Black Heart Stomp
When I was four plus a ten I was swinging fists
Like nails in a board.
Pull your hands inside of you,
Six years 'till I'll be through.
I was four plus a ten, I was swinging bad
Like a race to be sure.
-Like O Like H, Tegan and Sarah
0.-0.-0
"Claire! Quit holding yourself back! Put some weight behind your punches!"
Anger bubbling in my chest, thick and noisome like boiling oatmeal. "Yes, father." Went all snide on the father bit. I never called him that, except when we were training and he acted more like a horse's ass than a father.
"Yes MASTER! I am your Master, not your father!" He never failed to miss the sarcasm.
Always that barking annoyed tone, like duh, I should know this, there was no way this short mustachioed sadist was related to me. In a way he made it easier. I didn't want him to be.
My curled fist slicing towards Lotta's throat. She flinched under the blow, but blocked it just barely with her arm. She was shaking with the effort of holding me back. Face white, she muttered to me,"Claire, let it go, just do it like we practiced, remember?"
I met her worried green eyes and sweating face, and relented, some of the tension in my shoulders easing. I nodded, stepping back to ready myself. "Sorry," I grunted. "Don't-"
"CLAIRE! What are you doing? Follow through with a move like that; don't let her recover!"
Rage slammed back into place with a sudden, blurry sureness, making my face hot and my fingers tingle. Who did he think he was, hissed a part of me, as another, silent part began crawling its way out from inside me. It buzzed on the way up- shivered and yowled and laughed high and terribly.. It wanted blood on my fists and in my hair and in my teeth and sweet retribution. Why did he only correct me?
I settled my stance, dancing back on my heels, and flung myself at Lotta, and I only half-caught her saying-
"Claire, I can't keep up like this."
0.-0.-0
It was in the quiet gray moment before dawn that I woke up again, shooting upright in bed with not enough air in my lungs. My fingers were curled into claws into my pillow, which I held in front of me like a shield. I was shuddering like a winded horse, my muscles twitching and jittering as if after a long fight.
It was fucking weird.
It took me a while to calm down. Once I did, I cursed quietly, and threw my pillow down again. I leaned forward, blankets puddling about my midsection with my head in my hands.
It would have been nice, I thought, pulling up my knees and hooking one brown, gangly arm around them. It would have been nice to not see it again.
To my immediate panic, I felt my eyes blurring, and my face growing hot. I swung my legs around, ignoring the rustle and squeak of the cheap straw mattress and stalked to the other side of the room, my feet slapping down hard on the floorboards.
I wasn't going to cry.
If I started crying, I wasn't going to stop. And I didn't have time to cry.
Rubbing my forehead angrily with the heel of my hand, I scowled and paced back and forth. My clothes were horribly damp-feeling with sweat, and quickly becoming clammy in the chill air. I was dressed only in a sleeveless undershirt and a loose pair of pants, normal attire at home, but far too cold for Furni.
Fine, I thought, and stepped back, bouncing slightly on the balls of my feet. I'd practice if I couldn't sleep.
0.-0.-0
According to Dad, I'd always been kind of a lousy fighter. But even though he'd been pretty biased on that account, I had to grant it to him that yeah, I hadn't taken it as seriously as some of his other students, and I hadn't enjoyed hitting people in the face as much as I should have. Who does, at first?
High kick, swirling round from the left side. Sink down to the stance, rocking back and forth like a cobra about to strike. Stupid pose anyway, don't know why they teach it, but Gehrich thought it was cool. Punch, left right, left side kick, whistling through the air. Duck, roll, gather your feet under you and spring up into the air.
But if you're working with a guy who hates your guts unless you know how to do it right, and is marginally indifferent to you once you pull it off, you learn how to do it. And then there's something kinda fun about it after all.
Block an imaginary blow, then fall to your hands and use your feet to sweep the legs out from under your opponent. Slam your heel down onto where they sprawl, then rise to your feet and meet them again.
I settled into the routine that had been drilled into me from nearly the time I began to walk. The sky was dark still, but lightening towards the east. The three smaller, fainter Endiness Moons were sinking slowly towards the horizon, waning into needle-sharp crescents. Above them, and easily drowning them out hung the worm-eaten exterior of the Never-Setting Moon. Its face glittered like a faceted jewel, or the metallic wings of some tropical insect. It was growing fainter as well, as the sun crept over the houses.
My muscles lost some of their screechy ache as I flicked my hair out of my eyes and worked through the routine. I'd come, gradually, to hate it over the years, when before there had only been a sweet love of being able to move so quickly and surely. But it was the only thing that would allow me to shut my brain off and just move.
I settled into a simple, brainless, one-two-punch-leg-swing when a knock at the door startled me out of my reverie. It was urgent and loud, a rat-tat-tat that you just knew was made by someone with a very nervous face and a receding hairline.
"Miss? Miss? Are you all right in there? What are those noises?"
Ooh. High voice. Squeaky, some would say. Chattering almost.
Dear Soa. I thought. I have a squirrel at my door.
I shook that thought away and did not giggle- it would have sent me into hysterics. "Uh." I replied, lowering my fists. "Yeah. I mean yes. I mean- I'm fine. Just uh… fell out of bed."
I stopped and made a face at myself. Never again would I come up with something so idiotic.
A pause. Then the voice started up again. "But, miss, all those noises…. You disturbed the other guests…" He sounded almost shrill now.
Shiiiit. "Um- Sorry!" I called back. "Just fell out of bed- I'll be quiet now!"
The man- presumably the innkeeper, paused again. I remembered him from last night. Twitchy from too many nights of bad patrons and broken tables. He had looked rather weedy and pale, and I almost felt bad for bothering him.
Wait. A part of my mind said. He's the reason your bed had little buggies sucking your sweet blood juices all night.
The cheap jackass.
He spoke up again after a longish pause, and you could hear the doubt eating away at his voice, "Just keep it down miss!"
I heard his footsteps head back down the hall.
Running sweaty fingers through my hair, I blew air through my lips. Then just for fun, I did it again.
Sweet Soa, I needed a bath.
Hmmn.
Food would be nice too.
0.-0.-0
I swirled my cup experimentally and peered dubiously down into it. "Er." I said. " This isn't…. fruit juice."
Whatever it was, it was dark, and smelled musky and wood-like. Like really fragrant dirt. I poked it with my spoon.
When I let go, the spoon remained upright.
I looked helplessly at the maid who'd brought it.
She stared at me darkly, one hand supporting a tray on her hip, giving her a bent, cocked to the side look that didn't look so much attractive as it did give her the look of someone with rickets. "Ain't you ever had coffee before?" she demanded.
I took a cautious, noisy sip. I regretted it instantly.
"OH GOD, IT BIT ME."
The woman snatched it from me and took a swig. "Tastes fine to me." she said dismissively.
"It tastes like death! Or WORSE than death! Like death would taste if it tasted like something really bitter and nasty!"
"It's a good cup of coffee!" replied the maid hotly.
Heads were turning to look at us. I shrank, and lowered my voice. "Can't I have a glass of fruit juice? Or cider?"
Her eyes glittered dangerously. They were small and blue, set deep in her red face. Her hair was greasy and pulled back untidily, and she had the look of someone who'd been working since last night with little sleep. "Cider's for the evenin' guests."
"Well… can I have some?" I wheedled.
She crossed her arms. "Cost ya four pennies extra."
Tightfisted. Old. Cow.
"Then can I just have some porridge or something? Nothing… you know… inedible?" I said, tipping the cup of coffee meaningfully.
It seemed I'd gone too far. Her nostrils flared angrily.
Oops.
"Fine." She said. "I'll get you yer oats." She snarled, and whirled around, tripping off angrily to the kitchen.
I sighed, and tipped back my chair, rocking back and forth with my toe on the table leg. "Craaaanky." I muttered. No one heard me.
Hot water here was more than I could afford, but they'd sold me a block of soap for cheap, and let me use the rain barrel out back if I promised to leave it drinkable. I'd managed to swab out my armpits and between my breasts, where stink tends to accumulate, and had soaped up my hair some, but it wasn't much like a bath in any sense of the word. I did manage to get most of the boat smell off me, though.
Boat, incidentally, smells like tar, sweat, and old fish.
It had been pretty raucous last night. I wasn't sure if it had been a party of anything, but from the sounds of it, (and the bleary expressions of the barmaids) it had gone on until late and everyone was nursing it off.
I had found the place just as the sun had started to set last night. After walking around aimlessly for several hours, I'd become what most seasoned world travelers would call hopelessly lost.
It seriously wasn't my fault that all the canals either looked the same, or ran in complicated figure eight patterns. And it was doubly not my fault that they were often the only way to get from point A to point B, so you had to use one of those shallow boats to get there, which I didn't have the money for and apparently the guards yanked swimmers out of the waters all the time.
Thank the Gods of war and wind it wasn't Burger. I would have had a heart attack.
Still, I'd managed to snag one of the guard's purses when he wasn't looking (What else were Rouge Skills for, anyway?) and that had held just enough cash to supplement my measly resources, which was sufficient for a night's stay at this cheap, poorly lit inn.
Oh well. I would have slept badly with or without a bug-infested mattress.
I drummed my fingers on the tabletop absently, then stopped when I noticed myself doing it. To keep occupied, I rested my chin in my hand and looked about the room.
There was a married couple seated at a table near the fire. The husband shoveled down his eggs and sausage with a single minded intensity that screamed there was no way there could be anything more important than filling his stomach with chicken embryos. The wife, a frightened looking woman wearing a headscarf and a threadbare coat, just picked at her breakfast, looking nervously around the whole time.
She kinda hurt to look at. I turned my head elsewhere.
Couple of guys near the fire. They were blinking a lot and wincing whenever they moved, so I figured they must have had a few last night. At the table next to me, closer to the window, was a dusty-looking blonde guy bent over his table with a cup of that horrible swill. He wasn't taking an interest in anything around him, just swirling it around in his hand and looking tired.
Boooring. Lessee, who else…
There were three guys seated near the windows. They looked less affected by the festivities from last night, although it appeared that they'd been drinking since daylight. Two were laughing over absolutely nothing, while the other just leaned back in his chair and attempted to burn holes in the table with his eyes.
I began jigging my leg up and down under the table out of sheer tedium.
I mean, don't get me wrong, I was terrified that somebody'd see me and say, "Hey…. Isn't that the girl what's on the run from that ninja training type place?" and then promptly drag me back to face my father. I'm not sure exactly why the imaginary do-gooder of my fantasies had that accent, but I was certain that that was what it would be like. Still, fear and dread can only hang onto you for so long before you stop flinching at every fast movement, and start rolling your eyes and muttering, "Come ON already."
Plus, I'd already promised myself that I wasn't going to think about that. Thinking about it only messed with my head, and got in the way. I could think about it later.
Yep. Wasn't going to think about it.
"Here y'are" Said the barmaid as she plunked down a bowl full of something gray in front of me. "That'll be seven pence."
Absolutely no steam rose from the meal in front of me, despite the fact that the room was rather chilly. Oh….. dear…
It looked like oyster vomit. I told her so.
Her lips went tight. "Either you give me seven pennies, or I'm calling the cook to throw you out on your ear, you ungrateful tramp!"
I gestured to the bowl of oatmeal, which was beginning to look quite embarrassed about itself. "Come on! Would YOU eat this?"
"I-am-happy-to-partake-in-whatever-the-establishment-gives-me!" she sniffed. Somehow I got the feeling she'd practiced that line, as it contained absolutely no contractions whatsoever, and came out as one unbroken stream. But she was beginning to creep up on the hazy line between annoyed, and cook-callingsy pissed off, so I beat a hasty retreat by grudgingly giving her the money and muttering that it was a crime to call that dish something that was descended from good, honest, oats.
She stalked off after I paid her, obviously glad to be rid of me. I stuck my tongue out at her back. The blonde man at the table next to me looked at me oddly. "What?" I snapped.
He shrugged and looked away, taking another sip of his coffee. As he shifted, a gold piece dropped out of the pocket of his battered green coat and clattered loudly on the stone floor.
The men in the corner perked up immediately. They resembled so many hungry stray dogs hearing a barrel of meat being opened ten miles away. The other guy apparently hadn't noticed yet that he'd attracted unwarranted attention, he just kept staring grimly into the distance, like he was a thousand miles away.
One man in the group in the corner, a guy with more beard than good looks, began whispering to one of his companions, a tall guy with red hair and a dirty shirt. I mean, come on, it had stains and everything. Possibly gravy. EW. The other man stayed quiet, like he wasn't even watching. He looked much more dangerous than the other two.
Beardy got up (an effort not really well described here, but I could say that it was like a hearthrug with a fondness for pastries slowly and mysteriously rising to attention), and swaggered over to the man next to my table.
The blonde's eyes flicked over to him without expression. He had a long, slightly bent nose perhaps from a previous break or some such, and as I said, dusty looking blonde hair that flopped in a long widow's peak over his eyes. He didn't look much older than me, but had this aura of being weary almost to death that made lines in his face that oughtn't to have been there. He looked about as likely to start a fight as an old dog that's been kicked around so many times that it's just learned to curl its tail to its belly and take what it gets. Just looking at him made you want to feel sorry for him, and give him a good meal or something.
Beardy seemed intent on hassling him. "Hey Mister," he said, leaning heavily with his hands on the chair the across from the other man. "My friends 'n I are feelin' mighty poorly. How 'bout you buy us some drinks so we feel better?"
It was lame. It was pathetic. It was worse than lame and pathetic, that was the single worst rewording of, "Hey dude, can I have some money?" that I'd ever heard. The guy was smirking too, like he knew how flimsy it was, but he knew he didn't need A material because he'd beat the crap out of the poor guy anyway.
Behind him, Redhead and the quiet dangerous guy rose to their feet, the latter a little slower than his companion. Redhead had a huge shit-eating grin on his face. Obviously they'd done this sort of thing before.
I glanced around. The kitchen maids were exchanging knowing looks, and one by one they filed into the backroom. The rest of the people were quietly keeping their heads down and doing their best impressions of uninvolved citizenry just out for a cup of coffee and a sausage, not bothering you at all, we'll certainly look the other way, yes sir, what lovely weather we're having!
My eyes narrowed.
The blonde guy just looked at him a moment more, then went back to his coffee.
I was inwardly snickering, but Beardy bristled like a cat that's seen a mouse give it the finger. But there was a nasty glint to his eye that he'd been fully expecting this sort of thing, and had been rather waiting it. "Hey man," he said, leaning forward, "I said, aren't you going to buy us a round?"
The man he was referring to seemed to be trying out the Ignore-It-And-Maybe-It-Will-Go-Away approach to conflict, and looked no more disturbed by being heckled by a man whose neckhair could clothe and shelter all the inhabitants of a small country than would be a block of wood.
Beardy was shortly joined by his redheaded friend, and they shared a smirk. Redhead decided that now was the time to jump in and splash around a little. "Aren't you even going to answer the man?" he demanded. He had a high nasally voice, the kind usually thought of as belonging to sentient talking weasels, or salesmen. His nose was too long, and his teeth were tinged bright yellow.
As you can see, bastards are clearly identified by virtue of their being ugly. Keep that in mind.
Their victim finally responded.
"…Don't have any money." He had a rough voice, leathery and harsh almost, like he didn't use it much. It wasn't whiney or pleading or anything, he just said it.
"Then what's that down by your foot then?" said the exasperated jackass who'd last spoken.
The man blinked, then craned his neck over to look dutifully in the direction specified. A short, "…hm" sound escaped him as he bent over with an audible pop to his back to retrieve the coin, and return it to his pocket. Settling back into his seat, he picked up his coffee again.
Beardy and Redhead exchanged a confused look. Er. This isn't how it's supposed to go, said the look. Isn't he supposed to be telling us to sod off and then we can beat the snot out of him? it said on the way back.
"The hell," said Beardy, as comprehension dawned. "First you ignore us, and then you lie to us? That's not very nice." He cracked his knuckles meaningfully. He didn't get that look on his face that most people get when they crack their knuckles for the first time, which rather looks like, 'Oh shit, that hurts.' He seemed to be well acquainted with it.
"Yeah," said the Redhead for agreement's sake. And he pushed him, right there. Not hard enough to knock him off his chair, just enough to rock him back a little.
Time slowed.
Very deliberately, the blonde man set his cup down.
"Hey, listen to me when I'm talking to you" snapped Redhead again, and this time he shoved him, knocking him off of his chair and onto the floor. Beardy started laughing, and so did Redhead, high and delighted, a nasty sort of sound that made my teeth grind. He stepped forward and nudged him with his foot.
"Now what kind of pansy-assed loser is this guy?" he asked. "Not even fighting back. Hey man, you gonna fight back?" he asked the blonde, edgy, trying to provoke him. He drew his foot back for a real kick. "I said, aren't you gonna fight back, old guy?
The toe of his boot landed solidly on the blonde's ribs, hard and cruel. For his credit, he didn't cry out, only exhaled sharply and curled into himself to protect against further damage.
It was a lot like kicking a puppy.
Redhead laughed again, and made to boot him again.
"Hey, ugly" I said from behind him.
I had a line planned. It was the best, most cleverest line anyone has ever heard. This line would be the high point of the century.
He turned, bewildered and angry to be interrupted.
"Ha! You looked!" I said, cheery and bright, and that's when I broke the chair over his head.
He dropped like a sack of rocks. Beardy swore loudly and lunged for me. I threw the splintered remnants of the chair away and readied myself. He planted a fist in my stomach before I grunted and punched him hard enough to break his jaw and most of his teeth. It's his mistake for clenching his mouth, I thought giddily, and the rush of blood to my head nearly overwhelmed me. He screamed, high and keening, and came at me one more time before I kicked him right in the throat. It's his mistake for fucking with me. He fell and didn't get up again.
A noise from behind me.
The other guy.
Shit.
I spun around, fists ready, just in time to see the silent member of the group perfectly in position to slide a sword into my kidneys. He raised it higher, about to stab downwards-
ShitohshitohshitI'mGoingToDieHereInThisSTINKINGHoleAllForNOTHING.
His eyes rolled back in his head, and he dropped just like that.
I blinked. Through the roaring in my veins and the ache in my fists, I still had enough sense to realize what I was seeing.
The blonde guy, who'd happily let them kick the pie filling out of him, was glaring at the fallen man. He had a broken chair leg in one hand, and had an expression on like he was halfway glad he'd done it, and halfway wondering why he'd done it. I dimly recognized the chairleg as part of the one I'd broken.
I believe time might have very well stopped while I froze there, staring at him.
A commotion in the streets outside. Official sounding voices heading this way, as boats rushed up to the tavern and sloshed to a halt.
Crap. Someone had alerted the guard.
I was too geared up; I couldn't move. I had the same feeling I had the last time I fought- an uncontrollable urge to smash everything that moved and write my name in the sky with the force of my hands and feet. It was unnerving, this feeling, this cold, white-hot rage that glued me, panting to the spot.
This is the same as the last time, I thought frozenly. I can't…. I don't think I can stop. I wanna kill something.
Oh god help.
The guy who'd saved me from a rather painful and certainly ignoble death heard the guards coming as well. He cursed, quietly, but a suitably decent curse all the same. He dropped the chair leg, and leaned over to hoist his traveling bag off of the floor. Turning, he grabbed me above my elbow, yanking hard. "Come on!" he said.
I didn't move. When he discovered that I apparently wasn't coming with, he stopped, and looked at my face. He went still.
"Listen" he said, and his tone was patient. Unhurried even. "Either you start moving now, or you'll spend the next month in a cell. And they don't treat women so good there."
That image burned itself all the way down to the bottom of my mind and kindled a flame of awareness. It efficiently broke my paralysis, but I felt like I was pulling out tree roots when I moved. We bolted towards the kitchens, him dragging me along by my elbow. We made it out the back door as the guards broke shouting into the main room, demanding to know who had broken up the place.
We were ducking down an alley by this time, running full out down the narrow passage. He'd let go of my arm, and chose instead to lead the way, jogging stiffly, his rucksack bouncing against his hip.
The alley ended on the edge of a canal, where a man with a messenger satchel was stepping into one of those funny shallow boats. My companion hoisted him out by his armpits and tossed him aside with no more thought and hesitation than someone taking a small, slightly stupid animal out of the way. He tossed the struggling, protesting man aside and jumped into the boat, which skipped across the water unsteadily. I was one jump behind him, panicking slightly as I nearly swamped the poor thing. I held the edges of the boat in a white-knuckled grip, crouching low as he swung the long length of wood into place and quickly began poling us down the canal with the hurried incompetence of the truly desperate.
I kept wanting to talk to him, to figure out why the hell he grew a spine only then, but the grim look on his face kinda discouraged that.
We vanished around a corner as the sounds of pursuit grew louder. I could hear them swearing at us as we left with the only means of transportation nearby.
He nailed the wall trying to take the next corner, and a wave of water soaked me to the knee, but after we made it a block or two down the canal, he swerved to the side of the canal and lunged onto the street.
I squawked and scrabbled after him, nearly wiping out on the last bit and going for a dunk in the canal. He looked back briefly, then jerked his chin in the direction that led to the outside of town before running again.
I hesitated. Why the hell should I go with him? I thought.
"Get…. THEM!" came the shout from behind me. It was ground-out of a throat already ragged from too much sprinting, from a short distance awayIt sounded like they were already tiring out, but damnit if they weren't going to keep trying.
Oh. That.
Sure, why not?
I shook the sweaty hair out of my eyes and went tearing off after my new, talkative best friend.
0.-0.-0