Ok, now this was awful and she was scared shitless.
Corvin didn't have any training or plan in mind, but honestly, who planned to get robbed? Obviously everyone had a bucket list with this on in: "Mugger break and enter into my house in the dead of night." Clearly she was ecstatic.
Sarcastic thoughts aside, Corvin was fucked.
If she were to layout just how she was fucked, it would be this: she lived alone, was out of shape, had minimal self defense training, and was very very stupid. But, she also had a handgun, but what small comfort that brought her was dashed by the thought she'd probably shoot herself in the foot before she could land a shot on the burglar.
Arms shaking, Corvin crept through her apartment, hiding behind corners and stepping in places she knew wouldn't squeak or groan underfoot. Burglar obviously didn't know her home like she did, and would step on a springy board ever so often, letting her keep track of their position.
She was lowkey panicking... No no, highkey, highkey panicking right now. Her heart was thumping loud enough in her ears, she was surprised she could hear past it. Her breath was shallow in her chest, and she forced herself to take a lungful of breath so she wouldn't pass out. Her whole body shook like a leaf in the wind, and she was surprised she could keep her handgun steady.
Shit, Corvin had rotten luck. Tiptoeing around her own damn apartment so she wouldn't get mugged.
She should have grabbed her damn shotgun. Damnit. Her handgun wasn't going to do anything but poke holes in the mugger, and it was a bitch to aim correctly. Her shotgun was easier to aim, but the recoil made her arms go numb, and noodle arms weren't fun.
Why did she have so many guns? Not for herself, if she was honest. The handgun was hers, she got it after a nasty robbery that happened next door scared her shitless. She had to go through quite a bit of registration to get it, but she didn't mind. She also took classes before she was allowed to have it. She could have gotten a carry permit, but she didn't plan on taking it out of her apartment. But she did buy a stupid amount of bullets for it.
The shotgun was her dad's but he left it at her place since he and Ma were moving back to good ol' Michigan and didn't have the proper state licensing for the gun. He didn't want to risk being pulled over on the drive up and not have a properly registered gun in the car.
She felt a little dumb to have the guns, she didn't think she had the guts to use either of them. Her family wasn't strangers to them, she grew up in a hunting family in rural Michigan before moving down to Illinois, and her family had several hunting rifles in their home. Though, Corvin never touched so much as a bb gun before her handgun. She didn't care to learn hunting or shooting then. But then the break in happened next door and Corvin wanted to be careful.
She had never been so damn thankful. If she didn't, she'd have nothing but her replica swords to defend herself. Replica swords you may ask? Well, that's another story for another time. Lets just say, Corvin is a fuckin NERD.
Fuck, the burglar.
Corvin crept around the corner into the kitchen as she heard a board squeak from her small living room. She tiptoed around, hoping to catch the intruder from behind. Her fingers trembled along the handle of her gun, a lone finger nervously fiddling along the side to feel the safety and make sure it was off.
Corvin peaked into the living room. Her breath caught as she spotted a lone shadowy figure standing on the opposite side, fiddling with something on a shelf. The figure turned slightly, the item in their hand glinting in the low light of the streetlamp that seeped through her curtains.
'Fuck!' it was her crystal glass ball. Smooth and sphere shaped with a flat bottom, with beautiful blue, green and gold marble swirls throughout it. It sat on an ornamental gold and crystal stand. It had been a gift from her family before they left, who had known Corvin's strange love for trinkets. They knew her preferred aesthetic well, and even though she wasn't into practicing psychic stuff, she appreciated the thought behind it.
Her heart leapt to her throat, her fingers tightening around the gun. She wasn't terribly sentimental, but she couldn't let the robber take it! But what could she do?
A wood board creaked.
Behind her.
Corvin whirled around, handgun coming up as a second figure closed in on her and swatted at her with a large knife and a loud snarl. She had not accounted on another person being there with the first.
Corvin backpedaled, her finger squeezing the trigger rapidly on the handgun and letting off several loud 'BANG's until the gun clicked empty. The surprise of it all landed Corvin on her ass, a loud screech coming from her as she hit the ground hard. Her attacker yelled, stumbling back and clutching their chest. A set of loud thumps announced the arrival of the other intruder, who raced over to them. The other, uninjured attacker fell to the side of the injured one, who was on the floor, groaning in pain. Something fell from the second's hand as they looked over their fallen companion, the glass ball.
Corvin snatched it up and scrambled to rise, drawing the attention of the second intruder. They let out an angry yell, lunging for her, but she dashed to the other room, headed to her bedroom where the other gun was.
More thumping and cursing was heard behind her, and she knew the intruder was after her. Corvin raced down the hall, her sock covered feet slipping on the wood flooring as she zipped into her room, arms flailing. This moment was crucial to her as she dove for the box under her bed where the shotgun was. There was another yell of anger, then she felt a force knock into the backs of her knees, sending her crashing to the floor.
Corvin's arms and legs flailed, her left foot connecting with something hard and fleshy with a loud 'SMACK.' She reached under her bed, grabbing the long, plastic safety box the shotgun was in and dragging it out. She could feel hands on her ankles, dragging her back, nails digging and cutting into the flesh there. The stinging pain snapped a lick of sense into Corvin's frazzled brain and she turned, gun in hand, and slammed the butt of the hilt into the attacker's forehead. They let go of her with a shout, one hand coming up to their bleeding forehead as Corvin scooted away from their grasp.
Corvin grasped the shotgun box before cursing loudly, looking down at the padlock on it. She had forgotten that it was locked. She reached up onto her bed, where the carry case for her handgun was open and contents sprawled out from earlier when she first got out her handgun. Her flailing scattered the bullet box, spilling the small pellets everywhere.
"Shit!" she chanted, grasping at a handful. There was a 'shink' sound before a burning pain sprouted in the back of her thigh. Corvin howled in pain, her good leg kicking out again and catching the mugger in the throat. They made a choking sound, backing up. She spotted the source of her pain, a small serrated switchblade, one made for whittling wood more than anything else, was covered in blood. She didn't wait for them to recover, grasping the bullets quickly, her frantic movements sending the gun box and other shells scattering to the ground, she popped out the magazine and pushing a few bullets into the clip with trembling fingers. She slid the magazine back into place.
And not a moment too soon, as the attacker had recovered and lunged at her once again with an angry yell.
But suddenly, she was falling.
It was as if a carpet was ripped from under her, her body jolting forward as she tumbled down through open air. She screamed, her arms flailing through the air as the tumbled head over heel through the air, only to land hard on cold ground on her back. The wind knocked out of her rather spectacularly.
Corvin was stunned for a good while, her dazed eyes looking blankly at the open sky as litter from her room rained down around her. Her breath came out in short bursts, her whole body numb from shock. She couldn't form a single thought, her mind blissfully blank for all of 2 seconds.
A groan sounded a little ways away, in the direction her feet pointed. Ignoring the numbness in her body, Corvin sat up quickly, clambering away from the noise. It was her attacker, who had fallen with her and was slowly getting up, their body barely visible in the dim moonlight that filtered through the trees of the forest they had fallen in. Later, Corvin would wonder how she didn't hit any branches on her way down. But not now, not when her attacker, now identified as a man by the sharp jawline covered in a dark peppering of stubble. He shouted something accusatory, words Corvin didn't care to acknowledge or understand at the moment as she frantically looked for her handgun, which had slipped from her grasp as she had fallen.
Her hands groped the litter on the ground, a mix of leaves, twigs and papers from her room. Her hand came in contact with something hard, and when she held it up, she was disappointed as the dim light shown her hairbrush, not her handgun. Taking what luck she got, Corvin hurled the plastic brush at her attacker, nailing him in the forehead. It barely hindered his movements as he clawed his way over to her on his hands and knees with a snarl on his lips and a wild look in his eyes.
Corvin let out a shrill, long shriek as he came upon her, knife in his hand. She punched and kicked at the larger person, her nails scratching at what they could and knees connecting to whatever they could reach. Her screaming didn't end, her pitch taking on a note of desperation and pain as he slashed at her, her hand coming in contact with the blade as she shielded her face away. The knife bit into her palm, burrowing it's way through her left hand and sprouting out the other side with a sickening squelch. He yanked the knife free, a spray of blood coming out with an even nastier sound.
The man snarled something fierce, flipping the knife in his hand he aimed down and stabbed Corvin in her left shoulder, ripping another scream from her abused throat. He pulled the knife out of her again and aimed for her throat, revenge and anger in his eyes, ready to make the final blow. Corvin scratched at his arms and face, the blood from her injured hand smearing across them both as she fought.
Right as he was about to stab her again, a loud bellow was heard, and the man was smacked off of her. Corvin had barely any moment to process a thought as a figure leapt over her prone form, swinging a large weapon, and bashed in the face of her attacker with incredible force. There was a sickening mushy sound that followed as the man's skull caved in on itself, bits of gore flying around as pieces of sharp bone shattered through skin. The corpse was flung against a nearby tree, before sliding limply to the ground, blood from the smashed head oozing out of the mangled face.
Oh god, that was not how it went in the movies.
She might have been sick, had she not still been in fight or flight mode.
Corvin scooted back, away from the new person and the dead one. Her movement gained the attention of the new figure, who turned to her and advanced. She let out a strangled sound of fear, a mix of a yell and squawk, using her elbow to drag herself away. The newcomer stilled at her yell, not moving for a while before slowly crouching and placing their weapon, a giant mace-like axe, on the ground. The figure held up two hands in a placating gesture towards her.
Corvin was gasping for breath, shock and numbness eating away to pain and fear. Corvin didn't consider herself a coward or a weakling, but damn, she wasn't trained for this. She was just a civilian and she almost just fucking died. So she was more than a little frazzled.
The being in front of her mumbled something to her, something she didn't understand, their hands still up. She couldn't see them well, be it from the darkness of the forest around her, or the black spots in her vision, she couldn't tell. But they continued to speak to her, mumbling in a soothing tone that had her reluctantly relaxing, too. The figure scuttled forward slightly, still on their haunches, and Corvin tensed again, staring the process all over again.
The figure did it over and over again, inching forward before stopping, speaking lowly to her in the strange language. She caught a glimpse of the figure's appearance as they inched forward, filtered moonlight catching in patches along their form.
Thick, muscled arms, tattoos scattered along large, blunt fingers, leather leggings and hide boots. She assumed they were male, but was unsure, even when the voice spoke in a low timber that rumbled like stones shaking in a quake. It wasn't until a stray beam of light landed on their face was she certain. Broad nose, sharp but kind eyes, a full beard of chestnut brown hair, and a mohawk ran down the center of his scalp, the sides shaved bald and covered in tattoos, the hair that was there was the same color as his beard and came down in wicked sideburns that framed his gruff looking face.
After quite a bit of coaxing, the figure was on her right, large, rough hands holding her injured left hand in the gentlest grip. Her hands were so small compared to his, her skin was pasty and slick with sweat and blood, dirt and grime from the forest floor mixing in to create a nauseous concoction of mud across her body.
She sniffed, shock from the night wearing off and everything that happened plummeted on her like an avalanche. She couldn't stop the tears that ran down her face, tracing clear paths in the dirt on her cheeks. She scooted towards the man, her savior, who looked marginally shocked at her sudden compliance.
Her body ached fiercely as she clung to him, the main areas of pain being the back of her right thigh, her left shoulder and her left hand. Her fingers dug into the other's clothing, harsh sobbs wracking her body as she huddled against him.
God, she had been fucking attacked. She would have died had this man not shown up! She was indebted to him, forever grateful for his timely appearance.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you-" she mumbled between the sobbing that burned her chest and throat. "Holy fuck, thank you thank you-"
Strong arms hesitantly wrapped around her shivering frame, running calloused hands up her uninjured shoulder.
The man mumbled something, slowly trying to pull away from Corvin, who stubbornly clung to him like an octopus. She made low noises of protest whenever he tried to move away and held him tighter, ignoring the pain it brought with. A large sigh heaved from her savior's mouth, and she found one arm wrapped around her back, and the next one going for her legs.
She gave a low yell of pain, her body jerking as his thick arm applied pressure to her injured leg and the man withdrew as if she had burned him. His eyes searched her face for a good bit, looking for an explanation as he talked to her in that low sounding voice, concern written across his face.
Corvin shook her head, not understanding a word.
"I-I don't understand." she mumbled, getting a confused look in return. The man then looked at his arm, where blood from her leg smeared across the cloth of his tunic. He reached under her again, but instead of picking her up, she felt the barest brush of fingers along her thigh. She hissed as his fingers grazed her injury, and he pulled back quick, looking down at his bloodied fingers first with alarm, then understanding.
He said something again to her, and when she shook her head he huffed, a slightly pinched look coming across his face. He pointed at her, at her chest and then pointed downward, at the ground firmly. He did it again when he received a blank look.
"Oh, do you… do you want me to remain here?" she copied his movements and he gave her a sharp nod. Her eyebrows drew together, but she nodded back, only to make a surprised noise as he pulled away fully. She leaned forward, trying to grasp at his clothes, to make him stay, to not leave her behind with a cooling corpse and injuries. She made a desperate sound, fear and anxiety clogging her gut as she grasped at the air where he had been standing.
"Don't leave me, please!" she called up to the man, who was shorter than she had thought. In the back of her mind she noted, she'd be a decent bit taller than him, a head taller. The man grunted something out again, fiddling with something along his collar. She then felt a firm, warm weight settle over her shoulders. The stranger had placed some sort of cloak upon her shoulders.
It was large, and lined with soft fur. The texture on the outside was as gruff as it's owner, but the inside was smooth and soft, worn down by years of use. It smelled of leather and iron, smoke and a faint whiff of something alcoholic.
She looked up at her savior once again, who motioned to her again, then back to the ground. She huffed once, burying herself in the cloak.
The man seemed to take this as compliance, and marched off into the trees, disappearing. Now that she was alone, Corvin had a moment to think.
Pointedly ignoring the mangled body of her former attacker, Corvin scanned her surroundings.
Lush green forests, thick foliage. Some plants she recognized, some were completely foreign. She looked along the ground, noting that, when she fell, a good deal of other things fell with her. Papers, knickknacks, an old birthday gift bag that she forgot to toss weeks ago. And was that a bag? She scooted over to the object, careful of her injuries. Yes, it was her bag, but it was her school bag, and it was full of odd textbooks on art history, the techniques of 2D to 3D imagery, a small ASL textbook, and a chemistry textbook. Fatload of good it would do at the moment, besides reminding her of her impending mountains of student debt. Huffing angrily, Corvin shoved the bag to the side, looking around the clearing once again to-
Fucking best of luck. There was the shotgun case.
It was unopened, the large black case sat at a weird angle against a tree, but it looked undamaged. But if the shotgun was here, where was- there, there was the box for her handgun, and strewn about the litter on the ground was the bullets for it. Now she needed to find her gun.
Corvin heaved a sigh and scooted towards the boxes. She picked up every bullet she could spot with her good hand, going over the ground three times just to be thorough. She was thankful for the cloak, it was warm and helped temper down the shivers that ranked through her body. It also put her mind at ease somewhat, feeling marginally safe being covered on all sides. Like a kid who put their head under their blanket to escape the monsters under their bed.
Her whole body ached, and the places of her injuries burned with pain every moment, so she tried to keep still when she could. However, she didn't know when her savior would come back, so she needed to get her stuff together.
Using her good arm with the bad hand (her other arm as a whole was useless now) she dragged over her backpack and put the handgun box inside before propping the bag against the tree.
This was when the man, the not-dead one, returned to the clearing. He was about as graceful as a herd of elephants, and she could hear his stomping long before he trudged into the clearing. He was hauling what appeared to be a shit ton of rope with him. He pulled the rope from his shoulder, letting it fall to the ground in a heap. He then began to move around in the trees, picking up pieces of wood, throwing some in a small pile near the ropes, and dropping the rest.
Corvin, who had since regained her bearings from before, watched him, both wary and curious. The rational part of her brain was warning her against this man, he was an unknown variable. And it wouldn't be until later that she realized, from what she could see, he didn't speak a lick of English. Honestly, from what she would hear, it sounded like he was speaking two different languages and switched between them at random. One was rough and harsh on the ears, she could only imagine what it would do to her throat if she tried speaking it. The other was… jumpy? No, jumpy wasn't the right word. Jerky or abrupt would be the right words. There were jolting sounds in the middle or end of the words that broke up the string of sentences in odd ways, but then it would be smooth and flowing for the rest. It was as if someone had taken two languages and smashed them together, like two incomplete puzzles being combined, uncaring for the uneven images they made, just putting pieces together.
Corvin watched as the mad built what appeared to be a stretcher; two long pieces of wood with the rope woven between them in a net pattern.
Corvin began to move, gathering her things as she realized what he was aiming to do.
She found a lot of stuff and placed what she could in her bag. It looked like whatever had been on her floor in her bedroom had fallen here with her. Besides her guns, she re-found her hairbrush, a bucket and some strewn cloths, a small lap blanket, some purple yarn with a single crochet needle sticking out of it, and (strangely enough) the orb from her mantle. The mugger must have carried it with him from the living room and dropped it right as he went to grab her. Corvin placed the brush, yarn, needle and orb into the bag, cramming it along with her textbooks.
He came over then, lightly picking her up and scooting her onto the makeshift stretcher. She gestured to the stuff with a questioning noise. There was no room for the bucket of clothes and cases with her.. The man didn't even bat an eye, hauling the cases onto his shoulder and handing her the bucket and bag. He then proceeded to carry her and all her belongings out of the area. He had a surprising amount of strength, stomping through the woods as he dragged everything without a hint of fatigue.
Corvin however, was losing the battle with unconsciousness. Blood loss and waning adrenaline combined proving too much, she tilted her head back into the ropes of the stretcher and passed out.