Havek glowered at the door for a long moment, bony fingers falling onto his lips, one working brow curling contemplatively. His gaze softened a bit before flickering to Naomi. Then to the floor. Naomi again. The floor again. His hand raised as if to clasp her shoulder, but he knew his touch had never really comforted anyone before. It slipped down limp at his side.

“Is...that,” he gestured vaguely to the door, “what ya meant when ya said your papa is a bit mad, miss?”

For all the rare turns of Mugrobi persiflage he knew, Havek was unable to think up a gentler way to phrase the question ‘is your father sadistic sociopath?’ Maybe someone more skilled in conversation would’ve had a better go at it. He didn’t sound aghast or horrified – if anything, he was almost pleasant if not a mite surprised, if one could glean any emotion from him at all. He was trying not to upset her, but it had been many months since a man had last waved a stump in his face.

Naomi stared at Havek in a kind of dull horror. "No. Da's-- he's-- he's never hurt a fly. I know him. He wouldn't." She said it firmly, but it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself rather than Havek. "Look, who cares what that man said? I don't even know'm. Let's sit. It's warmer o'er there." She gestured towards the end of the tavern, near one of the doors. It didn't really look any warmer.

"Please." She added, looking a little scared.

“We ent gotta stay here if yer rattled so, miss,” he mumbled.

The rain poured on. The dull clink-clink of the water striking the basins of the buckets made him twitch. There was a time and a place for politeness, and it was drifting further and further away. His flesh had been cut before. His bones snapped like wings of a little bird. Be it by the hands of men or the metal of a mizzenmast, hurt had found him. And yet somehow he’d crawled away from it time and again, by what grace he knew not.

Even as he regaled himself on the small terrors mounting in every corner of the situation, he shuffled obediently to the corner she indicated. But he made no move to sit, seeing it more appropriate to hover about like some gangly vulture.

Maybe any other day, he wouldn’t have been a jumble of twitching nerves in a situation like this. It was eerie and awkward, but he'd seen plenty of both. But not in a storm, not in an oppressive fog. Internally, Havek was bristling.

“I’ll walk ya home the instant the sky quits fallin’. This don’t feel right.”

He spoke to the ceiling.

Naomi stared at her hands, looking rather numb. She looked shrunken, and more like a kid than Havek had ever seen her before.She seemed to be trying hard not to cry and failing. A tear slid down her face.

"You should go. He's right. He's right I think. I suspected... he was madder than he let on, and then he never let me into that one room but I thought one night--"

The door slammed open. Naomi looked up and gasped.

It was her father. He was soaking wet and seemed to be covered in mud as well. Inexplicably, his knife was glinting in the dim light. It looked almost hungrier than Kathis did.

Naomi seemed frozen.

"Daddy?"

There were a few people in Kathis's way, enough so that Havek would have time to escape near the door they were standing, if he so chose.

Havek’s gaze followed Naomi’s, and whatever gentle words he’d thought to say withered up on his tongue. Knives, knives. He knew all about knives. He was stepping back from the table before that eerie word – Daddy – even completely left her lips.

“I am sorry.”

His voice and expression didn't even flicker. The bony hand that gripped the girl’s shoulder may have carried the hint of a comforting squeeze. But in essence, he was just whipping his coat off her shoulders, all the contents of the innumerable pockets giving a great jangling protest.

Nothing in him was obligated to be a big damn hero. What could he do anyhow? Murder her father, throw her over his shoulder, run off and hitched? Yes, there was a cloying dreg of sympathy that made him hover for a moment longer than he should have. It broke quick and easy as a cobweb. Playing the wondertale hero here wasn’t very realistic.

The reality of it was, he would do whatever he could to blot this girl from his mind like ink scratching out an unfavorable line in a history. The reality of it was, he was gunning for the closest door. The wood was bloated and splintered. Were these legs as swift as they once were, making Thul Ka’s streets bleed into a milk white blur? He certainly hoped so.

Havek would never be so happy to be out in a storm.

Havek got out quickly. He could hear a few screams behind him before all sound was lost to the downpour. The streets were dangerous. They all seemed to be slanted, and water was running down, towards the docks. There was a small stream that was up to Havek's ankles, and his coat was quickly becoming waterlogged. It would slow him down.

Every sound, every color, was drowned out by the rain. It was hard to see anything when water was constantly splashing in your face. And Havek was missing an eye. That wasn't going to make anything easier.

Kathis had barreled past Naomi, knocking over several tables and chairs so he could get to Havek. By the time he got out, the mugrobi's figure was a blurr. A blurr was good enough for him. It seemed nobody had ever taught him not to run while holding sharp things. He seemed rather proficient in the area, actually. He was gaining.

Thunder, lightning, rain. All was black and blurred. Havek had shambled about among the darkness and damp in the bellies of ships uncounted times. He knew where exactly to amputate a man’s leg without really being able to see it. Nor was this the first time he’d ever fled down a pitch dark street – but he distinctly recalled having two eyes when he did that.

It didn’t help that the man chasing was a great deal more mad than he was, and probably at least equally proficient at sawing off limbs.

Where, where, where to run to? Nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Not in the whole Harbor. Nowhere. Perhaps back to the apothecary, to let Jasper see his clever handiwork. Splashing boots in the water – he wouldn’t keep a lead for long. Prolonging the inevitable. Just—

He turned on his heel, skidding back in the gullies of rain. One breath, two – he never thought he’d do this, but for Hulali’s gills, he was letting him get closer. His eye narrowed to the rain, Naomi’s daddy was a blur. But Havek saw everything in godsdamn blurs these days. Nothing new.

He spoke the monite for Wind, muscles and words still and clear. He hoped the gusts blowing in from the sea wouldn’t fail him.

But if he died, perhaps the little stream would carry him away and toss his body off the docks. There was always that.

Havek thought he could smell roses in the water. There was a moment where he felt his field flex. Behind him, a gust of wind blew towards Kathis. He couldn't see if it had had an effect.

Kathis was used to falling. He fell hard and water rushed into his mouths and nostrils. He got up and coughed, trying to catch his breath. His eyes facing forward, trying to look for movement. He saw Havek turning into an alley. He got up slowly and then started running again, as if nothing had happened. He only realized as he got closer that he'd cut himself when he'd fallen. His white shirt was quickly blossoming into a bright crimson.

The cold was numbing it.


Havek was becoming disoriented. The rain made for limited visibility, and it didn't help that one of his eyes was missing. Every step he took made the world rock precariously. Every time he slipped his stomach lurched uncomfortably. He no longer had any sense of where he was. He felt deaf. All he could hear was the static from the rushing water, and above that the waves crashing louder and louder.

(( sorry this took so long, man. ;3; ))

Blundering in the dark. He moved, that’s all he could do, and all he would keep doing until he lost his footing or crashed into some hidden wall. All was tilted. Havek was everywhere and nowhere in this crushing dark, and wishing he was neither. The ground rocked, but his boots found it again and again, no matter how hard it was trying to buck from under his feet. He’d been blind before, been sick before, ran the length and breadth of a tumultuous deck before. Just the symptom of the storms.

Was he even being followed anymore? He couldn’t tell. There was nothing before and nothing behind him, and nothing in his ears but the flat roar of the rain. The man could have been on top of him and may not have noticed.

He stumbled, his shoulder smashing against the black wall of a faceless building. A broad, spidery hand palmed the bricks, feeling for some sort of gap or stairwell or ladder, so he could skitter away like a little rat to safety.

There was nothing except the rough texture of brick, then splintered wood, then brick again. Something crashed into his side and Havek was falling. He hit the floor with a splash. He could feel mud begin to soak into his coat, making it heavier. Whatever had hit him on the side of the face, the blurr that must have been Kathis was leaning against the wall, clutching its side.

The left side of his face was warm. The rain felt good against it. It felt as if he'd been hit with something wooden, something hard. Something that should have broken his jaw, if it had been slammed hard enough. He was going to have bruises all the way down the left side of his face. Fear was giving Havek adrenaline, although he couldn't see well enough to run anywhere.

Kathis was looking at the slime and wheezing. He was old. He didn't look it, but he was old. Running in the rain, running fast, running without exercising. Well, his joints ached already. The hand clutching his knife was so numb with cold he wasn't sure he'd be able to open it enough to slip the knife out of his palm. Not that he wanted to do it.

He wasn't sure how hard he'd hit the man who had raped his daughter. But as soon as he caught his breath-- Was that her blood on his shirt?

Had he killed her? had the Slime killed his Naomi???

Kathis's form was steaming, he was emitting so much heat in the ice cold rain.

"You bloody bastard. Killed my sophie, did ye? You'll pay. You'll pay. They all paid th'price for doin' things ter Sophie, they did." In a flash, he seemd to have recovered, although Havek could see the dark stain of blood down Kathis's shirt. Both men were drenched.

Throbbing dark, throbbing skin. The left side of his face was on fire, a tooth rattling loose in the gums – but at least it was warm, at least it felt alive. A hiss of something he hadn’t felt in a very long time simmered in his veins, toetip to fingertip shivering awake.

There wasn’t much clear to see, gazing belly up from the river of that alley. A body, a flow of blood. But plenty to hear. Ragged breathing and snarling words were all he really needed in the dark. You adjust. The jagged jumble of the words didn’t reach him, but – the name. Where had he heard that before, the smallest sliver of him asked? It rang wrong.

Sophie?

The reassuring weight of that hideous satchel was still nestled against his ribs. Fingers crept into the leather, scrambling through all the soft things and sharp things. A leather pommel. Machete, blade rubbed sharp on whet stones by anxious hands so many times. The weight was familiar. No use running now, he thinks.

Havek felt tranquil. Almost.

He slid free of the satchel. Listening. When he rose, he swayed like a sunflower stalk in the wind.

Sophie?

A ghost of a question, with one logical answer.

He lunged, aiming the blade for the gut. If it connected, he would wrench it upwards towards the clavicle. Basic surgery.

Havek couldn't see well. He lunged forward and Kathis moved, startled. He had been surprised at how quick the boy had just proved to be. He didn't feel anything in his side until a few moments later where there was just pain. Havek ahd managed to hit Kathis's rib. The blade was stuck there.

Kathis couldn't see well. He screamed and lunged back, then forward, intending to bury the blade into Havek's heart-- an easy thing to do at such close proximity.

"I'LL CARVE IT OUT!!! I'LL CARVE OUT YOUR HEART YOU BASTARD YOU BASTARD!!!" His screams were lost in the wind, and they seemed as if they could barely be imagined.

The screams seemed ethereal to him, bore away on hissing rain and wind.

Havek slid away – the closeness was bad, but it wasn’t as if he’d have much space to breathe anywhere in this dark corridor of an alley. He wrenched the stubborn blade in Kathis’s side with all his strength – which, admittedly, was not over-much. The metal was sure in place.

Boot-heel found its way up to the man’s hip and he wrenched the blade out, precious seconds spent pressed in too close. Stumbling back away from flailing knife, as far as the slim space would allow. A half second to catch his breath, to tighten his grip on the pommel. Machete rising in an underhanded cross, aimed for neck or face. He struck for the sound of heavy breathing, the darkness no aid to eyes. The small distance was some comfort, though very little. For once, long gangling arms might be of use to him.

The movements were causing both men to lose their footing. As Havek pulled back with his machete, Kathis tripped forward and slammed his blade into Havek's shoulder. He jerked it out and moved backwards as Havek's forward momentum hit Kathis in the jaw. The weapon was sharp enough to cut through the cheek area, but it was the force of the blow that shattered the man's jaw. Blood spurted everywhere an Kathis's screams were reduced to loud gurgling noises.

Havek didn't feel any pain. He wouldn't feel any pain until he noticed the wound.

Now the madman was lunging randomly with his gleaming surgical knife. The tip of it scratched a wound on Havek's face. Every motion Kathis made seemed slower, more lethargic.

Havek hissed and ducked away from the scalpel, like a recoiling little snake. His shoulder was fast becoming uncomfortably hot, but the chill rain was swift to numb it. Through his cloud of panic and adrenaline, some small part of him balked at the sick crack of the man’s jaw, the sudden hot wash of blood spray flecking his hand, his face.

This wasn't right.

That same small part of him wanted to stop this somehow, but that bit of him was quickly smothered when the scalpel skated down his cheek.

He wasn’t about to lose his last eye to the milk of meekness, and no other fleshy pulp of himself either.

He did his best to dodge away, moving without a sound of pain or anger. Silent as an uliam dog. He slashed the machete down hard towards Kathis’s forearm, close to the bone where his knife hand screwed on.

Another wordless, gurgling scream tore out of Kathis's mouth as Havek's blade took his hand clean off. The man fell to his knees, clutching as his wrist as it spurted blood that was washed away all too quickly by the rain. He looked like a monster.

Havek could feel himself getting lightheaded. The world was warping and he still felt as if there was a buzzing noise in his ears. Everything was getting incredibly cold. He couldn't see himself, but he was getting incredibly pale. He felt weak, and cold. It was getting hard for him to breath.

If he had enough medical training, Havek would recognize himself going into shock.

If he didn't, he'd still recognize the need to get to someplace that had medicines.

Havek hugged the gore encrusted machete to his chest, squinting at the gurgling mess at his feet. Blood swilled in rain water, ozone and iron. A heavy haze crept over his thoughts, had been slowly falling all along. It clung over his nerves like mist encrusting glass. Adrenaline was leaking out of his veins like sand through sieve. Just a soft muscle ache, just a dull buzz in his temples. No eyes for the dark, but the smell was heavy and familiar. The reek of blood swung itself around his shoulders like a glassy-eyed mink on a rich woman.

The ground wasn’t an unsteady deck anymore, but the soft roiling of a wave. Breaking on the shore, ebbing out, carrying him away. His toes were coated in warmth. He blinked down at his feet again. Blood was seeping through the holes in his boots. His chest his hands his face were warm, too. It felt okay. They were getting too cold anyway.

He stooped down to peer at the man on the ground. Fingers curled around the pommel, stiff and cold.

“Sir?”

His shoulder hurt. He licked his lips once, twice, ventured to speak again. It felt like licking the air.

“Ya shouldn’t -- ya should move. Ya could drown down there.”

Cold.

“Because. It’s raining.”

Shuffling feet carried him back against the wet brick. He sagged there. The man didn’t seem to be saying much of anything. His limbs were heavy. They didn’t really feel like they were there at all. Dusty cogs were turning in his skull, click-clicking years old teaching into place. This was bad, beyond bad. His shoulder hurt. His lungs felt like little balloons all stuck with pinpricks. They wouldn’t fill up no matter how hard he tried. Something in him must be bleeding, though he knew not what. Adrenaline still trilled, quieter now, but enough to conceal any pain in a plush swathe.

Havek stooped down to tug his satchel out of the small river blossoming, holding it loose in his hand, letting it drag on the splintered wood and puddles. Uneven steps to what he assumed to be the lip of the alley.

The waterfront was long, and there were not many places he could go. Stumbling in the rain, blessed and cursed for lack of souls in the street. He looked like a terror. Charitable souls in Old Rose were like fruit in a desert. How far had he gone? Hopefully not too far. His shoulder hurt. He felt his way along the waterfront shops with a machete hand clanking on doorways and slick wood for purchase.

A quiet lamp guttered in the dark, faintly illuminating a familiar store front. Apothecary.

He wavered in the water fattened street for moment, swaying in the sea breeze. He sagged against the doorframe, not trusting his feet. Freezing fingers could not be coaxed free of the pommel, so he just slammed the flat of the machete against the rickety door too.

Knocking was a necessity. Bleeding like a stuck pig or not, Havek still had his manners.