Reclamation

Her head came dangerously close to the headboard before Kivuli jumped up to catch it. Belakane made a disgusted hiss from the corner she had been tossed to and dismissed herself through the open door, content to be ignored for the time being.

Kivuli gently set her head onto his pillow, sitting on the edge of the bedframe. He shuddered slightly as he pulled his hand out of her hair, realizing his fingers were covered in the crusty redness of her blood. He wiped his hand on his pants, trying not to think about how it had felt. He did not hate blood, but he hated the way it coagulated and stank as it aged. And the way it stuck and clung to things. Especially fingers. It was as if human hands had been made to handle and hold blood.

His concern for the girl was growing, though. He had figured she was likely to fall unconscious again, but  now knowing her head had been hit... Had her skull been damaged? Human heads were so fragile. And that had probably led to even more blood loss... He pulled his jacket off her, bending over to examine the wound in her side. The makeshift bandages had slid around quite a bit during the walk, smearing blood all across the opening. He had to try not to inhale as he leaned in to look again.

He was struck by how small the opening seemed, but also by how red it was. It looked fairly deep, or at least that's what he could assume. But it didn't look like any of her intestines were trying to escape through the opening.... Which was good, right? And it didn't seem to be bleeding anymore, which either meant the wound was clotting, or that her heart wasn't beating. He pressed his head into her bosom, and sighed with relief to hear the dull beat within. It was faint, but there. Now if only Nocona would hurry...

Belakane scampering back in and hissing at the doorway signalled the old man's return. Kivuli rose to meet him, but was rushed past and pushed aside by the Comanche and Raelene, who was still dressed in her lightening-bright rehearsal garb. She muttered to Nocona quickly and hurriedly in a language Kivuli could not understand, pulling a number of vials and tubes and what looked like string out of a folding wooden box she had brought in with her. He watched her smear something on the would itself, sprinkle something in the girl's open mouth, use some liquid to wash it down her throat... Nocona grabbed a candle from the bedside and Raelene began grinding something in a mortar, still chattering away in that strange tongue with such great urgency. She pulled Kivuli's jacket all the way off now, and made a surprised face, turning to him with a reddened purple petal in her fingers.

"Wha'are these?" she asked, her tone accustory.

"S-She," he hated how he stammered. "She was carrying a bouquet of flowers... When she was attacked."

Raelene rolled her green eyes, flicking the petal away and returning to her mortar, now mixing in a liquid and dipping a section of the string into the mixture.

Nocona turned to him, his normal expression softened into concern. "You look pale, Kivuli," he said. "Why don't you take a break? You can't do much here right now anyway. Get changed, rest a bit-"

"These were my, um, last clothes," Kivuli muttered, embarrassed, looking down at the red stains on his stomach, that ran down his legs.

Nocona sighed, and Kivuli could not tell if it was to disguise his pity or his condescension. "Leave them hanging outside. Take the pelt and the cat. Go for a run or something, alright?" And with that, he turned back to Dahlia, reaching over to help Raelene with something.

Kivuli reached under the pile of hay to pull Belakane out from her hiding place, and grabbed the massive antelope pelt off its hangar, stepping as quickly and quietly as he could outside. He set Belakane down, letting her dash away as he slid out of his clothes, tossing them up to the edge of his roof. He wrapped the pelt around him, letting the skin's head rest on his, it's forelegs wrap around his arms, its back legs hang with his own. He sighed, letting himself relax as he walked towards the field Belakane had taken off to. He felt his human skin merging with the pelt as he turned thoughts to silent. All his thoughts except for her. For Dahlia. He hoped so much for her. She had been so scared, and he wanted to help her... But he was useless and couldn't. Nocona had practically said so. And so maybe, if he hoped hard enough, he could help her some way even them and their medicine and skill could not. He remembered her bloody, but silken hair. Her pale, smooth skin. Her big, pleading, wine-colored eyes. And he hoped. He hoped until he could no more.

His two footsteps became four. His neck thickened. His face lengthened, his soft man-hair melted into two arching horns. His breath became richer, fuller, calmer. His glass eyes opened, in the skull they had been meant for at last. His man-skin had disappeared into the pelt, his true skin. He was as he was born, as he was meant to be.

He was the antelope.

His human brain at last silent, he started to run. He ran, he leaped, he danced. And he was free. At least for now.

Sweet Oblivion

Dahlia had barely registered two male voices conversing worriedly above her.
She moaned and put her left arm over her face. Her head was pounding and it felt like someone was stabbing her behind the eyes.

Her rescuer's cat was making horrid noises that were certainly not helping the situation.

Even with no memories, she could tell she was not a cat person.

She tried to sit up and ask the man, "Kivuli" if she heard properly, for a glass of water.

She felt the blood rush from her head and she passed out into unconsciousness.

A Million Little Things

Her hands were very cold.

He took the key lightly from her, as if worried too heavy of a touch would cause her to crumple. His brows were furrowed with concern as he looked at her, realizing that even the small task of retrieving the key had sapped her strength. Humans were so delicate, like those dolls they loved. Pretty to look at, but quick to break...

Shifting her weight to one arm, he shoved the key into the rough opening of the hole, twisting it sharply. There was a screechy hiss as he did, which seemed to be coming from inside the wagon. The door gave a dull click, and he pushed it open with his foot as he rested her back onto his other arm. He could hear her claws skittering on the wooden floor as he walked in, no doubt to retreat to her hiding spot....

"Don't mind Belakane," he told Dahlia gently. "I'll grab her in a second. She gets nervous around strangers."

It was only a step or so to his bed, where he lay her down, careful of her wounded side. He left his coat over her, since he did not seem to have much in the way of coverings, and was lowering his eyes to reach underneath the bed when a deep voice from outside said,

"Kivuli?"

He snapped his head up to meet the black eyes of his friend.

He sighed, relieved, and lifted himself to his feet. "Nocona, you just about scared the life out of me."

"As you did I," the man said quickly. Another accented voice, this time with the raw sharpness of America. The new man took a step into the light, revealing the rough, wrinkled face of a middle-aged, dark-skinned man. His coarse hair was cut short and choppily, and bands of silver were appearing behind his ears and around his temples. He looked like it had once been a kind face, but a hard life had beaten any traces of smiles from his thin lips. "Who is-" he motioned towards Dahlia, and his short sleeves revealed huge scars in his muscular forearms, as if they had been slashed by a knife. His eyes widened as he saw Kivuli's coat and clothes and their bloodied state.

"She needs our help," Kivuli replied snappily, suddenly taking an autoritative tone. "She was attacked in the city. Could you run and get Raelene? She needs the painkillers."

The man named Nocona nodded, giving Dahlia a quick, worried look as he rushed out the door. Kivuli grabbed his shoulder before he could.

"And try to keep things just between us and Raelene for now," he said in a hushed, grave tone. "With the girl in this state, I don't want a certain some to catch wind of her."

Nocona nodded, before taking off among the other wagons.

Kivuli, sighing, returned to the bedside, slipping his arm underneath the metal frame. There was a protesting yowl as he pulled a huge, blackish cat out from underneath the bed. It's long legs flopped uncomfortably, revealing huge sickle-shaped claws, as he bundled it in his arms and collapsed into a spindly wooden chair next to the pile of hay shoved in the corner of the wagon.

He rested his face in the cat's fur (which it again protested,) sighing heavily. "It's going to be alright, Dahlia. Nocona and Raelene will fix you right up. And if you need any water or anything, just let me know...." He held the cat up as much as he could, adding, "This is Belakane, by the way. She lives with me. She isn't much of a people-cat, though..." He playfully puffed a breath of air onto one of her strange, long ear tufts, causing the cat to raise her back fur and swing her taloned paw at his face. He chuckled lightly, grabbing it and pushing it away.

Secrets and Lies

Dahlia didn't miss the obvious deflection and it made her uncomfortable. Didn't people normally exchange names when they met? She couldn't remember.

After a brief hesitation, she shifted a bit and started feeling around for the pocket in question. Fortunately, the collar of his coat was tucked under her arms and did not inhibit her mobility.

As she fished around for the keys she encountered a few odd items. She couldn't identify them all, but it felt to her like a few coins, a carved, wooden, something..., dried plant matter, and finally a heavy ring of brass keys.

She tugged them free of the pocket and attempted to lift the keys to her face to identify the correct one.

Even that slight effort left her feeling weak.

She quickly passed the keyring to her rescuer's right hand and clutched at his shirt collar.

He hadn't moved, but she was suddenly dizzy and felt like she might be falling.

Coming Home

He could see the lights from the camp now, just a few hundred feet away now. He could make out the flickering shadows of figures from the scattered light from the central fire. He felt himself becoming nervous. Many of his herdmates could be... Overzealous with the newcomers. He had lost many new members to fear (and bloodier methods) thanks to them. If he could smuggle her in without them seeing, that would be ideal....

He snapped back to reality as he remembered her question. "Umm..." he stammered. He didn't know why he was nervous to tell her, but there was this strange weight on his tongue as he tried to say the word. "It's.... Hey, try to be quiet and hold close to me," he muttered quickly. "I need to get you to my wagon so we can treat that wound...."

He quickly moved out of the edges of the fire's light, trekking quickly to a fairly large, wooden gypsy wagon parked away from the rest of the camp. Though the lights hanging from the corners of its roof were dim and nearly burned out, there was enough to betray bold, geometric painting on the sides and strange, angular masks, which appeared to be horned, hung by the window.

"Um," he started to ask with hesitation. "If you can move, my key is in my coat pocket. I think the left one. And I can't really get it with you like this- Can you reach it?" His eyes widened as he asked, and as they got bigger, it became more and more evident that they were not normal at all. Too shiny, too transparent, too blank....

A Rose by Any Other Name...

Dahlia was only vaguely aware that the terrain had changed by the variance in her rescuer's stride.

She had been pleasantly distracted by the man's story. His voice registered as different from the norm, at least to her disturbingly blank mind.

It was quite appealing.

She nuzzled further into his chest, trying to hide her face from the biting night wind.

He even smelled exotic.

The sound of her name shook her out of her stupor and reminded her of something.

"You never told me your name." She gently chastised, her voice muffled by the curtain of hair that had fallen across her face.

Gates to Another World

The story was like nothing anyone else could tell her. It was not so much a story, but a panoramic view of another world. He described the earth and the grass and the sky as if they were the Grecian gods, always at odds and bickering but maintaining a perfect world somehow. He spoke of the weather like animals and animals as if they were rainstorms or waves on the ocean, to where they became forces of nature rather than mere beasts. His words, smoothly sliding from between his full lips like a warm river of a painter's brushstrokes, melted away the dingy grays of London and bathed everything around their two figures in rays of imagined sunlight. His words were so rich, and so fantastic but at once so tangible, that their mere presence could almost distract the mind from pain or even from thought. And the curious thing was, there was nothing magical about them. It was merely in the way he spoke, the way he crafted words together, and perhaps in the exotic accent he could not rid his voice of.

 He was so awash in the memories he related to the frail girl in his arms, he hadn't even noticed that they had passed from the cramped back alleys of London out onto the wider dirt roads on the edge of town. The enchanting stream of words was interrupted as he sighed happily.

"We're very close now, Dahlia," he said with obvious relief. "Just stay with me a bit longer." He looked at her with concern, as he suddenly recalled how long it had been since he had last really checked on her.

You Can't Miss What You Never Had

Dahlia felt him stiffen.

She had done something wrong.

She heard his question and nodded weakly. It still hurt to move.

Maybe the duration of the story would give her enough time to figure what was going on.

She remembered this man's voice. She remembered pain. She remembered a different man, restraining her, hurting her, but that was it.

There was nothing else.

It didn't feel like she had forgotten.

It felt like there wasn't anything there to begin with.

The Sensitive Soul

The man's back noticeably stiffened as her tears began to flow. Oh by the Light. He hated this, this thing humans did. It just proved how their minds were not meant to handle the emotions they created for themselves. He held her closer, and began to rock her very slightly, side to side and in time with his steps. He tried not to grimace as the cold, clammy petals of the flowers she clutched flopped against his forearm.

"Sssh, sssh," he murmured, pressing the bridge of his nose against the curve of her skull. "Don't strain yourself, my la- Dahlia," he hurriedly corrected himself. "I didn't mean anything. Just keep calm, and stay with me...."

His voice trailed off as he lifted his head to look down the road. Why had they decided to camp so far from the city? Why had he decided to walk so far in? But, if he hadn't, this girl would be dead for sure... Or worse.

He was still perplexed by her, though. He was quite sure she had been dead when he had first rushed to her, despite his hopes otherwise. And with the size of the wound and the amount of blood that had drained from her, her survival was nothing short of a miracle. And he could not bring himself to doubt that it wasn't. He could have sworn, just as his legs had carried him to her, that he had felt a chilled rush of divinity pulse in the air.... But he could not feel it in her now. Of course, that may have been because the only thing he could feel was her bloodied ribs scraping against his as she cried.

"Please, lady Dahlia," he begged without pleading. "We're close now," he lied. "Would you like to hear a story?"

A Non-existant Past

"..."

It wasn't an unusual request. In fact, it was logically the first question that one would ask upon meeting someone new. It wasn't the words themselves that gave her such a feeling of emptiness and discomfort, it was the answer.

"Dahlia"

It didn't feel quite right, but it was the only thing in her mind.

She tried digging a little deeper, to see if there was anything else that could be her name when a rush of memories swept over her and she realized what had happened that night.

She buried her face into her rescuer's chest and began sobbing.

A small bundle of flowers clutched tightly to her chest.

A More Gentleman-like Manner

He was so happy that he was almost numb to the relief of seeing her come to. The pressure on her side loosened slightly as he said in a low voice that could not hide its exotic accent-

"It's okay, my lady. I am here to help you."

Realizing he was faltering, he pushed soaked cloth back harder against her skin. Out of habit and fear, he checked the alley again for any sign of the constable. She was awake now, at least, so if things came to that she could vouch for him... Hopefully. Hopefully she didn't think it had been him....

He snapped himself out of his concerns. How dare he. There were much more important things to worry about now than his stupid criminal record. Humans didn't understand anyway. Keeping the pressure on her side as best he could, he tugged off the long overcoat he wore, using his teeth to tear off a long strip from the bottom hem. He wrapped this around the makeshift bandage as best he could, saying calmly despite his frantic state of mind-

"I'm going to take you to some people that can help you, okay? You've lost a lot of blood, but try to stay awake. Just hold onto me. I'm going to take care of you."

Covering her exposed body with what remained of his coat, he slid his arms underneath her shoulders and knees, lifting her tiny frame and resting her against his chest. He tried to balance her as he began hurridly walking, keeping her oozing wound pressed against his body. He felt the wet redness soaking into his vest and undershirt, but he didn't care. Nocona could get him new ones. She was nothing at all in his arms. He could hardly believe her body could hold so much blood, and then have survived losing so much....

He tried to quicken his pace, realizing that there probably wasn't much time. Knowing he had to keep her conscious, he glanced his blank eyes onto her and slowly asked, "What is your name, my lady?"

The Life Cycle of a Caterpillar

Void.

Nothingness.

Suddenly, two glimmers of light, diametrically opposed.

One fleeting, with hope and warmth that she had never experienced in all her days.

The other stronger, almost familiar. A cool wind and petrichor.

The second of the two was the one that enveloped her, that drew her back to that winter night and the scene of the attack.

The first thing that registered was a throbbing pain in her skull, followed quickly by the dull ache permeating throughout her waist and pelvis.

She heard a low, frantic murmur pleading with her to say something, anything.

A pained groan was the only thing that escaped her lips.

As the fog left her eyes she finally saw the unusually tall man leaning over her.

A tiny flash of panic struck her and she tried to move away, but the intense pain that wracked her body and a strong hand on her shoulder quickly squelched that attempt.

Her hand landed in the pool of blood surrounding them both and her fingertips brushed a few silken petals. She tried to glance over, to figure out what she touched, but even that small movement caused sparks of pain behind her eyes.

She calmed slightly and focused on his face. It was hovering a few inches above her own. Startlingly blue eyes looked over her face as his hands returned to the wound at her side.

She closed her eyes tightly and worried that she may be loosing her mind. She could have sworn she saw strange markings fading from from his face and when she looked again, they were gone.

She frantically tried to collect the scattered fragments of thought that flitted through her mind.

"Wh-who?" she mumbled through the blood seeping at the corners of her mouth.

Civil Blood

His bloody hands slid beneath her coat, grasping at her chest, pressing into her sternum. He pressed himself further into her, his thighs heavy as they weighed her down. He buried his head into the crook of her neck, not caring as it shoved her face roughly into the stone ground. His hands remained clamped over her heart, feeling every beat, ever breath, beneath the cage of bone within.

They slowed faster than he expected. He felt the blood pouring from her side, soaking the leg of his pants in the sticky warmth. He let himself slide further into her, letting himself derive what he needed from her even as she expired. He took his hands off her chest, leaving trails of her rich blood across her white skin as  he wrapped his arms around her bare waist. His heart, beating well beyond its normal rate, could only feel offset by the stillness within her's.

The stillness, that was what he truly desired. He felt the muffled silence of the night settle around him, around her, as his body pressed what was left of her breath from her's. He lifted his head slightly to look upon her face. Even bloody, she was still remarkably pretty. Probably one of the prettiest girls he'd collected, at least from this part of town. His hand brushed across her cheekbones as he went to press her eyelids shut. He knew he would enjoy his time with her before she started to decay...

He began to pull himself off of her chest. Jeezus, he had gotten too carried away. He had to get her home, had to stop up that wound so the police couldn't track the blood trail, had to burn these pants-

Kchunk.


Stabbing pain shot down his neck straight into his spine. The blow flattened him onto her, but he was immediately seized by the back of his jacket and forcefully thrown off. He gasped as the foot bashed against his ribs, and the cane that had struck his neck came at his exposed side now. A guttural scream ripped from his lungs, only to be cut short as another kick impacted them. He scrambled on hands and knees to get away from his assailant, the blow from the cane across his back only propelling him faster. As he staggered as fast as he could back to his feet to run, he saw a man with markings like a skull branded across his face standing over the girl and holding the cane stained with his blood. Their eyes met, and Alexander felt like his soul itself burst into flames.

"GET OUT!" the man bellowed.

Alexander was already gone.

The man shoved his hair out of his eyes, landing hard on his knees as he rushed to help the girl. What had that boy done to her? How could humanity be so sick? He grabbed her jacket, using it to apply pressure to the gash in her side, but there was so much blood on the ground he doubted it would do much. He tried anyway, though.

"Miss?" he asked, lifting her face off the ground. "Miss, can you hear me?"

He cast an uneasy glance down the alley, hoping the noise hadn't attracted the police. This wouldn't look good to them with anyone, much less a man with as much of a reputation as he had...

"Miss, please. Say something to me, my lady."

She did not look good. But he swore he could feel something inside of her, some wisp of life he was trying so hard to catch before it disappeared...

"Please, my lady, please...." he begged, holding her side as if he was trying to force the blood back in.

Life, Death, and...

The dark street was empty. At least, it appeared to be at a casual glance. It wasn't until its lone inhabitant shuddered from the cold and began walking again that anyone would have noticed her.

She was pale, but her light skin was hidden under long, raven locks. She was bundled in a black coat that was far too thin for the weather, but, one could see by her generally shabby appearance, she simply could not afford anything better.

She continued along the shadowy path clutching a small bouquet of dahlias. They were quite different from the other flowers in the stand. The edges of the petals curved backwards instead of forward. 'Some cutting off of a barely living root' the salesman said. 'Les Etoiles de Diable' he called them. The french sounding flowers were not selling so well in the poorer district of England, and the flower seller was more than happy to sell them to the girl at a price she could afford.

The girl had shyly slid her pennies across the counter and started back towards the apartment she shared with her mother.

The flowers were a gift for her. The woman showed no love for her only daughter, yet the girl still felt an obligation to try to please her mother if the opportunity presented itself.

She was lost in the thought that this time she might actually succeed in coaxing a smile from her mother when a pair of arms grabbed her and pulled her into a pitch black alleyway.

The scream that formed in her throat was lost when her head impacted against the cobblestone street. Before she could muster another, a gloved hand closed around her neck like an iron vice.

Though the pain stunned her, she still struggled to get away. Hot tears slid down her face and she redoubled her efforts when her attacker's free hand tugged the tails of her jacket away and slid under her skirt.

Her mind was too clouded with fear and desperation to hear the man above her angrily demand that she stop trying to escape.

In one last attempt she lashed out with her legs and clawed desperately at the hand that was assuring her silence.

She only stopped when a flash of silver glinted in the moonlight and the sharp edge of a knife plunged into her side.

There was an unusual cold that settled into her skin. It had little to do with the man busying himself with unbuttoning her coat, and everything to do with her blood draining from her body to pool underneath them.

Her once pale face was now a ghostly white mask of pure fear. Her breaths were now shallow gasps and her once lovely, dark eyes that glittered with life now clouded with death.