Chapter 24
Once Upon A Time in the West
Part 6
Intermission
Lying face down on the table, Erron tried to recall the number of times he had bullets pulled out of him. If he remembered correctly, most of the innumerable instances had taken place in Outworld. He found that almost ironic enough to laugh at if he was in the mood. Given the fact that he was an Earthrealmer, born in the unforgiving Wild West, most would have guessed that was where he received most of his wounds. They would have been correct— at least about the ones that they could count on him.
The small, discolored beige dots that he had alongside his ribcage came from a Pinkerton agent's shotgun. He missed his target, but Black still got nicked and in the end, did the job of slowing him down for them to catch him.
There were two on his legs: one on the thigh that barely missed the main artery— that came from a Colt— and one on the side of his calf that he got from a Derringer under the table at a poker game.
The mark on his nose…
He sighed softly. If there was one scar he wanted to remove it was that particular one. Black knew that the nose was always an easy target— hell, he aimed for it the same as any man in a fist fight— still, despite the long list of people that had connected their fists with his, there was always one particular moment he associated it with. It was the most prominent and bitter memory even after all these years. However, that was a Pandora's box that he had buried long ago.
Then, of course, there were the tally marks on both of his arms. The bounty hunter hadn't lied when he told the guard in the Coliseum it was his résumé. The gunslinger had found himself in a foreign land before Outworld. With no way to communicate, there was only one way for him to let the natives know what he was. It only took one person that could speak English, and asked, before word spread. Even with money filling his pockets here and there, he had been impoverished and hungry. As time went on, and he got older and more experienced, he got paid for more important targets and spent fewer nights with a growling stomach.
When he got to Outworld, marking himself was pointless since his body healed more efficiently than his previous mortal skin had since meeting Shang Tsung. The scars on his arm still played the same role in the more savage realm as they had in Earthrealm and the culture shock dissipated quicker now that he could communicate. Black remembered being surprised by that, and sometimes filled his bouts of boredom with how remarkable of a coincidence it was. Still, the lack of language barrier had been the only break he had caught.
Even after all these years, he was still an unwelcome pilgrim and was even more so during Shao Kahn's rule. There had been a few scuffles he had to shoot his way out of; just because some folks didn't appreciate an Earthrealmer trespassing in their realm. However, just like China, he was scrupulous and stayed patient. Once again, word of mouth and the tally marks saved him from starvation, but it had taken him longer to gain a respected reputation in such a hostile land. Outworld was much more perilous and if not for Shang's magic, then he most certainly would have been dead from just the exotic game he had been paid to hunt and the scars that should have been on his body.
They were there, though, almost translucent, and in the right lighting, Erron could still make them out if he truly cared to. He thought of them as nothing more as a bad day of hunting. Camouflaged among the lashes on his back, there were eggshell-colored lines from a sword's multiple graze. Hidden under his curtain of hair along the side of his throat, there was a scar from where an arrowhead nearly slit him open before he dodged out of the way in time.
He'd been shot and stabbed by Black Dragon, Red Dragon, and every knife-wielding and gun smuggler he came across. They scabbed and disappeared as if nothing had happened. Still, he couldn't recall a bullet that hurt more to remove than the bugs in his whipped back. Pellets, shrapnel, and rounds didn't constantly move around with a mind of their own — and they also didn't chew on his flesh the longer they stayed inside.
Black hissed though his teeth when the pliers turned sharply inside the cut that ran down his spine. Each time, the thick leather strap that laid by his head grew more and more tempting to put between his teeth. Stubbornly, he refused, and now his pained jaw was reprimanding him for it. Erron was getting rather frustrated with not only the bugs still crawling around but with the person with the pliers as well.
"I'm sorry," Norah uttered. It hadn't escaped his notice that there was less and less concern in her voice every time she apologized. He didn't consider it as her being uncaring because a worried disposition stayed on her face. Perhaps, she was just as tired as saying it as much as Erron was of hearing it.
"Quit sayin' you're sorry every damn minute and just get the goddamn thing out," Black griped. His knuckles turned white as he held on to the end of the table.
The gunslinger had only been awake for a day, and Norah for half of it, which she spent that time trying to fish out the rest of the Lactroquin. The bevy of dead insects in the bowl had grown since the baker had grabbed the pliers, but there were still a few relentless parasites inside him that refused to leave. It hadn't been the first time Erron had come across these bugs— they were often found in the Kuatan Jungle. They enjoyed swarming a sick or dying animal, biting their way into their skin before releasing their venom inside their victim. The unfortunate host would pass out from the toxin and then die in a couple of days, long enough for the Lactroquin to eat what they could, lay eggs and then die themselves.
According to her, they had started to lay eggs inside of him when they first brought him into the room. Black was grateful that he had been unconscious for the amount of time he had been, or the revelation would have even more repulsed him. It was disgusting enough to feel them scuttle painfully inside him, let alone laying their next generation in his skin and using him as an incubator.
He let out a sharp groan and exhaled with relief when the pliers pulled out of him. His fingers relaxed on the wooden table's edge but continued to hold on with a secure grip. His groan wasn't the only sound of pain that could be heard in the pitiful impression of a hospice. All it was a holding cell, even if there were no locks on the doors. None of the injured could leave until they could walk, himself included, and the guards were only present in the rooms as precautionary security for the doctors in the room. However, the men and women healers taking care of the other visitors from the Coliseum seemed about as indifferent as the guards.
Erron had only seen his healer once, a humorless older man that reminded him of a weathered scarecrow, who had only came by to give Norah the solvent needed to burn away infection and any stray eggs she couldn't remove.
Black suddenly heard that sharp but gratifying clang of the pliers hitting the bowl and looked to see her discard another of the dead insects inside. "Do you feel anymore?" Norah asked him.
The marksman paused for a moment and assessed for himself. Despite that his back throbbed with pain constantly, whenever the bugs moved around it was quite obvious. In a way, he was thankful for the abrupt twinge every time they wiggled about— he didn't want her to miss any. It was best just to get it done now while he had his flesh open now instead of slicing it apart later because he was impatient to leave.
Part of that impatience, he knew, was to make sure that he returned to the palace before any of his fellow Kahn's guards were aware of his absence. Ironically, he had all the time in the world due to his seemingly endless years, but he'd rather not waste any of it by telling any of his comrades a long, convoluted story primarily regarding the limits of his conscious. The truth was the only obvious explanation, because, at the moment, he was having a hard time thinking of a lie that the Emperor or the others would be willing to swallow. Curiosity hit him, and he wondered what speculations the people in the Coliseum had reached. Or if they even cared and were just ecstatic enough to see him get whipped.
Black hissed in pain and curled his fist when he felt something scratch under the skin of his right shoulder blade. It was nowhere near any of the lashes — from what little he could tell — and Norah only confirmed it when he heard her sigh heavily behind him.
"I have to make a cut. It crawled too far away."
"So get on with it," he growled tiredly.
Striding placidly for better access to his shoulder, he caught the fabric of her blue dress in the corner of his eye. The mercenary took a quick glance at her face and saw her bite her bottom lip tentatively as she reached for the small, but razor sharp knife. Perhaps a couple of weeks ago, when she proved him wrong by pulling the trigger of his own gun, he would have distrusted her with a knife so close to him. It had been clear that she meant him no harm now, in fact, it looked as if she felt guilty for his current state of pain. Erron had to wonder, if their roles were reversed, if he would have even bothered taking the bugs from her back. Shamefully, he already knew the answer: he would have left it to the doctors.
While she had every reason to be thankful for him taking the lash for her, they both knew that the baker didn't really need to attend to him. It was obvious she had an extreme distaste of bugs — possibly phobia for them; Erron had caught her once or twice shivering with disgust while looking at the bowl. Still, she continued with her work without complaint or request that 'he be grateful she even bothered to help' when she had reminded him so many times in the past, he was unworthy of it.
It was kind of odd to him to see her so willing to help, mainly because he thought he would have never seen it despite earning her forgiveness had been his goal. It felt alien to him to see her doing anything kind for him. Black could tell that she felt the same way. Her body language, the way she tip-toed with her words and her movements, made all too clear to him that she was uncomfortable showing him anything other than hatred. It had been as common as breathing to her, and now that she had no reason to, was lost on how to act around him. Perhaps, she thought he was still angry with her, and he supposed he had a reason to be after the unjust beating. She appreciated it; the nod from the stands confirmed that she did, as well as helping him now. However, they both knew that she hadn't forgiven him fully just yet, even if he did a couple of good deeds.
Black stared intently at her when he continued to wait on the knife to slice skin. Her eyes danced and glazed over as if she was watching a scene that he had no invitation viewing and made him reconsider that perhaps she wasn't nervous about him.
It had been obvious in the stadium, just from her fear alone, she had been dreading going back to the palace. Hulin had only made it abundantly clear when he displayed his possessive character earlier. With her thoughts a million miles away, the knife in her hand and knowing Hulin's cannibalistic nature, it wasn't hard to decipher what she was thinking.
The baker was contemplating her death: when it would come, in what form and how excruciating it would be. There was also the sickening possibility that he wouldn't kill her either— at least not at first. Either prospect was horrible, and they both knew that there was no escaping it. Black knew he couldn't give her a head start since he had been court ordered to escort her back. Tama had requested that to the Barristers, and Erron wondered how long the idea to sell the Baker to Hulin had been considered. She couldn't leave on her own with the guards standing nearby. The palace was her precipice with no other detour, and he was the hand at her back forced to push her along.
Black may have endured the whip and would have to bite his lip when he handed over his coins to Tama, but it was still the ex-cup bearer that was still being punished. The bounty hunter's eyes traveled along her face, stopping at every bruise. Even if it was with him, it seemed that it was the only peaceful intermission she had for awhile.
"Was it the guards, or did he stop by your cell?" it was a brash question and no matter how delicate his tone, he knew it was a hard inquiry for her to answer. The only reason he had asked, was to pull her from her thoughts momentarily. He had a feeling it was the guards since it was common and even if it was an unpleasant memory, was the only way to cloud over the grim future ahead of her.
Norah shook her head, returning to the present and cast her green eyes down at him. Erron expected her to look at him with disdain for prodding into such a delicate affair, but she still didn't show him resentment for the question; as if she knew he would ask it eventually. The corner of her mouth flickered into an emotionless smile before she answered that it was the guards.
"They wanted to know what an Earthrealmer looked like underneath clothing," Norah's lip curled up for a moment, and he could feel the heat from her anger smoke the space around them. The marksman felt pity for her, even when she exhaled and sourly remarked under her breath, almost to herself: "It was not the first time I encountered that question."
Black looked at her bruised face with an astute and heavy frown. "I take it they didn't ask as nicely as the others before them."
Norah scoffed disdainfully at him. "It was never a nice question."
Erron cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Did they— "
"No," Norah interrupted. Her eyes blazed over with contempt, not at him, but the memory itself. "But they certainly got their wish..."
He raised an eyebrow at her, and with an impatient sigh, she glared at him and said: "They did not rape me. They only wanted to embarrass me for my deformity of being an Earthrealmer, even though they should be the ones embarrassed themselves from the bruises I left on them."
"Hate to see what the other guy looks like," Black quipped somewhat dolefully, although there was a small smirk on his face. Of course she gave them slap or two and he nodded in approval at that.
Norah failed to see the humor behind his joke and scowled at him.
The ex-Earthrealmer didn't bother commenting any further; there was no point continuing with a conversation that was clearly uncomfortable for the both of them. Despite what happened, what occurred with the guards seemed the furthest thing from her mind at the moment, even if she didn't exactly take it in her stride, either. Black understood — there were other uncertain, but impending things ahead to worry about. He did catch himself wondering how many times she had run into that question, since he also knew what it felt like.
It had always been a perverse inquiry, especially when he did not have his deadly reputation to help him sway away those stupid enough to try and discover the answer. There was nothing significant about it other than to be an imperious method for Outworlders to remind him that he was unwelcome. Whenever women asked, it either left him more cranky and irritated being bothered. If they were good-looking though he'd often 'dared to let them find out for themselves.' The Kahn's guard had gotten a few women in bed with that line.
For her, however, he assumed it was an entirely different circumstance. While he used it to his advantage, she couldn't unless she wanted to be labeled as a whore. In retrospect, he understood it was just another way for Outworlders to call her one. It was hateful in his shoes, but at times not always, even if it wasn't the best flirtation. For her, it was nothing but scornful. Erron chewed the inside of his lip when he realized that it bothered him in the same regard as hearing one of his fellow guardsmen ridiculed. The origin of their skin gave them a bond of comradeship, but the fact that they both saw themselves as Outworlders made that connective string as strong as spider's silk.
Black could tell that it bothered her, but she ignored it and stayed focused on what she had before her. That was something to commend until he considered her previous words. He frowned at the revelation; the only reason she didn't dwell on it was because she was used to.
He groaned slightly when the scalpel pierced his skin and she dragged it across. Inhaling sharply through his nose, he averted his eyes to the stone floor and only closed them when she replaced the knife with her fingers. The gunslinger stiffened and hissed through his teeth as her slender fingers prodded under his skin. Thankfully, it didn't take her long to remove the bug, and as soon as her hand lifted off him, he felt instant relief. The stinging he had been enduring had finally left, leaving him with only the pain from the lashes to deal with. It didn't mean that he was out of the woods yet.
With his blood coating her fingertips, Erron watched as she squeezed her thumb and index finger together and squished the last of the bugs before discarding the remains of its crushed body in the bowl. Picking up the white rag, soiled red from previous attempts, she cleaned her hand off and reached for solvent that had been forgotten on the chair. Norah sat down, trying to ignore his stare, and began unrolling the white cloth in her lap, also provided by the doctor. Erron watched, mostly due to boredom, as she began to separate the sections until they were enough to cover the lashes.
Every so often, the fabric would rip louder— sharper; a victim of her frustration. A maelstrom of turbulent thoughts brewed behind her eyes, darkening them as she stewed awkwardly in her seat. Erron rose an eyebrow at her when her eyes flickered to him briefly before they went back to the cloth. Her eyes avoided him, and it was evident from her discomfort alone that it was a temptation she was fighting. They both knew she wanted to address something, but was unsure how to go about.
Black was going to get it out of her, demand it with a simple order to voice it instead of letting it haunt the both of them, but she beat him to it.
Norah stopped ripping apart the fabric, swallowed the lump in her throat and looked at him. It took her a moment, almost as if the words had never been uttered and she wasn't sure how to use her mouth to form the syllables.
"For what you did..." the former maid began, her fingers ringing the cloth nervously in her hands. "Thank you."
The marksman withheld his acknowledgment for a moment, knowing that there was an additional catch to her gratitude, and waited for her to continue.
"But why did you?" she asked, shaking her head, almost as if the question was obsolete only because they both knew the reason. Erron had no doubt she knew the answer, but the desperation to hear it come from him, in his own words, was the only way to lay her doubts to rest. Everything he had done had contradicted the type of person she saw him as — a heartless bastard. Erron Black was still that same heartless bastard in many ways, but not all of Outworld's unforgiving culture had forever snuffed out his humanity.
"You know why," Erron mumbled.
"I have some idea, yes," the former cupbearer admitted. Still she looked at him with a small gaze of dubiousness at his reply. Almost defiantly, she still floundered against accepting his explanation.
She still held to her hatred of him, even if it did go through a slight metamorphosis since he spared her the lash. From the little he knew about her, mistrust was a permanent aspect of her personality, one that he could understand as well. Her new demeanor to him wasn't exactly unusual to him, and he wondered if she realized he had seen it before. The day they met, when he had walked into the tavern to scratch his itch with liquor, she had regarded him with the same level of distrust. They were back at square one, only this time, Erron Black wasn't as quite as predictable as he had been back then. Before, she knew how he would treat her, now though, they seemed to both be at a loss.
"However," Norah began, her eyes flashing to him with a pointed look. "It does not mean that it erases all the past things you have done."
Erron felt himself roll his eyes at that; exhausted, hearing the same thing over and over that they both already knew. "Didn't expect it to," he acknowledged with an exasperated sigh. "You've reminded me enough that it wouldn't."
"Then why did you do it?" she blurted firmly, her eyebrows narrowed in a hard line. "The entire time I have known you, you have made it clear that I am nothing more than dirt on your shoe, so why would you volunteer to do anything nice for me? Every action before that has either been to get rid of me, or remind me of how insignificant I am. Even if you did help me escape, that was still for your own benefit."
Erron chewed the inside of his lip, holding back the firey rebuttal that wanted to silence her. The baker was still not done, and he watched as she slumped in the chair. Defeat layered over her irritated expression, and she refused to look at him. In a way, it was almost droll to see her so confused by something that he did, even if that reason for what he did was obvious. The gunslinger knew she was smart enough to comprehend it but stubbornly refused to believe him capable of such a good human stunt.
It brought a question to mind: "Are you sour that I did somethin' for you, or that someone did something nice for you?"
Her eyes immediately darted to him, burning with offense at his question, scoffed and turned away. "I have had nice things done for me," she argued.
Black rolled his eyes. "So it only makes you mad when I do something?"
"You only do things for yourself," Norah pointed out bluntly.
"And you don't?" Erron snorted. "Everyone— even you— are selfish when it comes to savin' their own hide."
She bit her lip in contemplation before she sighed heavily. "I suppose that is true," Norah confessed. The girl mulled over what to say next, and for a moment the gunslinger saw her nod her head minutely. Her green eyes clouded with what he perceived as either confusion or shame; perhaps both. "The truth of the matter is, if I had the choice to, I would have not taken the whip for you."
The mercenary nodded in understanding and shrugged as much as he could in his state. "I know."
Judgmental emeralds flashed to him, and he saw them soften for a moment to try and decipher his message. "So why?"
"Because I ain't the one that was owed an apology," Erron clarified with a harsh, impatient tone. "That's the truth and I don't care if you swallow it down or not. Villainize it all you want, but it won't change the fact there was nothing for me to gain from takin' your place.
Blinking at him, Norah sat up a little straighter in her chair. Her lips parted and closed softly, as if struggling to find something in response to his admittance. He felt confident that he had finally silenced any rebuke she could have shot at him. The girl seemed almost as abashed by the declaration as much as he was to admit it. Erron Black wasn't a man made for expressing regret for anything that he did. The hired gun still wasn't, and he couldn't remember the last person he apologized to. The silence that had be born from his honest disclosure seemed to weigh heavier on her than it did for him — in fact, it was more of a weight off his shoulders. It kept her mute and motionless for several minutes as if she was one of those stone people in the People's Tribunal mural.
A wave of affliction rolled over her face, creasing it slightly the same time her eyes began to burn and water. Ignorant to whatever though had suddenly upset her, Erron gave her space by looking away and choosing to focus on the stone ground under him. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught the flash of her hand move to catch the tear that rolled out against her permission. Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Norah cleared her throat and turned back to him with a stoic expression he didn't address; keeping his gaze firmly on the floor.
"You turned your back," the woman murmured. Her voice trembled with a despondent timbre. "When you clearly knew I needed your help."
Black had no idea why dragging the past up again seemed necessary after she had reminded him so many times, but he played along. Looking at her, he nodded his head dolefully.
Slouching more into the chair, Erron watched the muscles in her face tighten. "You helped Tama turn me into a servant and then treated me with as much hatred as she did."
Another minute nod of the head, letting the former slave know he recognized the part he played. Black had let coins cloud his judgment; if he had ignored Tama like he should have done, things would have been extremely different.
"You broke into my room and tried to kill me," Norah continued, her nostrils flaring while her voice trembled with rage. Deadpan in his expression, but with his eyes clouded with undeniable guilt, he gave another nod of his head in attestation for his crime.
Tilting her head to the floor, she let out a small sigh. Erron would have thought she would keep continuing reading off her mental list of his past mistakes, but paused for what felt like the longest of minutes.
"I also put a gun to your head… ready to kill you as well," remorse filled her voice at the admission. A sardonic scoff left her lips as she shook her head. "Unlike you, I pulled the trigger. I suppose in some small way, that makes me worse than you."
Black gave a small 'hmph' in response, dubious about the amount of validity in her words considering his reputation. Erron flashed her a lackluster smile which she saw but didn't respond to; her attention was wrapped up in what words to say next.
"You… you saved Abigail when I asked you to..." her voice cracked at the mention of the old woman's name and her train of thought stopped abruptly. Tears ran down her face, but before she let them drop onto the fabric of her dress, she wiped them away. Composing herself, she continued on: "You had never done anything I asked you to before, especially when it was the kind thing to do… and that was what you did as well in the Coliseum, only this time… I did not ask you to…"
Looking back at him, her eyes glazed over with doubt and more tears, she bit her lip in silence as if doing it purposely to keep herself from saying the wrong thing. Still, her cynicism for him was as easy to feel as heat from a high sun. Slowly, as if she agreed to finally submit to it and reserve her stubbornness for another time, Norah swallowed and exhaled through her nose.
"You are able to be…selfless, afterall," she said, her shoulders sliding against the back of the chair, almost in defeat. "I am sure it was not an easy thing for you to do."
The corner of Black's mouth lifted briefly into a bitter smile. "It's why I'm not so fond of being generous."
"Believe me, I have noticed," Norah blurted with a cold stare. It only lasted momentarily before she focused back on the cloth in her hands. After ripping a few long and thin sections, she softened her demeanor and said: "But I suppose, you would not be Erron Black if everyone else knew what you were capable of besides being good with a firearm."
Erron raied a puzzled eyebrow at her, unsure if she was struggling to find a compliment better than that or if she was really that shitty at giving them out. If he had to gamble on it, though, his gut told him it was the latter. Regardless, he smiled lightly at it.
"Do not worry; your secret will remain safe. You have a reputation to uphold, after all," The baker teased with a stoic, but somewhat condescending tone. Erron caught her smirking briefly at her own humor for a moment as she rose to her feet with the fabric and the blue bottle in her hand. Erron let out a short and curt chuckle at the back of his throat that even on his own ears, sounded more of a scoff than anything.
"Much obliged," he remarked back sarcastically. Norah turned towards him with an austere look of contemplation. For a second, Erron could have sworn she was suddenly regretting what she had said as if she had betrayed herself. Maybe, she was eating crow for what she assumed about him at first, but the thought didn't sit well with him. Or maybe she was just disgusted with herself for lowering herself for degrading her integrity by apologizing to him; after all, he was just a greedy, cold-blooded snake — even now Black could see that her opinion hadn't changed very much.
It was only affirmed when Norah looked at him and rolled her eyes with an acrimonious and almost snotty look to match her tone: "Do not be mistaken. I still hate you."
Black found the statement annoying, but yet, still humorous. It could have been her unrelenting and petty stubbornness, or perhaps it was just the manner in which she had said it; like it was a way to convince herself. Regardless, the Kahn's guard could sense there still some truthfulness, even if it didn't come as earnest as she had tried to make it sound.
"Same," Erron returned with a nod. It could have been the pain, or maybe just being tired and dehydrated, but for a split second, he could have sworn he saw her smile faintly in response. The light-heartedness of their shared witticism didn't last very long, almost as if they both remembered the firm reasons for disliking each other were still stone written laws between them. Her listless demeanor returned just as quickly his bitter mood, and once again, their incommodious silence returned; thickening the air and not allowing either of them to get comfortable.
The injured Kahn's guard heard the cork squeak as his voluntary nurse, sank her teeth around the plug, and placed it on the chair. Slowly, she walked back over to him and tipped the bottle over his back. As soon as the clear liquid burned its way over his wounds, the marksman hissed through his teeth until the pain subsided into a sharp, but mild ache. After rinsing the cuts, Erron felt her patting his back as gently as she could, cleaning any overflow on his back that wasn't aiding him. His blunt fingernails curled across the surface of the wooden table each time the gunslinger felt her hit a tender spot.
"These are already beginning to close. Is it the sorcerer's magic?" Norah suddenly questioned after a quick but strained clear of the throat.
Black's lip curled up into an emotionless grin. "It's all me," he sarcastically joked. Erron heard her scoff and even without turning to look at her, knew she was rolling her eyes.
"Must be nice to heal so quickly," she patronized.
"It is," the marksman preened with a lazy grin. He hissed through his teeth when she dabbed too roughly on one of the more delicate spots in the middle of his back.
"It is a shame you did not think to immune yourself from pain as well," the woman commented.
"Immune to time was good enough," Erron snapped, hot air blowing out of his nostrils. One by one, he felt her start to lay cold sections of fabric on top of his burning back. After a few irritating moments of the cloth scratching at him, he rose his arms up, folded them in front of him and let his chin rest on the top of one of his wrists.
"What did you have to do?"
The bounty hunter lifted his head off his arm minutely at the question and the resentful tone she asked with; almost as if she already knew the grim nature of what the job was before asking.
"What's it to you?" Black snorted.
"I am just curious," she shrugged.
"Get curious about somethin' else then. It ain't your business," he huffed.
"No it is not, and I suppose I do not need to ask," Norah pestered. "You killed someone for Shang Tsung—everyone knows that. I was just curious who it was."
Erron didn't respond; there was no need to. As she had said, there really was no reason for her to ask when the answer was so obvious. It was one of those instances where street gossip was the truth, and there was no need to confirm nor deny it whenever the subject was brought up. He didn't usually try and clarify any rumors about him, other than he was as good of a shot as he claimed, and that he considered himself more of an Outworlder than anything. Taking the realm to heart, was the only way to preserve his reputation and guarantee his buyers that he was loyal, even if it ironically sometimes caused others to view him in a traitorous light for abandoning his mother realm. Association with Shang Tsung had helped some, and it was the only rumor he didn't attempt to snuff out. He just stiffened every time he heard his name and the sorcerer's in the same sentence. Black never did like the man…
"Do you remember the names of all of them?"
Erron's eyebrows pressed into a hard line. "What?"
"The marks on your arms. Do you remember their names?" Norah clarified, unabashed. Black shouldn't have been surprised; she wasn't exactly known for her filter, even if he did think it too brazen of her to ask a personal question. The mercenary wondered if she was just making small talk to fill in the awkward gaps of silence, or if she was purposely trying to offend him.
Looking at her, and trying to read if it was the latter before he shot back something nasty, he could see that it was just to fill in the silence; Norah was only somewhat interested in his answer, and her stoic expression held no indication that the question was meant to be hostile. Bold, but not purposefully trying to be annoying. Still didn't mean he had to answer her question.
The baker didn't badger him any further about it when he chose not to say anything and instead continued her work in silence.
As soon as all the wraps were placed on him, he heard her footsteps leave from the table. He had thought he heard something about 'getting food' but Black hadn't been listening. His stomach growled at the mention of food, and he was pleased he didn't have to wait long. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her place a bowl next to his head before Norah retreated to her chair with her own.
Grunting, Erron reached over and grabbed the bowl next to him. The cuts in his back ached in protest from the movement, but it wouldn't stop him from getting something in his stomach. All it was brown broth with two small pieces of meat and a stale piece of bread inside the bowl, but Black didn't complain. Dipping the bread in, soaking it in the lukewarm broth, Erron gobbled it down greedily. By the time the gunslinger had eaten the little meat provided, and swallowed the bread, he noticed that she had not even touched her food.
He bridged his eyebrows in confusion at her, and he had to say it was the first time he had ever seen anyone be perturbed by a little bowl of soup. The speed that her sadness came about was enough to make him stop chewing and try to think of what could be disturbing her. The color on her face drained away the more she continued to hold in her breath. Her eyes slick with tears, Erron watched as they fell down her face. At first, Erron assumed that perhaps she was thinking about her less than desirable new owner, but for some reason, it didn't sit right; she hadn't been as emotional as she had been now.
"What's eatin' you?"
Her eyes shot to him, his words yanking her out of her daydream. Norah's tears seemed to bubble from the heat of her rage and for a moment, it caught him off guard. Everything screamed to him that, once again, Black had said the wrong thing to her, but this time he couldn't understand why. Erron hadn't been offensive with his tone, on the contrary, it was nothing more than a bland inquiry at it most nefarious. The bounty hunter narrowed his eyes at her in confusion when Norah's anger departed and nausea suddenly blanketed her face.
Springing up from her chair, knocking the food on the ground, she ran for the door with her mouth covered by her hand. The guard stationed by the door opened it for her with a pair of wide eyes full of repulsion and let her pass without objection.
Out of all his past instances with her, that was without a doubt the strangest. For a moment, Erron contemplated the idea of getting up and going after her. However, two factors kept him on the table instead: for one thing, he was still healing and thought it best not to trouble her. Consoling weeping women was not exactly an enticing duty, and he had never been any good at it, to begin with — the bounty hunter also doubted he was the last person she wanted comforting from as well.
"Let'em do what they need to first. Otherwise they'll never get it outta the way. Sometimes it's best not being nosy, son."
The corner of Erron's mouth picked up briefly at Abraham's words. The memory was long forgotten, but still funny even after all these years. The first time the younger Aaron had tried being nosy, he had ended up with a black eye. He had deserved it, and the 12-year-old had to walk through Abilene telling his fellow schoolmates, that he fell, instead of facing the wrath if he had told the truth that he had been punched by a girl. Aaron had teased her relentlessly, just small stuff, but to her, it hadn't been, and when one of the things he said made her cry, and he went to approach her, the strawberry blonde girl let him know how much she appreciated his attention.
Black was no fool, though, and he knew whatever was wrong with Norah wasn't the same problem a 12-year-old girl had. Still, Abraham's words held some weight, and since Erron had no other option, he chose to finish his soup but kept a watchful eye on the door.
The marksman woke up, unsure of when exactly he fell asleep, to the sound of a pair having a hushed conversation. Black was facing away from them, but could immediately identify Norah's voice and another man's. The three of them seemed to be the only ones awake at the moment, while the rest of the stone chamber's occupants slept under the glow of the moonlight that trespassed the iron bars on the high window. Without moving his head, Erron's blue eyes scanned the room and noticed that the guards were also asleep, and he could listen unimpeded without someone alerting Norah or the male she was talking to that he was eavesdropping.
Staying still, he tried to place the man's voice, who seemed far more familiar than it should have been. It didn't take Erron long to realize that it was the guard, Jan Fai, the one who was holding on to his guns until he was ready to leave.
"I am dead as soon as I leave this place," Norah lamented. "I may as well try to escape while I have the opportunity."
"The guards are doubled at night after the last few escape attempts," Jan Fai cautioned. "They would see you even if you did leave the Coliseum."
The baker sighed in frustration. "There is no point no matter the option I chose."
"Yes, there is," the tribunal guard retorted. "There is no guarantee that Hulin will kill you."
She scoffed disdainfully at his naïve remark. "You do not know this man."
"Why purchase you if only to kill you the instant you walk through the door?" Fai argued.
"I don't know!" Norah snapped. Erron heard her pause for a moment, all the while Jan Fai mute before he heard her start to sniffle; it wasn't long until the sound of her crying entered.
"Why was this life chosen for me?" she sobbed, trying to keep her voice as low as possible in fear of waking someone. "What have I done to deserve this?"
"It's the way of the world," Jan Fai reasoned as politely as he could. "If you want to get away from this, you must think of how to. You cannot afford to be foolish."
Norah breathed heavily, choosing to remain silent and allow her nerves to settle. She seemed to accept his words as an unmovable doctrine, and Erron had to agree, that there was certainly truth to what he said. If she wanted anything done, she had to make the move and not wait till fate got up off its ass.
"I know you are right," Norah agreed. "Tears do not solve anything. I… I just do not know how to escape from this. I feel so helpless."
"You're only helpless if you believe it," Jan assured.
"I acted so helplessly when he came..."
"You were overwhelmed by what he had done to Abigail, anybody would have reacted the same," Fai interrupted. Black's eyebrows bridged together at the young guardsman's statement before a frown worked its way on to his face. The old woman he had saved, the one that Norah had begged him to, was indeed dead it seemed. What he wanted to know was what Hulin had done to the woman that still haunted the bread maker's thoughts.
"I should have never left that night. I should have sought you ought another night," she divulged with a guilty conscious.
"You did not know, and what he did was horrible, but it was not your fault."
"I should have known when I saw… I did know…"
Jan Fai raised his voice, but it was still nothing more than a heated whisper. "You did not! Stop it!"
Another bout of silence drifted between the couple and gave Black a moment to gather the pieces and try and composite the semblance of a story. It only left him wanting to know the details and made him feel more intrusive when they continued after a few long minutes. What they said only kept muddling the already heavy mystery.
"I did not mean what I said when ' I should have not left,'" Norah apologized. "I did want to see you."
"I understood your meaning was about Abigail," he acknowledged. There was no reply to that, and Erron wondered if the conversation was going to be over after that until Jan Fai piped up.
"They were punished— the ones that attacked you. I saw to it," the male Outworlder informed.
The Kanh's guard heard her give a small sigh of relief, and say: "That at least makes me feel somewhat better."
"I feel somewhat responsible about it," Jan Fai conceded solemnly.
"There is no reason to, and I do not have any regrets about the decision I made, even after what happened," she paused and then gave a lifeless 'hmpf.' "And you are the one telling me that I should not blame myself."
Black heard Fai give a short, breathy sigh at the point she brought up. "Yes, that is true."
The gunslinger couldn't help but raise an eyebrow when he heard strange, quiet pause before Erron heard the sound of lips pulling apart. He remained immobile, and kept listening, but somehow felt as if he felt as if he had stumbled upon some sort of private scene.
"Thank you for saying that, as well for what you did," Norah said, her voice soft and gracious, but still sounded somehow unsure of what she was telling him. There was no doubt that she was grateful, but Erron had to wonder, even if they did share a night from what was implied, how much passion was in the kiss she gave him, or if was simply meant as a tool to get him off topic.
Jan Fai cleared his throat before Erron heard his chair scoot back against the stone floor and he said. "I should go."
"Alright," Norah murmured, it was obvious she felt dejected.
"I will see you before you leave," he promised. The baker didn't say anything, although he was certain there was something on her mind, as he walked away as quietly as possible like a wounded animal.
As soon as the bounty hunter heard the court guard leave through the door, he slowly turned his head and faced her direction.
The cupbearer, who seemed unsurprised that he was awake, looked at him with an annoyed expression. Imprudently, she flicked her eyebrows up at him as if aggressively questioning him to reveal what was on his mind.
"Didn't know you found a lover," Erron teased. He wasn't cruel, nor was he purposely trying to anger her, but still he knew that he could have chosen a better set of words to use. Even though she seemed to understand that it had merely been his way of expressing his observation, it still seemed to hit her hard.
Almost lifelessly, perhaps just too tired to argue with him, Norah stood up and sighed. Nevertheless, her green eyes still shot him with a strong look of malice for his comment and simply told him: "I would have to love him for that to be true."
Turning her back to him, the cupbearer walked through the door. At first, Black thought the statement was somewhat callous until he realized she had never meant it to be despite her defensive tone.
Black rolled his eyes and sighed with exasperation.
Perhaps Abraham had been right that he was too nosy.
The next few days passed between them without conversation. Erron spent the majority of his time staring at the new additions that came into the dungeon while Norah preoccupied herself with checking and replacing his bandages whenever boredom became unbearable.
Other times, she would leave his table and see if any of the other doctors or nurses needed assistance. Her invitation was accepted by a few, and she helped anyway she could, but most of the time they brushed her away. So for now, she was stuck catering to him. Black didn't talk much to her besides telling her where he was feeling discomfort, and for the most part, it was a good arrangement for the both of them.
Not to say that it couldn't have been better, but the Emperor's bodyguard assumed that it was best not to push each other's luck by saying anything. Silence seemed to be the only neutral medium they could reach. Besides, any grief that he could give her would no doubt be clouded by her anxiousness of returning to the Palace. Norah had repressed her fears for the moment… until the source of all her dread came waltzing through the door.
Norah had her back to both of the new occupants as Hulin entered into the room the same time his presence was overshadowed by Ermac's own; he noticed most of the other prisoners and guards in the room didn't even seem to notice the Edeanian. The construct's green eyes immediately found him and Black grumbled a curse when he started to make his way over to where he was. The baker, who didn't even seem to see the other Kahn's guard when she finally did turn around, turned white at the sight of her new contract owner standing in the doorframe.
Even though his back was still healing, Erron grunted as he began to sit up straight, his bones cracking as he worked his way up from laying on his stomach to sitting upright on the table. The ex-cupbearer had just begun replacing his old bandages for fresh ones. The moment he was seated Erron could already feel them slipping off of him as Ermac came forward.
Despite that she was not fond of Ermac, Norah still frowned when he turned to her with an indifferent, but still sharp enough stare, for her to understand that she was not needed as a spectator to their conversation. It seemed the Edenian had his own discussion in mind, and beckoned her with a jerk of his head towards the door.
At first, Erron thought he saw a flash of defiance in her eyes, but any minuscule amount that she did show was smothered by her downtrodden expression at him silently calling her. Timidly, her feet shuffled across the stone floor to him. Erron watched as they went through the doorframe and out of sight, and even with them gone, he still felt the slight pity for her.
"You did not inform the Kahn of your activities," Ermac accused. The being of ten thousand souls did not seem stirred at the sight of his condition and waited for an explanation.
"He doesn't need to know everything I do," Black growled. It was true, Kotal knew that Erron wasn't bound to the Palace as the others were and had accepted it for some time now. However, if Ermac was sent looking for him, it had to mean there was a development that needed his participation. "What is it?"
"The Emperor demands your attendance for the beheading of the rebels tomorrow."
The contract guard knew that he wasn't in the position to protest a summons—especially when he dragged Ermac to fetch him instead of a regular palace sentry. Kotal Kahn only used one of the other enforcers as a way to demonstrate to Erron that no was not an acceptable answer—only compliance.
"I'll be there," Black nodded.
His fellow guardsman nodded his reply and began making his departure. Black knew that Ermac wouldn't say anything to the Kahn unless Kotal asked and he knew the Emperor wouldn't until he returned to the palace tomorrow. By that time, Erron would have a sufficient enough lie that didn't involve telling him that he took a servant's beatings because of his unruly conscious.
Erron sighed. What the hell was he going to say?
Still, seated on the table, his blue eyes looked down at the floor below him. After days of laying in the same position, it beckoned him to stand; stretch his sore and stiff limbs, and get away from the damn table he was prisoned on.
Bracing his hands on the surface of the table, he slowly lowered himself until his boots made contact with the cold stone floor.
He never knew something as mundane as standing on his feet could feel so blissful, and it was the only word to describe it as Black finally left the medical table. Pain shot all through his back, and he groaned at the stinging pain that surfaced every time he moved. Some of the scabs that had already begun to form ripped when he straightened up, and he could feel the warm drops of his blood already running down his back, but ignored it.
Now that he could stand, Erron did the only thing he wanted to do for the first time in days— use the latrine in solitude. He would never mention it, but Black had held in his full bladder for the sake of his embarrassment and hers. It had been an inconvenient task each time he had need for the chamber pot that included having her use her strength to shift him to the side of the table. It had only gotten worse the first couple of days when he couldn't arch his back to reach the buttons of his trousers without immense pain. Almost as if he was a dying dog she felt obligated throwing her last bit of food at, Norah had to assist him with that as well. Thankfully, that had only occurred twice.
Lacing his fingers together, Erron flipped over both of his hands until the palms were faced away and cracked his fingers. Carefully, he strode to the door and tried to pay as much attention to his back as possible. The gunslinger's wounded back wasn't in as much agony, but each step still felt cumbersome.
Already halfway across the room, Black could feel the envious and hateful stares from the other whipped prisoners. They had weeks to heal, depending on the amount of lashes they received, and seeing him walking around only gave them more cause to feel anything but aversion to the Kahn's guard.
Erron rose his eyebrows in a curt acknowledgement at them that he truly didn't care what they thought. The guard standing by the entrance of the door looked him over with a skeptical frown, and before he could order him back to his table, Erron interjected: "Just takin' a piss. Mind tellin' me where I can do that? Or should I do it on the floor?"
The tribunal guard scoffed but allowed him to pass. "To the left all the way down the hall."
Black wondered as he passed through the door, if the guards were always so gullible—it would have been an opportune moment to collect his guns and kill who he wanted—or if the guardsman truly didn't think Erron had it in him to do anything vigorous and deadly.
Perhaps there was truth to that, because when Erron got outside the door, he wished he had his full strength. The Kanh's guard had only caught the tail end of their conversation, but he didn't need to see Hulin pulling her face forward with his hand under her chin to see that his mouth on her's was unwanted.
There were guards stationed at both ends of the stone hallway, but none of them even bothered to turn their heads in the direction of the Edenian until Norah's hand came up and slapped him brutally across the face. Hulin had just pulled away from her when she had done it— the kiss looked merely like a peck on the lips— but his invasive and undesired attention was enough to propel her off whatever ledge she had been balancing on trying to keep her composure around him.
The slap was enough to cause Hulin to step back, but still she did not allow him any time to recoil from her continued onslaught. The cupbearer seethed at him, her eyes filled with rage while her face contorted into disgust.
"You son of a bitch!" Her open palm struck his face once more and caused him to stagger back even farther. Norah launched at him, this time, her hand curled into a fist. Prepared, this time, Hulin managed to block her punch by simply holding his arm out, creating a shield. The baker didn't let it stop her, and as if she was unaware, or didn't care he had her wrist in his hand to keep her at bay, her opposite arm wrapped around the back of his neck and tried to pull his face towards the fist that bucked in his grasp. When she couldn't, she resorted to thrashing and screaming at him as much as she could.
For the moment, Black was unsure if he wanted to intervene only because he felt that Norah certainly deserved to vent her anger out on him, but the moment that he saw the guards abandon their station and make their ways towards the altercation, was when Erron decided he should do something.
Norah had managed to slip her wrist from his grip and left a set of red claw marks down Hulin's face before the gunslinger was able to pull her from the Edenian in a bear hug. The torturer only raised a single eyebrow as she continued to buck and strain against the marksman, and every time the baker thrashed, Erron could feel his scabs breaking apart. He didn't care for the moment and contained his attention on the screaming, vehement woman trying to break out of his hold.
As if finally accepting that she was not going to be let free, Norah attacked him with her words instead. "You murdered her! You son of a bitch— you murdered her!"
Whatever Norah had planned to say next, died to make room for the mournful sob that echoed across the hall like a weeping ghost. Erron could tell she was repeating the same thing over and over, even if it was hard to decipher over the sounds of her bemoaning. The mercenary felt her fight dwindle away but continued to hold her in spite of the pain as she began to slump in his arms.
With her head hanging down, Black could feel each time her body shivered, and each tremor sent tears cascading to the floor. Norah had her fingers over his hands, trying to pry them off when she had been fighting him, but now her fingers remained lax against the top of his hand. He could feel his hand burn from where she had scratched him, but it was nothing compared to the pain that had flooded his back. Still, Erron paid no attention to it, especially when he caught sight of Hulin's face.
The Edenian seemed annoyingly smug, even if his face was blank, as he touched his cheek and frowned at the blood droplets on his fingers. Looking at her with disapproval, he said: "It was never personal, my dear— as I had mentioned to you before."
Erron felt her exhale in his arms before her head lifted to him. Her bun had come undone in the scuffle, and the curtain of greasy, stringy hair that curtained around her face made her look like a wrathful banshee.
"I will kill you for it," Norah growled malignantly." That is how personal it is to me."
The Palace employee gave her an amused sneer as if her words had came from a child, and turned his back to them without uttering another word. The two guards that had come over to stop her looked at the pair of false Earthrealmers, and seeing that she was under control, they as well turned their back and returned to their post.
Erron could sense that while she was under control, she was nowhere near calm. Black continued to hold her in his arms as she breathed heavily, lost in her thoughts at the moment as each heated exhale helped sponge her temper away slowly. As soon as he sensed that she was becoming more placid, Black began to peel his arms off of her gradually. However, as soon as the baker seemed to realize who had been holding her finally, she shoved his arms forcefully away with a grunt and began to storm off.
Norah disappeared back into the main chamber and left him standing alone in the poorly lit hall. His mind pulled different directions about what to do next until Abraham's words came back to him like the old driver had been a moderator. Even so, Erron knew that he would have to return to the room to take care of his back, but at least he could allow her a couple of minutes of solitude.
After he finished using the privy, the hired gun shuffled back to the main chamber. Black immediately spotted her in the chair by the medical table and without the slightest clue of what to say, sat on the table.
At first, she didn't even seem to notice him until he cleared his throat loud enough for her to hear. The servant's eyes were glassy and red when she looked at him; waiting for him to say something. There really wasn't anything to say, and Erron didn't want to upset her more by reminding her of what happened by asking any questions.
With her hands in her lap, his blue eyes caught the sight of a familiar color— his favorite, actually. In her hand, rolling it back and forth with her timid fingers, was a gold ring; plain and faded, possibly a hand-me-down. It looked about her size just from eyeballing it the best he could, and upon seeing that, filled him with an ominous feeling.
Norah looked back at him, and it was evident she had the same conjecture about the small object.
Suddenly, the kiss in the hall made disgusting sense. Even in Outworld, every marriage was sealed with a kiss. It wasn't uncommon for masters to marry their servants if it was a clause in their contract; by signing the contract, the servant already submitted their approval. Typically, they were treated as mistresses and never entitled to any perks like property, or even custody of any children produced if the husband wanted to keep them. Also, all the male, or female, contract holder had to do was submit a form to make the marriage legal despite the slave's objections. It seemed that Hulin had no patience to wait for her signature, and since the tribunal orders guaranteed that she would have to the moment she arrived at the palace, and they had approved it regardless of the blank space on the paper.
The moment Hulin bought the contract, Norah became a married woman. The Edenian may have had no intention of killing her right at the moment, but she certainly was going to wish for it.
The look of horror on her face expressed that thought loud and clear without a word needing to be uttered.