nightmare in paradise

Isanti

A snowstorm blew inside a wolf's eyes
And the frozen tears covered all the mountainsides

It has become a nightmare.

What was supposed to be a two week stay in the capital has become indefinite. His stomach is a den of snakes, twisting and churning, his most immediate future a problem he has, very abruptly, been left on his own to solve. And he is very, very unprepared.

He hadn't been sure about this whole thing in the first place - studying with a savant? Oh, he was more than down for that, eager about it, even - but Ok'kotoll? THE city? His only comfort, and his one demand, had been that Morrocaw would come with him, and now, even that had turned around to bite him in the ass.

The hotel had made it very clear that if he could not pay the extra lockdown fare, he'd be forcibly removed from the room. He had a short grace period, and absolutely no way to afford the lockdown fare, and even with a slight refund and a voucher - well, unemployed and on a (to him, surprisingly) tight budget even the Plate motels were looking unaffordable long-term.

Which left the Drench.

Which...

Fuck everything.

He'd called home. Asked what he should do. Got told some things he hadn't known before, but mostly things he'd already thought of. He'd kept on stalling. Anxious. Jittery. Indecisive. Morrocaw didn't like Ok'kotoll, it was too small, too many people, too loud, too smelly, and she doesn't like staying on the leash all. the. time.

Now, it's as quiet as it ever gets. Evening. As dark as it ever gets. They've found what grass they can in this cultivated, artificial place, spread out and tangled together; they're both laying on their sides, facing each other. She keeps pawing at him. He keeps apologizing. It's all he can do, and it doesn't fix a damn thing.

[ @Savera <3 ]

But then the time got by and the wolf died
And someday that wolf would be I

Savera

I've trusted lies and trusted men

While unrest writhes and surges below, up here the tension is quiet, insidious, and almost more alarming for it. Savera is nearing the end of a shift in the POD, normally an uneventful assignment, a reward for doing particularly well. Today, though, things are different: already the soldier has intervened in a small demonstration, responded to a call domestic violence, and broken up a brawl, all under the bleak glare of the setting sun. Now, at least, the night has fallen, and with it the approach of quiet hours; though she may bristle against it internally, the soldier has never appreciated curfew more.

There are many people still out, of course. The POD is rarely quiet, even in times of unrest - especially in times of unrest, when dis-ease hangs above the city like a blanket, stifling and hot, leaving tempers frayed. Streetlights illuminate figures without faces, shadows who walk in pairs and trios, rarely more and never less. There's a sense of insecurity on these normally bustling streets, a general consensus that going out alone might lead to mischief and danger and Saints know what else. Even the soldiers are all paired up.

Except, of course, Savera, whose partner left patrol early with a black eye and broken rib.

She sees them first from the corner of her eye, dark figures in darker grass, sprawled out as though dead. Her fingers brush against her radio as she considers calling it in, but then a movement, a hand raised upwards, except not a hand- a paw. Yes; the figures are coalescing now, turning from indistinct outlines into clearer profiles, one human and one very much not. Savera's eyes widen; she hesitates, frozen between duty and curiosity.

We can all guess which wins out.

"That's a beautiful creature," the soldier murmurs, alto voice curling like smoke in the dark. She has come to a stop not far away, an intrusion that might be awkward were it not for the privileges afforded by her uniform, her station: Captain, First Class. She's looking at the cheetah and not the man, a rare delight softening the sharp lines of her face. "What's her name? May I... is she friendly?" Slender fingers coil and uncoil instinctively, betraying her desperate desire to pet.

She's always had a thing for cats.

broke down and put myself
back together again

Isanti

A snowstorm blew inside a wolf's eyes
And the frozen tears covered all the mountainsides

"That's a beautiful creature."

He's not the same boy he had been just a few days ago: this new Isanti is anxious, fearful, distrustful. Instinctively, his hand tightens on the leash hidden beneath their bodies, brain painting storylines of ruffians in the exotic pet trade, or even some local law forbidding cheetahs on this specific square meter of Ok'kotoll. It makes him nauseous.

Slowly he sits up. Morrocaw glances over her shoulder, as if trying to make up her own mind about what's disturbing him, but relatively quickly she follows suit. She's at least as tall as him like that.

The stranger's uniform ought to have soothed him. Would've, those few days ago. Now, the snakes just coil tighter in his gut, his face radiating uncertainty and wariness like a cornered wild animal. Had he missed the time? He thought he'd still had more than enough time to get back before the curfew - but so easy to lose track of time - he swallows, a desperate attempt to get his mouth and throat back in working condition. "Morrocaw," he says, grateful her name isn't difficult to pronounce. "She's, uhm..."

Is she friendly? For the most part, yes - but here? She's very alert now, somewhat stressed again, mouth open, eyes widened, breathing faster. At worst, he thinks she'll be distracted and not engaging. He's never known her to snap. (What do you do if an Enforcer insists on petting your cheetah? Worse: what do you do if they intentionally provoke it?)

"She is," he finally finishes, fidgeting with the leather leash. He doesn't dare to say anything else.

But then the time got by and the wolf died
And someday that wolf would be I

Savera

I've trusted lies and trusted men

"Morrocaw," Savera repeats, the name a fond rumble in her throat. She's never had a pet, lacking time and energy (or, perhaps more accurately, faith that she is capable of loving a thing enough), but she has always envied the bonds formed between creature and man, the simple loyalty found in the love of a beast. Now she aches to reach out and steal a little of that warmth for herself, to connect to something that will judge her only for now, not her future or her past.

But as ever, good sense holds Savera back. The soldier may not know much about animals from personal experience, but she does know distress: and this creature, all long limbs and tightly coiled muscles and potential energy, is clearly displeased. It must be hard, being leashed so tightly is what she wants to tell it - a feeling Savera can relate to viscerally, even if her own collar is not quite diamond studded.

Not yet.

"I've not met a cheetah before," Savera says instead, rich eyes raking over the creature. She isn't sure when she squatted down, trying to come level with Morrocaw; she is vaguely aware that she isn't really addressing her master, hasn't even properly looked at the man. "I imagine you miss your freedom, being caught somewhere like this." Her voice is barely more than a whisper, difficult to hear and easy to ignore. She's still speaking to Morrocaw, enamored at a comfortable distance, not willing to come closer without invitation - refusing to be another hand that holds the creature's chain.

broke down and put myself
back together again

Isanti

A snowstorm blew inside a wolf's eyes
And the frozen tears covered all the mountainsides

It feels like an eternity. One thin, tenuous thing, silence balancing upon its vibrating fibers as it stretches and stretches and stretches—

But it's just a few, panicked heartbeats. He expects it to end in something dramatic, explosions and upheaval, but it .. doesn't. Nothing's changed. Nothing reflects the turmoil. The Enforcer is squatting down, Morrocaw watching her briefly, then she watches the night again. Looking for a way out. Back home.

There's none.

She seems nice enough, but tonight, Isanti is not a trusting creature. A thousand paranoid what-ifs are roaring in his thoughts, overwhelming fear of losing the one which truly matters to him. Fingers tighten around the slack leash again.

"She doesn't like the city," he agrees quietly, feeling sick to his stomach, surprised he can even get the words out. Scared that he's condemning her to be taken away, yet scared of not acknowledging the Enforcer either, even though she's not really talking to him.

But Morrocaw has no words of her own, so he has to fill in for her.

But then the time got by and the wolf died
And someday that wolf would be I

Savera

I've trusted lies and trusted men

There are times when Savera wants to elicit fear, times when it is helpful, valuable even. Today, though, fear is not her goal, and it is difficult to see the way they wilt and tense, the reaction she creates with her simple presence. I am not that, she wants to say, except of course it would be a lie. Savera is her uniform, is the sword at her side and the gun at her hip. She is the colors of the Bravlet house that march in bands over her shoulders. She is the chain of spiked metal that glitters darkly within her braid.

She is also the girl who stretches her hand out, aching for the regard of this wild thing.

"There are larger open areas, below the Plates." The words slip unbidden past her lips as she raises her eyes at last to the man who holds the chain. "The Dust Fields, or the Flats." She isn't sure why she's saying it, giving this small piece of advice; she also isn't sure why her voice catches as she fully takes in the pale face, the piercing blue eyes within. Perhaps it is because he looks so pretty, delicate and fragile in a way rarely seen in the capitol, all sharp brittle edges and moon-pool eyes.

She is even less sure where the next part comes from, why it bubbles up from the well of hidden things in her chest and filters out into the night air. Perhaps it is a desire to see the cheetah at her full potential. Perhaps it is a desperate urge to unchain at least one of them, even if it's a lie.

"I could take you, if you need a guard."

broke down and put myself
back together again

Isanti

A snowstorm blew inside a wolf's eyes
And the frozen tears covered all the mountainsides

Morrocaw knows something's up, but not what: when the hand is offered she responds, used to this gesture of greeting. Her dark, wet nose eagerly sniffs Savera's fingers, drinking in all the unusual and foreign scents. Isanti just watches with helpless dread. It feels like his heart will smash its way through his ribs and into his mouth and escape in an eruption of blood and vomit and teeth.

He doesn't know what he's been expecting. An admonishing for bringing her here? Lies about the regulations of exotic pets? (They'd looked them up before coming here, so unless they were changed with the lockdown he's all in the clear.) An attempt at violence, to justify putting her down?

Instead she tells him there's large, open areas beneath the city. Instead, she's just this young girl looking at him—not a faceless predator, just.. a woman, with soft brown eyes. He's too far gone and too off-guard, almost hyperventilating in an effort to keep his thoughts in some semblance of order.

It wasn't supposed to be an issue. Morrocaw could've done two weeks with limited exercise. And these open areas—

They'd have to go multiple times, to get them both settled and comfortable in the area before he'd even consider letting her off the leash. (Why would she want to go with them? Maybe to make you disappear)

She doesn't look like she wants to murder his cheetah.

"Thanks, but I can't afford it," he finally says, paper-thin. Why else would she offer, if not for the extra money of being private protection?

But then the time got by and the wolf died
And someday that wolf would be I