Consciousness came back to Via slowly, less a trickle, but like an engine coughing into mechanical life, with flashes and failures to make anything cohesive. Many misfires and false starts later, the gears shifted correctly and reddish light seeped into the corners of the passive's vision, a warning more of light than the actuality. Via was aware of this only when awareness of vision, sight and eyeballs came about, which was sometime after the timid light of dawn had gone from grey to something more buttery.

With this gentle incline into understanding, one of the earliest occurrences to the passive was that her head hurt. It was like a hangover, but there was no lingering aftertaste of bile or alcohol, nothing to give away a night of forgetting and drowning. Rolling tight shoulders, she tried to lift a hand to rub her dry lips, wipe the crusts from the corners of her eyes. Somehow she was stopped, stuck.

Clarity rushed in. Crius-- she became Viator, the years pouring back in without a thought or flinch. He was tied up; had he been caught? No, there was no feel of violation or harm, he felt fine, other than a severe case of sluggishness and the throbbing head. And a stinging in his leg, which he had no recollection of previously. He was seated, though, and tied to what felt like a chair. Opening bleary eyes, Viator pulled at his shoulders, licking out, careful not to tip whatever bindings he may have. Jerking his head back, his skull crashed into something else; who-- Wendy. Wendy? What was she...?

SurwoodWendyPetraJerzyTravel
WendyViendaManCarriageGolly
DoctorWendyDrugsShotShotKnifeBloodSyringe
BeAGoodGirlBlackblack...

Rage encompassed his thin, compact body, and a growl issued forth from the dry caverns of his throat, equal parts wild keen of a captured animal and pent up anger. Wendy, gods clocking damn it, and Mottoni, the dealing doctor who'd hurt her, made her strange and unwell. Jerking against the restraints, Viator thrashed, to free himself or break the chair, anything. He ground his teeth, uselessly, just to make something hurt and happen. He had to break them free, get them out, who knew how much longer the human would be out of commission, how much longer he'd wait before hurting at least one of them unless--

He didn't know what had happened to Wendy, while he'd been unable to protect her.

The passive's face compacted darkly, blood in his dark eyes as he fought harder against the ropes, muscles jumping like fish in a drought pool. The fucker better gods clocking better be ready with his smart words for this one. Viator was going to fucking kill him if anything was done to Wendy. It was a false comfort as he struggled against the constraints, tears gathering at the corners of indigo eyes. Kill him.

"Ow." The words came out unbidden and felt as if they'd swooped down from a different part of the room. Her muscles felt achy and slow, and Wendy was having a hard time focusing. She blinked through the haze, trying to come to herself, to think faster. There was a steady throbbing in her head that felt like a hammer pounding against her brain. Again. And again. And again. Wendy was fairly surprised her brain hadn't turned into some sort of jelly by now.

Water. I need water. She finally decided after a few moments of trying to swallow saliva that wouldn't come. Something had happened. She looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings and then down at her wrist when a faint itching made her want to turn and scratch it. She was tied up.

And she remembered everything.

"Viator?" Her head swiveled, looking for her oldest friend. She found him struggling against his ropes. "Stop that." She immediately ordered. "You're making them tighter...you'll hurt yourself." Wendy's voice was thinner than usual and she tried to swallow again. "I don't know what else you were expecting anyway."

If her throat had been less dry she would have started a long ranting speech about why people shouldn't shoot other people who were doctors.

Wendy's wakefulness wrested Via from the throes of his escape attempts. "Wendy!" Voice rough shorn with drugs and debilitating hatred, cracked on the last sounds of her name, and cool relief made his heart swim. She was... she was alright. At least alive and well enough to snap at him. He didn't sag against the binds precisely, but the frenzied tension slowly slackened. But her tone meant nothing. He had to know. Even if it killed his soul, he had to know.

"Wendy, are ye-- are ye alright? He dinnae do nuffin t'hurt ye, did he?" He never stopped moving, losing focus on his arms as they were affixed too well, and moving all effort to his legs. In his boot was one of the daggers, and he aimed to get it. What with the blood loss, Viator doubted the wounded human had really searched him thoroughly, and even the passive was unsure if he'd actually remembered to put the thing back in after the gate search. Kicking forward, he hoped the knots (no where near a sailors) would collapse in on themselves and he could arm himself before the blackguard of a sawbones saw to his patients. Via had anything but patience.

"Do to me? What would he do--" She stopped mid sentence as Viator's meaning reached her mind. Wendy quickly turned scarlet.

"That's foul. Of course he didn't." She snapped, and then said in a quieter voice, "Not every man is Crius, Vi."

Wendy rolled her neck to get rid of the stiffness she felt and shrugged her shoulders a few times. She tried to lick her lips but her tongue was as dry as her lips were.

"No, he just had to tie me up because what if I was as insane as you? And what if-- Oh for Alioe's sake will you STOP MOVING?! You never listen to me!!!"

The door swung open awkwardly, much of the energy lost in a noisy vibration through its middle, making for a loud but slow entrance. It was symptomatic of a poorly aimed whack with the base of a crutch by someone off balance. It finished shuddering and came to a quiet halt most of the way open. Viator was facing the door and could now see Mottoni, half in shadow of the door. His lit eye showed more white than was normal, among features set in a grim configuration. Leaned as he was he did not cast an imposing silhouette, but rather a hunched menace, appearing wild yet calculating.

He advanced, and in doing so nudged the door a little more, the last few degrees squawking a signature pitch and rattling against the wall. His gait was irregular, like a horse with two legs, and one shoe. The crutch exaggarated and lifted his shoulder, made his approach and circling like that of a vulture. He even moved his neck sharply and uncomfortably like a bird, clearly not used to the stick yet, or perhaps he'd been cramped by an awkward sleep. Eventually he sat down heavily on the last chair, near the exam room table. He felt underneath with his free arm briefly, then laid the crutch down on the top with a woody smack.

He pulled a cigarette out of nowhere, and a match from somewhere less, struck the table, cupped it close, then shook it out. The rising smoke danced oily patterns through the pane parallel rays.

"Good morning."

It was the name on Wendy's lips that made him seize, his heart pounding in his ears like the roar of the ocean in sea caverns. With it she had shot his heel, cut his hair, ruined him. Blood in his veins felt bigger and heavier than it should, pressing against the walls, making his vision blurr for a moment. So, she had to say it. Crius. Awareness of everything past and present returned without a thought, and he ached on the inside. He wasn't safe. He wasn't well. She didn't even know--

Swallowing back the tightness in his throat, the scratching of his eyes, he tried to speak as though she couldn't get to him, no one could find that weak center. "Eh, ye can't trust no 'un. Learned tha' th'hard way, Wendy. More'n Him is doin' evil in th'world." To Wendy, he wouldn't have sounded like Viator, or Adalare, or anything familiar. There was an absence, a detached hollow sound to the words. She didn't know about it, this world, how much pain was to be shared. Drunk men and villains were hard to tell apart when intoxicated on liquor and the possibility of forgetting. He almost had his boot, he could feel the bindings loosen, and his straining fingers brushed the stiff leather...

The sound of the door made his already red eyes spark further, and they narrowed on the squeak. The shadowy lines across the human made for sinister portends, though Viator never held with superstition. Humans and wicks believed in, worshiped luck and gods with wills as petty as the humans they ruled. A passive knew better than that.

The eerie circling of Dr. Mottoni made Via's neck stiff, and he released his boot reluctantly, fingers still curling for the pommel of the knife almost thought he felt. He could have... they would have... clocking hell. He tensed as a hawk tenses inside it's jesses, ruffled feathers and flashing beak.

The doctors mock-friendly statement was met with silence from the sailor. He'd said all he meant to with his pistols the day previous.

"Don't be like that Vi." She said nonchalantly in response to the sound of his voice, although it badly scared her. Well then maybe she shouldn't have. But he was wrong. She knew it. And he had shot the doctor.

The man she thought of came in and she followed him carefully, looking for signs that he was a bad person. Nothing about his demeanor seemed to indicate it, though. Wendy was pretty sure Viator was just absolutely insane. Again the shock registered in her mind. Viator was carrying a gun. And he had used it. On a stop clocking Doctor.

"Er. Good morning." She said, after Viator only seethed at the man. "How are you feeling?" And then, because she could feel her voice dwindling, "I...don't suppose you could spare a glass of water?"

He nodded gravely, then got up again. He inched his way to the sink over minutes. Propped awkwardly against the basin, he filled a water jug. He made his way back slower, sometimes making little splashes when the severity of his staggered limp was enough to make a little crest in the jug. Progress was agonising, like being forced to watch the second hand of a clock.

He stopped infront of Wendy and made sure he was steady, with the crutch firmly under his weak side. With care and patience he tilted the lip of the jug within reach of her mouth and allowed her to take water slowly. After a few gulps he withdrew it and placed the still full jug on the ground at her feet. His arm shook with the strain of holding the thing up in such a stance, and he grunted relief when he was once again seated, smoking.

"I'd give you some water too, but I know your type. You'd spit it at me in defiance, and if I placed it at your feet you'd kick it over, and don't even pretend that isn't true. You think you're tanned leather, coming to town with black market boom sticks and not-afraid-to-use-'em.
I got news for you - takes more 'n a couple of guns to make a man. Think you're tough, shooting an unarmed man? That's nothing. I know your kind."

He levelled a stare at the gunner, and waited for him to break eye contact or respond. The doctor seemed calm. So do mountains, before they erupt.

The doctor's diatribe wasn't lost on Viator, though his expression was more put upon than at all repentant. He'd heard this, said it, to idiot boys and stupid young men who'd hated having their ass handed to them by a shorter, leaner sailor. It raked to have the tables turned in more ways that dialogue, and as he kept his silence, Viator still wriggled his far hand, futile, stupid as it may be.

So, to be blunt, he knew the routine better than the human. Though he'd perhaps done a little bit much shooting Mottoni, the human had been anything but unarmed. He was a surgeon, and their knowledge of the body was weapon enough for someone who had seen doctors fight along side sailors. It wasn't a gun, no, but as Wendy had floundered on the table, her body wracked with drugs-- if he'd been in a talking mood, he would have never allowed the doctor to postulate such fallacy. As it was he kept his eyes on the man, silent still. He may have spit he water... but he was thirsty. He may have shot a man... but he was far from unarmed and weak.

The human's last line made a bitter grin spear across his face. "T'be sure, ye don't know my kind." Ent no kind like mine e'er t'sail and step th'shore, sawbones, an' 'haps you'd better know yer prey. Perhaps if Crius's too familiar presence was far from mind, he wouldn't have been so amused by the idea Mottoni understood what and who he was. However, he chuckled dryly, face lowered with the effort not to allow their captor to see the snarl of his lips.

Slowly swallowing the bitter anger, he forced his voice to work again, no matter how hard it fought for silence. "Now let th'lass go an' ye an' I can finish wharever ye got in mind, sawbones. She ent got nuffin t'do wiv any o' this." Once Wendy was free, once she was safe...

In the short silence that followed Wendy was trying desperately to not get angry. But Wendy was an angry person. She always had been, even when she was a child. Life's hardships only seemed to aggravate her condition. So when Viator took it into his head to ask Doctor Mottoni to untie her so they could fight, it was nothing short of a miracle that her rage didn't solidify into some sort of epic ray of hate and sear the top of Viator's head off.

"With any of what, Viator?! I'VE GOT NOTHING TO DO WITH ANY OF WHAT?!" Maybe Dr. Mottoni shouldn't have gotten her that glass of water, because right now, her voice felt just fine. The passive struggled against her bonds now as well, hell bent on killing her best friend.

"IT MUST BE SOME FEUD THAT GOES BACK FOR GENERATIONS AND GENERATIONS BECAUSE NOTHING ELSE WOULD WARRANT YOUR REACTION, VIATOR!!! NOT-- NOT SOME DELUSION INVENTED BY YOUR OWN GODS DAMNED SICK MIND JUST SO YOU CAN GET OFF TO GETTING INJURED BECAUSE YOU'RE A FUCKING MASOCHIST!!!!" Wendy panted after she'd finished, her face crimson.

"You. Fucking. PRICK." And even though she'd tried to lower her voice she found it rising again. "IF YOU WANT TO GO GET YOURSELF KILLED BE MY FUCKING GUEST. I'M DONE GIVING A SHIT ABOUT SOMEONE WHO SEEMS TO THINK IT'S BRAVE TO ATTACK A FUCKING DOCTOR. A DOCTOR WHO, MAY I REMIND YOU, WENT OUT OF HIS GOD DAMNED WAY TO LET US PAY LESS BECAUSE WE'RE SO FUCKING POOR."

Angry tears were sliding down her face and her hands were gripping the edge of her seat. "I didn't even want to come here! This was ALL YOU. AND JUST SO YOU COULD PICK A GOD DAMNED FIGHT?! FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU." She tried to wipe her face off on her shoulder, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself. Her voice was hoarse again.

"Now." She said in an incredibly shaky voice. "Now you will sit the hell down and let the doctor do whatever he wants because that is the very least that we owe him. After how you've acted I'm surprised he hasn't turned us both in to the fucking se-seventen."

Wendy wasn't sure if she'd ever sworn so much in a single day.

He let Mount Wendy erupt without a fuss, though her kicking and pulling at the bindings made it easier for Viator to discreetly attempt escape of the other side, using the chaos as cover. And Chaos it was. Wendy, who had never been more than surly, was positively fuming. If they had been anything but tied up, he was have been furious, shamed into some kind of action. Perhaps storming off to collect his head or a good brawl or something. Anything to deal with the surges of guilt and possibly self loathing.

As it stood? No, none of that weirdness. Wendy was merely an obstacle to be removed before the situation could be handled safely for all partied. Craning his neck to get as good a look at her as possible, he tried to formulate something she would understand and failed. He couldn't fathom her anger. Ivan was on the outside, they were on the in. Mottoni didn't matter so long as he did good... but he hadn't. Wendy had been dying. It was a terrifying moment Viator never wanted to live though again, and yet he feared it along with Crius would haunt these dreams.

For one gods-clocking time Wendy would you close yer head? It was written in every stroke of his body, but he refrained from saying it aloud. It was a herculean effort, to say the least. "Wendy. I thought ye were dying 'cause of him. Ent got a damn thing else t'say. He owes ye th'right o'yer life, lass, as I've seen men die on what he gave ye yesterday... and that's not even the powerful stuff, mind." He was of mixed emotions to the whole situation, though not overly bothered still. Wendy would get out alive, most likely. He had no intention of dying alone in a chair, but it was almost fitting.

The snarly replies to Wendy's barbs were returning. Her yelling had made the sailor seem more at ease in the binds than not. "An' th'reason th'Seventen ent here's 'cause yer sugar-sweet sawbones peddling powerful things he don't want gollies knowin' aboot." He was making postulations, assuming the gollies were as much hard-asses about contraband inland as they were on the open waters.

"Alright, settle down. You two obviously have a lot to talk about, which you'll have plenty of time to do after you're gone. First I'm going to untie Wendy, then she can release you...if she chooses to, anyway. She sounds upset right now. Also I wouldn't advise her doing anything strenuous with that hand for a few days, as I was saying before you went chrove-shit.
After that, you can pick up your bags and leave. Your pistols are inside, and I've removed the firing pins. They're in the small pocket.
I suggest you leave Vienda behind - the Dives was really the only place the likes of you could have hoped to find sanctuary, and after what you've done, you'll not receive it from any resident who knows me, and I know a great many.
I have one more piece of advice for you though - if you do come back, if I ever see your face again...you'd better bring more guns. Now, leave."

He freed Wendy and handed her the scalpel he'd threatened her with the night before, then hobbled back to his seat to smoke and see what the man decided to do. His hand brushed the grip of his pistol beneath the table, not convinced the sailor had a scrap of honour to his name to prevent another attack.

Wendy couldn't even reply to Viator's words, she was still so angry. All the phrases she knew seem to have flown from her mind and she was left, shaking in her chair unable to speak.

Somehow she found herself standing with a scalpel in her hands and Ivan's words ringing in her head over and over like some kind of insane merry go round. Tears began to slide down her face and she remained staring at the scalpel, still unable to utter a sound.

Gone. All her hopes were gone. She was spiraling, spiraling down into a black hole of dispair. Surely the city was big enough-- Lady Khymarah-- But if Viator was acting as crazy as he was with this man, he would be thrice more likely to act this way with a galdor.

"I hope you're happy." She said to her oldest friend, incredibly tempted to leave him tied up and storm out. Instead she walked noiselessly until she reached him and cut away his bindings carefully, making sure not to cut his arms.

"I'm leaving. You may follow if you like. I really don't care anymore." Wendy said quietly, not even bothering to look at him. She was so ashamed of his behavior. And now they hadn't any place to go. It made her sick with fear.

"Doctor I-- I want to extend my most sincere apologies. Hopefully you will find it in your heart to forgive us." She paused, and then squared her shoulders. Dire warnings or not, she wasn't going to leave without at least attempting to try to find a job.

"I'm going out to find a job. " She said, fixing a determined eye on the doctor. You can't just kick me out at your will. Not if I don't want to leave. Curtsying, she left quickly.

Once she was out in the street she did her best to lose herself down different streets and alleys. Viator be damned. She could do this on her own. She didn't need him, the doctor, or anyone.

The human's rather... honorable behavior was something strange that he wasn't exactly sure how to deal with. If the human carried out his words, which he seemed intent to do, Viator may have made a poor judgment call with the second shot. The first was entirely called for, but maybe not the second. Well, Alioe's m'witness ye ent e'er gonna hear tha' from these lips lemme warn ye. He tried to formulate why such a bastard would make a turn about so uncharacteristically.

Logic stressed, though he was loathe to listen, that not only had Viator been in the wrong, but that Mottoni had really just been an idiot who fucked with the wrong passive but not over all evil. wendy was unscathed for the most part, nothing untoward had occurred. Well, save a few gunshots and druggings but those were daily occurrences when shipping with sailors. Altogether he was trying to rationalize his fear of losing Wendy and the repercussions that came with that. He wasn't-- he'd changed. As the scalpel sawed it's way through the ropes, he didn't quite meet Wendy's eyes.

He took her chastening with somewhat more grace this time, having the decency to actually regret ruining her chances. She liked healers, he remembered that from some corner of the past. She would have been good as an assistant. Actions have consequences, a litany repeated to every child had evaded him so long. When you shoulder your own failures it was alright, but when he broke something else, something precious, it was a different matter.

Wendy turned heel and left, a flurry of skirts, leaving Via with the human. She was done with him, then. Well, he'd had no right to her in the first place. It had been scrambling at something that should have been good but wasn't, and now the house of cards had fallen. Stiffly rolling his shoulders, he turned his indigo gaze to the doctor. Well, if there were to be apologies made they would be done now, but the bile that rose with the thought made it impossible. Shrugging, he walked across the floor, boots clicking lightly.

"Well marked, sawbones, but I ent leavin nuthin' on yer say." He didn't have any need to move on. He was tired, in more ways than the obvious, and Mottoni was just a symptom of a disease left untreated for a decade. Shouldering pis pack, he actually paused to look for the pistols and firing pins, but made no move to replace them yet. He doubted the human was one to take a third volley as easily as the first two. Besides. He wasn't a bad bloke, just a pain in the ass. If Via shot every clockhead, he'd run out of bullets before ever running out of targets.

Taking a step towards the door, he paused, the lingering need to say something, if only for Wendy's sake combating with the instinctive desire to get the clock out. "Eh. Prolly shouldn'ta shot ye. Fair weather t'ye, mate." The sun was warm on his face, and there was something about the sounds of the city just then that reminded him of the harbor. He walked slowly after Wendy, gaining on her until finally coming abreast.

He stayed silent, prepared for another tongue lashing. He deserved some of it, at least. He needed a stiff drink, and fast.

"I hope she forgives you."

He thoroughly stubbed his cigarette, squashing the smouldering end in
the glass tray and wiggling it until the last thread of smoke choked
off. Immediately, he started another.

When he was alone again he took another shot of morphine, then started on the long shuffle to Granny's place. The resistance healers would help him; he couldn't afford the time to rest up if what he'd heard about Alstair was infact true.

She heard Viator catch up but she didn't say a word to him. And she didn't say anything when she knocked on the first door, or the second, or the third. As she continued asking for work and getting turned down, Wendy's mood got worse, but she still refused to say anything to Viator. After two hours of looking and asking and getting sent in different directions to places that might have job openings, Wendy was ready to give up and just go to one of the factories and ask for work there.

But that was going to be her last option. The factories were never kind to anyone who worked there. She'd heard of passives getting thrown into them...she'd often thought of them when she felt hopeless in Brunnhold. At least I'm not there. At least I'm not working in a factory. And now it seemed as if that was where she was headed anyway...all this way, just to get thrown in a cage again.

Wendy's feet began to hurt as she reached the Book and the Bell, her latest destination in hopes that they'd be hiring. She entered and sat down, wanting to rest a bit before going up and asking the barmaid if there was any work to be had and if there wasn't could she please direct her to somewhere where they might be offering pay for a maid or something of the kind.

The passive continued to ignore Viator-- in fact, gave the appearance of not having noticed he'd even joined her. Of course, deep in her heart Wendy had been very glad when her friend had joined her outside, but she wasn't prepared to admit that even to herself. Right now she felt too shocked, too angry to say anything or even acknowledge the other man's presence.

There was something soothing in her silence. As he doggedly followed her, like a kicked bander, Viator watched his-- well, watched Wendy go about asking for work. As each door closed, he saw her shoulders come a little closer, her eyes stare at the ground a moment longer than the stop previous, and he longed to bust someone's jaw of only they would give her a job.

It was at it's most awkward when the lad in the carpentry shop's eyes had gone right over Wendy and offered Via a job. They didn't need a girl, but a sailor with muscles would be good at hauling the wood and dealing with the deliveries. They'd left, though Viator had filed the place away should no where else be available. He too was job searching, but not right now. He'd rather go about his business alone. But it seemed there were more jobs open to a sailor and a laborer than for a small, pretty girl with only the muscles of cleaning floors.

The Book and Bell was the kind of place Viator loved, but would hate for hi-- he needed to get better about that, a place he would hate for Wendy to work in. He hated the idea of her being manhandled by laborers or sailors, leered at. Not for any real jealousy, though that thought niggled at him. No, because she deserved better. If this place was hiring, though, he'd support her decisions. Really, he should have done that all along.

Scratching the back of his neck, one hand rubbing where he was sure the doctor had stabbed him with that clocking scalpel, he quirked a self-effacing grin. "Oi. Uh. Mayhap if they hire ye I kin get free spirits, eh?" He hoped for something, a snap or a punch. This time, kicking the dog would be the same as petting him.

((New thread for B&B: viewtopic.php?f=4&t=2395))