

And that was what caused him to find himself outside the Painted Swine. It wasn’t his favourite tavern in the city but it was up there as one of the least objectionable regardless of the occasion. It would do for tonight. He had been inside the tavern for at least a break, drinking more than was reasonable, before he watched the door open through heavily-lidded eyes and saw the naerikk enter. He choked down the mouthful of ale currently in his mouth and coughed as some of it went down the wrong way. For fuck’s sake.

He didn’t want to interact with anyone tonight. He wanted peace with his drink and to mull over the other trial, to think about what his life was going to start looking like now that he was a member of the Shadow Quarter. It was unfortunate that he was going to stop his work with the Order of the Adunih, and he wasn’t sure how to broach that conversation, but at least he was only working for them on an informal basis, so it would not affect them too much. Either way, he was looking forward to a quiet, if drunken, night.

But that was not going to happen. The drink was making him move: he was empty and needed more. The only option was to head up to the bar and order another. Next to Rozkia. Fine. Leander sighed, stood, and all but staggered to the bar, where Tom was serving the naer. He caught the end of the conversation, something about ‘marrow stew’. What an odd request. He said nothing about it, instead ordering his own ale when Tom asked.

While waiting, Leander turned to look at Rozkia. She was staring forward as she waited for her drink. While her attention was elsewhere, Leo’s gaze cast over the abhorrent creature next to him, up and down. “Her drink is on me,” Leander vocalised to Tom as he brought over their two drinks.

[Rozkia]

Rozkia loathed trials such as these too. She stared ahead blankly as she realized she hadn't thought trough her plan. Initially she'd just thought to verify the validity of the healing claims about the tavern. She had done that, so what was her next step? She came to realize she didn't have one. And so she started blankly at the wall until someone seated themselves beside her at the bar top. Rozkia continued her mindless gaze at the wall, uninterested in whatever stranger was likely going to catcall or ridicule her. Come what may, se wouldn't cause too much trouble given the situation. Oh yes, that. She grunted to herself as she allowed her head to loll down onto the countertop of the bar. Smooth, cool, placating in it's non communicative form. The wood was cleanly shaved and sanded.

Should she reveal herself to openly she had no doubts someone would call the Knights. From seasons ago, they were still searching for her for raking the angler's back. He was apparently left in bad shape (she smirked for the thought) but she was now wanted. Thankfully, no one noticed when she used her name a few trials after, but something about false alarms being called for white haired women was enough cause for caution. She would scoff at the thought of being confused for some lesser, but all she could do was wallow in the anxiety that it brought with the reputation. She had no remorse or regret for what she'd done, no. She just didn't like being the hunted and not the hunter. It put things into perspective for her, how utterly weak she was.

A terrible feeling really, being overflowed with something so.. ugly in nature. If only there was someone else in pain, someone else to torment... Someone to share this ugly feeling with. Her startling emptiness took over, even as Tom returned and the stranger beside her spoke. At first, she only caught the words in passing, drinks on him, she groaned at the possibility of a drunkard trying to hit on her. She turned slowly, face devoid of anything other than the tiniest frown. Tom seemed to acknowledge the payment with a shrug before going back to his business. And the she blinked. Once, twice, and then lifted just enough to scowl visibly at the person occupying the seat beside her. Leander..! Must he ruin every one of her chances to be alone? To work alone? It took a trill for it to dawn on her how sunken and worn he looked. Her scowl gave way to confusion as she took in how ragged he looked, bloodshot eyes and all.

Her first instinct was to call him out, point out how awful he looked and rub it in. Ridicule him, make him feel worse and suffer. But she couldn't even bring herself to do that when she looked at him after another blink. She turned away from him, intent to keep the feeling of slight concern she had felt in that trill to herself. They weren't friends, beneath, they weren't even acquaintances. She knew for a fact Leander hated her and that feeling was mutual. They'd worked together once on gentler terms and now she was feeling bad for him? Certainly not. He was underserving of her attention, her appreciation, and her respect. Just as quickly as the feeling came it went and Rozkia clicked her tongue loudly before snatching the tankard from the countertop and chugging its contents. It was cool, but it scorched her throat and left a burning sensation in the liquids wake on way down. Rozkia grimaced, coughed, and took the rest of the strong sweet spiced vodka.

She swallowed her own saliva in its wake, pushing the liquid to stay down and trying her best to cleanse her palate. She gave Tom's back a look and either paid no mind or it didn't have the intended effect. Instead of dwelling on it, she turned to Leander with a frown, brows pinched and eyes hard as if she was going to spit more venom at him than she ever had before. Instead she opened her mouth, then closed it. She cleared her throat to keep it from tingling. And taped a blackened claw against the counter as she considered what to say. All her usual insults seemed too much effort for the sullen man beside her so she settled on just doing something out of character and gauging his reaction.

"We will not owe you anything," She said simply, shrugging. "But thank you." She winced after it passed her lips as the words foreign even to her. She was not a nice person, she was not a good person. But she liked to think she could handle that much at least with utter disgust rolling off her in waves. And yet here she was, looking scandalized as if she had just done something taboo. It was backhanded at the very least, she supposed. She just wanted to wallow in peace. She hoped for Leander's sake that the lesser was black out drunk. She would never admit that she had accepted kindness of all things from the man, and she doubted it was different vice versa. "We were hoping for a relatively peaceful evening." She said, flagging Tom down and asking for another drink of the same potency. If she had to deal with Leander she would be piss drunk and no one would stop her from it.

[Leander]

She was an interesting one, that was for sure, Leander mused as he watched her blink owlishly in his direction, taking him in before turning away again… and then looking back over. She accepted the drink with no less than what he expected: a sharp word. But then she did do something unexpected. She actually thanked him.

Leo grinned.

Clearly the alcohol was working its magic tonight - Leo found that he actually didn’t mind being near the stinking naer as much as he had in the past. This was not new information to him. Alcohol not only lowered his inhibitions, but often increased his tolerance for the idiocy that he found around him. Not that Rozkia was an idiot, not by any stretch of the imagination. His few encounters with her had proven (Leander would grudgingly admit in to himself but never say out loud) that Rozkia was an intelligent individual, with commensurate skill in many cerebral pursuits. She was quick-witted too, which was a breath of fresh air compared to most of his interactions in seedy taverns like this one.

Immortals above, was Leander talking himself into liking the bitch? No, never. He didn’t like her. The filthy creature and her whole race needed to be wiped off the face of Idalos. But if he could look past the over-the-top make-up and terrifying claws… nope.

“Second drink is on you,” the chemist muttered quietly after he took a long swig from his own ale. His drink was easily downed too, but this was not a competition and he wasn’t about t try to drink the naer under the table. Bad things resulted from such foolish pursuits. He would not engage tonight. He had probably drunk too much already: the room wasn’t standing perfectly still like it should be, he noted, now that he thought about it.

Leander cocked his head to the side when Rozkia mentioned enjoying a relatively peaceful night. That was his intention too, yet here he was. “Yeah, well. Tell me to piss off then,” he challenged. If she did, he wasn’t moving. The naer couldn’t frighten him away, and he was itching for a good debate-come-argument with someone who might actually be able to keep up with him. His intentions weren’t necessarily nefarious, or even ill-advised.

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure why he was pushing the naer to keep him company. The pair did not like the other party: their disgust and hatred was mutual, as was the case for most Videnese and Naerikk peoples. It was just the way things were done and Leo gave n more thought to it than that. Still. “Why do you talk about ‘we’ all the time? Are there two (or more) of you in that pretty little head of yours? Or do you just think you’re better than the rest of us. royalty, even, to use such lofty language…” he took another chug of his ale as Tom returned with Rookie’s second drink. He waited for the barman to depart, leaving them alone again, before he added, “News flash, sweetheart, you’re not.”

[Rozkia]

Rozkia hoped for the level of inebriation that made the chemist grin at her. She was only slightly disappointed by his lack of reaction (whatever she expected, it wasn't that) and decided she could make use of his drunken state at a later trial. She was starting to feel the effects of the drink, Sweat of the Tater... perhaps she could get away with another on his nel? Alas, the moons were not aligned and the darkness had no mercy when she closed her eyes so the medicine man decided the next round was her responsibility. She clicked her tongue obnoxiously to signal her annoyance but she didn't object. "Consider us even," She said, laying her chin on the counter like a child. She scoffed despite the obstacle under chin and flicked her eyes to him with less heat than usual.

"Piss off. Now lets see if you actually leave us in peace." Sarcastic quip aside, she seemed to be more at ease now with alcohol settling in her system. Perhaps it was because she hadn't eaten anything before this trip but she barely registered the drink working through her so quickly. In fact, her hazed mind just took it in stride and when Tom returned with a raised brow she mimicked him until he sighed and put the drinks of the first round on the table. "And another after this one!" She called to Tom's retreating back. She took a moment to chug a bit from her refilled Tankard before she turned her chin to face Leander. For a few trills she watched his mouth move almost in slow motion as the words registered to her ears. In a bout of... immortals knew what; she sassed him with a teasing lit.

"So the little medicine man thinks us pretty, how flattering," She slurred. And then she really heard him, and let him have his moment of peace before she got angry on... whose behalf again? Well, it didn't matter. She was angry! "News flash, handsome," she spat with a lower warning tone. "We have spoken this way for as long as we can remember. It has nothing to do with petty race reasons, and everything to do with our sense of self. Perhaps if you were not so absorbed in what we are and not who you'd have someone other than us to talk too." A personal touch of insult she took pride in; it was tit for tat in this corner of the bar it seemed. While Roz lost what little sense of restraint she had, she became more and more nervous for some reason.

A season... or maybe it was longer? Two seasons? Time seemed to blur when she was drunk, honestly. Details weren't important, but that sense of being watched she had after certain events... it never seemed to bother her again until now. Now she was eyeing the tavern with suspicion as if everyone would just up and attack her. It was quite a leap from just enjoying drinks. She'd never admit to enjoying Leander's company either. Her mind leapt back to the subject of her speech, and it gave her pause. She faced forward, expression once again blank as she considered her own words. Where had that come from? Was she vaguely remembering something else long forgotten about herself? SHe would choose not to address it thoroughly, instead she focused back on her company to belittle him.

"We. I? Feels strange. You are much like the rest, lumping us in with the ones who we have no allegiance to just because we share a race. Whatever they did to you, whatever they've said to you... its not our problem and we do not care. As far as we're concerned you could be our father, it wouldn't change the fact that your nothing to us. We do not like you, we do not owe you anything, we do not bare you hate because you aren't a naerikk. No, we hate you because you are of no significance and have nothing to show for yourself but think you're better. That's more pathetic than us, don't you agree?"

It was slurred and sluggish, but her words connected to her brain and she looked surprised for a moment. Then it was gone, and she was smirking. And then it was a feral grin. And then she laughed, slapped the table once and lowered her hand to hide how the sting effected her, pointed at Leander as if he was the biggest fucking circus she'd ever attended. If she drew a couple stares he was too far gone to notice.

[Leander]

“Ohoo!” Leander exclaimed as he slammed his hand on the bar top. “There’s that spirit I have come to love to hate! Unfortunately I don’t feel like moving right now. I’m enjoying myself far too much. Maybe I didn’t want a quiet night after all.”

Leander frowned. “Oh, Rozkia, you wound me. You know full well I am not a ‘medicine man’. I am a chemist. I’ll say it slowly just to help you out a little, it seems the alcohol is not your friend tonight. I… am… a… chemist.” Still, the man kept his grin on his face. This was quite fun. He said as much aloud: “If I could get past… this,” he waved a vague hand at her up and down, signalling everything about her, “Maybe we could even be friends. But I don’t think I can. Fecking… yeah.”

The low warning tone Rozkia took on was completely missed - or ignored - by Leo. Probably missed, the alcohol was working its magic and Rozkia’s very form had taken on a blurred quality to it, her words heard as if from a distance rather than right in front of him. He took another drink. ‘Handsome’, eh? Well wasn’t that nice, the filth thought him pretty. He was bolstered by the compliment and flashed his teeth brightly at his unwilling companion.

“Oh, this had nothing to do with being absorbed in you. I have no desire to mingle with idiots,” did he just say that out loud? Admitting verbally that he didn’t think the naer to be among the cerebrally challenged punters in this tavern? Oops. But now the naer seemed to be on a philosophical mission, sharing her insight with him. It was too early in the evening for this. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough.

“You what? Well I wouldn’t expect you to understand my culture, it would be too much like hard work for your brain to fathom the reasons for my dislike of you. But that was before I knew you. Before we worked together. Now that I know you for you, on a personal and professional level, I know that I am better. It’s just the way things are, sweetpea. You have your uses, that’s for sure, but there is nothing special about you, and I should strongly advise you to disavow yourself of that particular delusion. Such thinking could get you into trouble… you are alone and unwanted.”

Wait.

Wait. Leander was new to this, new to the underworld of Rharne (it had only been a few trials). But he had listened to what he had been told. Marrow. That was… wasn’t that the word he was supposed to listen out for. Rozkia had used it… well twice in his hearing, but maybe she had used it when speaking to the barkeep when Leo had been making his way over to her. There was one way to test the theory.

“You were asking for a marrow soup earlier. Sounds rather fatty to me.” He shrugged, “But each to their own, I suppose. Personally the innards of bone - that is to say marrow - isn’t something I would like to try. I hear marrow is useful for its medicinal properties though.” There. He had done it. He didn’t know if marrow had any medicinal properties (he was not that much of an expert when it came to a physician’s work… but he was determined to use the word thrice, as dictated by his new creed.

Now he would wait… wait and see.

Part of him hoped that she hadn’t meant to use the word in such a fashion. Maybe she really just wanted marrow soup. But then again he knew so little about the Shadow Quarter. He had hoped the calibre of people he would be working with would be… of a kind. But maybe they let any sort of scum in. Time would tell.

[Rozkia]

Once she had calmed her laughter (which lasted longer than it would have if she was sober) she addressed him again. "So the lesser thinks he is smarter, is that it?" She slurred with a hint of malice. It wasn't all that well placed but Rozkia figured if it was the best she had it was good enough. "Then do tell us how calling you medicine man means we do not know you are a chemist? Or is an insult too big for your pea brain?" She snickered at the joke she wasn't even sure of as she took yet another sip of her drink. She frowned as his words caught up to her drink riddled brain, and shrugged. Perhaps if she was a bit more coherent she would've bothered to tell him that she couldn't exactly choose her race. As it was she clicked her tongue and turned away from him.

She went stiff for a trill - did he just admit she was better than the rest of his usual company? Surely the chemist had better people to annoy? She held up her glass in mock cheers and hid a grin behind her tankard as she downed the rest of its contents. She caught the tail end of why Leander hated her as Tom refilled her once more with silent efficiency. "Shadows, do you ever shut up? Peaceful night or not we will make you regret being here if you don't!" She said, drumming up anger from some unknown place. Honestly, half of what he said didn't even register and the other half she was too drunk to catch on too. Even if she wanted to the energy it would take to process it would be too much for her at the moment.

Lo and behold, the lesser did not shut up. In fact, he caught her attention enough to dump metaphorical ice water over her heated skin with his words. What could he possibly offer them? No, it was surely a mistake. He hadn't meant to say it, right? They offered her a hand because she was strong! What could possess those of the lesser reputed levels to reach out to- wait... Chemist, medicine. "Poison," she murmured in quiet awe. And then it came back as anger and disbelief. He wasn't even that good! He'd said so himself - that he was hardly an expert! Unless... was he doing something bigger? Had he lied? Part of her wanted to ask, but the more pressing issue was to validate her suspicion.

"Yes well, the marrow might be fatty, but it provides good taste from what we hear," She said, widened eyes trained on his reaction. "Whether the marrow is healthy is a question for you, we suppose. The marrow soup we heard of was supposedly very special, some rare animal from what we could tell." She sipped from her cup but her eyes never left his face, though they settled from the look of surprise to intense concentration. If she was the religious sort, right about now every immortal she prayed to would be begged for a false alarm.

[Leander]

“I don’t think it, I know it, Rozkia,” Leander announced after taking another swig of his drink. “And I am not a medicine man, the two are completely different callings. If you were intelligent, you would know this. But you are not, so you don’t.” She laughed at her pathetic joke, and he noted that she was slurring her words. How many drinks had she had? Then again, he thought that his words weren’t coming out as crisp and proper like they normally did. All the better, he needed alcohol to tolerate her company. He needed alcohol to tolerate anyone’s company, truthfully.

Ohoo, a threat, she was threatening him now. Pathetic. Leander wasn’t a fighter, and he thought Rozkia might be, so yes her threat was well-placed, but he highly doubted that the pair would come to blows over a couple of well-aimed barbs at each other. And, despite his dislike for the woman, he was enjoying himself. She was fun to annoy, more fun than simply ignoring her, as he might have chosen to do when he recognised her in the tavern. This was a blind sight better than downing his own drink in peace and quiet, as was his usual style. “I’d like to see you try.” He answered instead, the challenge evident in his tone.

She uttered the word ‘poison’ as if to herself, and Leander tilted his head in confusion, wondering what thought process had led her to uttering that word. He didn’t know. Leo produced poisons as a general part of his job, they were much like medicines and had their uses. He didn’t know of those uses (the chemist very rarely, if ever, asked his customers what they wanted his products for). Did this woman need products made for her? He didn’t know how he felt about making poisons for Rozkia - there was the very real fear that she would use his own products on him!

Then she said them again. The words. Three times. Yes, it was clear that she was a member of the Shadow Quarter. They had announced their status to each other. For Immortals’ sake. They must just let in any old riff raff. Though, from what he knew of Rozkia, it shouldn’t really surprise him.

But Leo did not repeat the words again. He knew she was a member of the Shadow Quarter and she knew the same about him. He simply nodded once before bring his tankard to his lips and having another sip of his drink. Damn it. “One would think,” he began, tasting the words on his tongue as he spoke them slowly, “That there would be an element of… worthiness to become a certain type of person. Here I was believing I was part of something bigger. I had expected a certain level of…” he trailed off and clicked his tongue against his teeth.

“Naerikk are despicable, it does not surprise me. I have been hoodwinked. And now I am in league with you. We are one in the same. How… disappointing.”

[Rozkia]

One of these trials, the chemist would find himself dead. Rozkia hoped for her sake that she would be there in his final moments to spit in his face as he took his last breath. She grinned at the thought, ignoring his pathetic attempt to seem smarter with a shooing motion as if his very presence was a nuisance. Not far from the truth, actually. When he looked at her, the panic of seasons past filled her throat. For a moment, all eyes were on her and Leander’s challenge sounded like a threat. Blood rushed in her ears, temples pounding to the erratic beat of heart, the incoming panic hitting her like an ox driven to stampede. His words faded in an out, her eyes rapidly swimming for an exit that she couldn’t see.

She sucked in a desperate breath as he monologued about their positions. Perhaps if she had paid attention, been smarter, this wouldn’t have happened. For a moment, Leander turned into a deadly foe, and her flight response kicked in as her mug shattered on the floor it dropped to. She turned her frenzied gaze on Leander, and moved to strike him, but the eyes.. they were everywhere. Her drink addled state couldn’t distinguish the blurred visions as anything but extra threats, and without warning her shadows enveloped the target of her paranoia as she made to escape.

Her gift of shadows triggered and she enveloped Leander in a perpetual darkness, a void. And in her haste to escape she paused long enough to blink at him, and then she was gone. She would connect later, perhaps when she could recall the events, and berate herself for her weakness. But for now she would escape into the night, leaving Leander in the darkness.

[Leander]

Leander’s eyes widened. The room of the tavern, once bright with firelight, blinked into nothingness. He blinked a few times, but he couldn’t see. There was just blackness, like his eyes were shut even though he knew they were open. He couldn’t tase the bitterness of alcohol lingering in his mouth anymore. He couldn’t hear the rest of the punters making talk around him, the silence was deafening.

He couldn’t feel… anything. He had enough awareness of his body to know that it was no longer upright - it was crumpled in a heap on the floor. But, beyond that, he had no awareness. There was no pain from when his chin had collided with the floor, because he couldn’t even feel the floor beneath him. He would have thrashed about, and maybe he was thrashing, but he couldn’t feel his limbs properly. Was he hovering in air with nothing to ground him in the world?

Terror began to grow furiously in his heart. Dread and nausea at the realisation that he had no way out of this…

…this oblivion.

He felt like he didn’t even exist anymore. He was alive: the furious beat of his heart and the ragged breaths drawn into his body proved that to him, but.. none of this was real. What was happening?

He could do nothing, except think endlessly about the eternal nothingness he was experiencing.

He tried to draw in a singular deep, calming breath.

Then, as quickly as it had started, the sensation of nothingness stopped. He found himself, as expected, on the floor. A few hands were touching him - other punters shaking his arms. They released him when Leander suddenly jerked. His throat was agony, like he had been screaming for hours. He didn’t know how long it had been. A couple of trills? Ticks? Breaks? Trials?

But it was over, and his attacker was nowhere to be seen.