Wylie looked up feeling the warm liquid trickle down into her belly with the comforting rasp of smoke chasing it.
She had meant every word that she had said. It was going to be death and destruction. She sincerely hoped not hers. Although she thought; contemplating to herself it wasn't as if she had not been into these scrapes before.
Hell, every Vestuvian had most probably been into some scrape or another by the time they were ten. It was hard to live on a planet full of drunks, outlaws and thieves without encountering someone with "friendly" hands.
She laughed to herself
Tho' a ten year olds idea of being friendly is playing in the sand box not fucking. Definitely not on the top ten list of safe places to raise a family.
Riddick looked up quietly narrowing his silvered eyes at her. He took another long swig out of the bottle and passed it to Drysis who was now looking at Wylie with wide eyed awe.
"Sir, I couldn't possibly!" He said with outrage. "The cleric's job is a station of high prominence; we do not dally with the pleasures of the flesh. Being a cleric is a sacred right, a matter of the highest importance one of prestige and honor and…."
Wylie cut him off with a bark of laughter. "Drysis has anyone told you that you have the most self important image of yourself. What do you do besides puff up your frigging chest scribble in that little scroll book of yours and generally annoy the living shit of every official on this ship?"
"I um…I…um" Drysis sputtered
Wylie leveled her cold gaze on Drysis..."that's what I thought. One rule, Drysis." Wylie turned moving the pile of clothes around on the bench and coming up with two long leather straps that she began working around her wrists. "When you are with me you drink and when I say to smoke you smoke and for gods sake don't give me any shit about it,"
Drysis narrowed his beady eyes at her bringing down the corner of his mouth into a wicked frown.
Wylie leaned back and let out a bellow of laughter. "Either drink it Drysis or I'll pour the shit down your throat..."
Drysis glared at her angrily and snatched the bottle from Riddick's hands. He tilted it back and took a huge gulp and swallowed, the muscles in his neck working convulsively. Almost immediately he began coughing and with a shaking hand wiped the sleeve of his robe across his reddening lips.
She lit up another rich smelling cigarette and inhaled deeply passing it to Drysis.
"Wanna' Smoke?" she mouthed through a haze of clove smelling fog.
"No." Drysis said angrily almost pouting.
Wylie looked at the smaller man again cocking up one eyebrow. "One more time Drysis…smoke or no?"
Drysis let out a long exasperated lung of air as he snatched the cigg from Wylie's hand. He looked up at her evilly. "God, you are a bitch aren't you?"
"One of the best baby, "she turned and began to pull the black tank over her arms...
………………………………………………………………………………………………
Wylie turned and began walking down the dark hall buoyed by the good Vestuvian black label that was running through her veins and the ominous but muffled roar of the crowds. She pulled the handles of a large oak door with carvings of humans stuck to it in varying stages of anguish and decay.
"Mental note to myself." She said quietly, "don't ask the people who did the interior decorating in this place to come to yours."
She leaned back pulling all her weight against the large iron handles and felt the door jar to life. The muscles in her forearms and biceps roped with exertion. She tugged again pulling all of her strength into her muscular thighs. The door begrudgingly quivered open.
The smell of blood was the first thing that assaulted her senses, the second was the smell of hard packed dirt, sweat and fear mingled with a primitive smell. The smell of excitement, not in a sexual way, not the musky familiar odor of sex, but something close. Wylie lifted her head pulling large drafts of air through her nasal cavity as a serene smile passed her broad lips.
This just might be how every solider, mercenary, or fighter worth a shit would like to buy it. With the smell of bloodlust and the pumping of adrenaline through their veins.
The roar as she opened the door was deafening.
Placing one booted foot in front of the other she stepped though the passageway feeling the heat and the blood lust of the crowd hitting her like an invisible fist. She slowly slid the pair of goggles down over her eyes blocking out the almost intolerable light that filled the arena. Reaching a hand to her head she smoothed back a lock of dark hair and felt the icy perspiration there. She fought making herself keep placing one foot in front of the other.
Scared much? Who me? Naaah. Just another lovely fucking day in the life of Wylie. Well guys, it's been nice to know you, if any of you wanna' bail out now its all right by me.
Wylie mentally looked around expecting to see the little voices that had kept her alive for so long to take shape and jump out of her head.
Guess not, all right, let's go and look for a fight. No sense stickin' our toes in the cold fucking water when we know damn well we gotta' bathe in it.
She took a deep breath and completely walked out into the open sucking in a breath at the scene in front of her.
Now I know how the gladiators of ancient Rome felt. Fucking marvelous.
The Coliseum was awash with color and sound, all of Necromonger society had turned out. Men, women, half dead all sat with expectant lust glazed eyes. All centered into the middle of the ring where two women fought in close quarters with a gaph stick and a wickedly sharp short blade. The taller of the two women had the muscle structure of a man all upper body strength and bulging muscles. Tattoos covered most of her face and trailed down both arms making her look much the part of a barbarian. The shock of electric blue hair that ran down between her shoulder blades and was tipped with what appeared to be sharp metal spikes didn't detract form that image. She roared loudly the sound reminding Wylie of the lions found on ancient earth. As she did so several rows of wicked looking canines flashed making Wylie pause.
Hmmm. Talk about bad dental work. I bet she's a real hit with the boys.
Her body was clad with little more than a leather loin cloth. Both of her breasts were bare with a light dusting of what appeared to be golden hairs on them. She also had a long prehensile tail snaking out from in-between her muscular legs which were both tightly wrapped in leather boots stopping just short of her crotch.
Wylie mused to herself quietly. "Must chafe like a bitch to walk in them."
The smaller woman in the fight looked much like the norm for a prisoner taken off of Helion Prime. Small and compact with Indian features, her long dark hair was bound with several silver spirals woven into its length. Her clothing was down stated next to the taller woman's costume; just a small metal mesh top and what appeared to be a chain mail skirt. A pair of leather sandals wound their way up both of her legs accentuating the muscles there.
Her skill with the gaph stick was immediately obvious; she parried and thrust like someone who had taken fencing lessons. Her body style was muscular as well but more with the grace of a ballerina; all lean muscle and agility.
"The people who have put this thing together knew how to get their buck, this was no mere fight all of the woman had been chosen and specifically pared tall verses short, quick verses slow. It was going to be an interesting fight to say the least.
A bellowing roar snapped Wylie out of her thoughts and back to the scene in front of her. The smaller woman had come across the larger woman with her gaph stick leaving a large charred hole right above the larger woman's bellybutton. The charred flesh left a sickingly sweet perfume in the air. The adoring crowd went wild. Screaming to the highest capacity and chanting the simple words.
"Kill, kill, kill."
The smaller woman bowed to the roaring crowd and picked up the larger woman's curved blade. With one deft move she whipped the tip of the weapon across the woman's lower abdomen, spilling the opalescent blue intestines in a wet rush like a basket of shivering snakes. The larger woman let out a roar before collapsing on the pile of her own sand speckled intestines.
Never seen one like her. Wylie thought of the larger woman. Wonder if she was a Movadian? I once heard that they were shape shifters. I guess she was a lion?
A voice behind her broke her out of her thoughts.
"It's good to see that you could finally make it Madame….' A bulky figure next to her chimed. "You were to be brought in next. It's good to see that we didn't have any unplesentries where you are concerned." He raised an over manicured eyebrow looking down the bridge of his knife blade nose at her as if she were a piece of walking refuse.
"Yeah, glad to be here." Wylie said sarcastically as she lit another cigg and blew the smoke directly into the face of the officer. She laughed inwardly at the larger man fighting to keep his eyes from watering." So when you planning on getting into the ring?" Wylie nodded towards the two fighters with a tilt of her head.
"Me? Surely Madame you must be joking." "Officers of the Necromonger elite do not sully their hands with the blood of the common populace.' He said with disdain.
Wylie threw back her head and gave a full throated chuckle. "So sure of yourself are you? Bet you couldn't last five minutes with one of the weakest fighters in the ring."
The guard puffed up his chest. "I don't fight weaklings."
"Good" Wylie said smirking. "Then you won't have any problem fighting me asshole."
"I will not fight you." You have no power here, no jurisdiction over me."
"I know a few people in high places I'm sure that I can arrange a fight between you and I. You might wanna' go put your armor on peaches, your up next." Wylie looked to Riddick seated on the Dias above the screaming crowds and pointed at the guard.
"I will not fight you." The guard ground out.
"Oh, peaches, I think you will, no member of Necromonger society may disobey a direct order from the Lord Marshall." Wylie pointed to the dais where Riddick was pointing back to the guard. Wylie laughed as she saw the guard's complexion go ashen.
"I will obey my Lord Marshall."
You do that slick. See ya soon. Wylie nodded and laughed loudly tightening the leather straps on her arms. She pulled in another long lungful of gingerbread smoke
One down, only a thousand more to go. Shit, its gonna' be one helluva' day.