Chapter 25
Once Upon A Time in the West
Part 7
Don't Fear The Reaper

The sun had already dipped under the horizon in the distance when both Norah and Erron Black emerged from the depths of the Coliseum. Despite the sunset casting the entire capitol in the citrine glow of its last departing rays, they felt little warmth as it embraced them with the first light both of them had both seen in sometime.

The hospice had been dark, dirty and crowded, but Erron knew he wasn't speaking only for himself when he would much rather be back in the Coliseum then on their way back to the palace. Albeit, there was some comfort having his pistols back on his hips, his mask back where it should be, and looking like his old self again. However, the gunslinger knew just how trivial that amenity was, especially when he couldn't escape his asphyxiating apprehension.

Whenever he had tried to conjure up a decent enough excuse for the Kahn regarding his absence, there was always one detail that crumbled his excuses each time. Also, the more Black thought about how peculiar it was that Ermac seemed blasé to his condition, the more he realized it was most likely because his fellow guard already knew about him being whipped before he had arrived at the Colesium. If that was the case, word about his actions surely must have spread beforehand and reached the palace. And with Erron not present at the Kahn's side to argue against the rumor, sent Ermac to find out the validity of the gossip.

If this ended up being true, and the construct had only visited the Coliseum for confirmation, the repercussions for what he had done were far greater than what he initially perceived what would happen.

When he had agreed to take her place, and endure the lacerations, the Emperor's guard had only considered the damage that would have been done to his flesh. Reflecting back on it now, and seeing Ermac just hours ago, filled him with detestation.

He was an Emperor's guard, one of the five whose sole duty was to uphold law in Outworld. Erron Black had worked hard for his position, and had used word of mouth about his ruthlessness and cunning to acquire that employment. There was no doubt he was still hated for being an Earthrealmer, but for many of his bounties, and anyone on the wrong end of his gun, it was the reputation that had surpassed the trivial whereabouts of his birth-realm.

However, the moment he let that whip lash at his skin, and spill his blood to the Coliseum sand, in front of various plebeians of social strength, was the very moment, that he had tarnished his reputation. Regardless if the people in the pews knew the reason why he was there, they had been more than happy to see him there clutching the manacles in his hands. They wanted his skin carved by the whip, and wanted his blood spilled, and Erron knew that it was simply because he was an Earthrealmer. The marksman should have known that it went much deeper than that.

He was an Emperor's guard, one of the most dangerous in Outworld selected to protect Kotal Kahn... and he had been whipped like a dog in front of the masses. How were the people of Outworld supposed to fear him — or take Kotal Kahn and the others seriously after this? He had demoted himself in their eyes and how could they not have a different opinion about him now?

With a heavy lump sinking to his stomach, anger boiling his blood, and his fist tightening in to a ball, he understood that it was not only his reputation he had sullied, but the others as well. Perhaps that was the reason why Kotal Kahn wanted him back at the palace immediately, and he wondered if the 'beheadings' Ermac had mentioned was a ruse to get him to hasten his pace, or if it the Osh-tekk would use it as a spectacle to those who doubted the Emperor and his employed because of the gunslinger's actions. Black suspected that it was a mixture of the two, but whichever it ended up being, the marksman couldn't help but notice how slowly he started to walk when he acknowledged the fact that Kotal would no doubt would want to have a long, long discussion with him.

There's not enough wine in Outworld...

It only made him dread returning back to his place of employment and face the inevitable questioning from his boss about why he allowed himself to be whipped. No matter how hard he tried, there was no excuse he could think of that would fool Kotal that he didn't see the Emperor quickly dismissing. The Osh-Tekk wasn't an idiot, and despite how embarrassing the truth was, Erron knew deep down that it was best not to push his luck by lying and better to just bite the bullet. The truth about his actions would be the only thing that Kotal would believe. Accept what he did, though, was a different matter that Erron wasn't confident about, but it was the only good card in the shitty hand he had been dealt.

However, he knew that as soon as he mentioned what he had been doing it would also involve Norah partaking in the discussion as well with the mercenary and the Emperor. Black already knew the steps Kotal would take to confirm Erron's story and would summon her to hear her side of the tale. Although he doubted Kotal's focus would be on punishing her, and Erron would get the brunt of whatever the Kahn saw fit, still let out a sigh. Despite knowing fully well what would happen, Black decided it was best to keep mute, and refrain from letting her know she would be beckoned in the future. Was there really a point? She'd find out sooner or later. After all, she had more troubling things to worry about…

Norah hadn't spoken a word after Hulin's visit and for the most part and behaved as if his presence was completely non-existent. Perhaps it was in her world; she was simply encompassed in her own thoughts, a prisoner to the ramped speculations and fears that were no doubt going through her head the closer they trekked to the palace.

Every so often, Black would catch her folding her fingers until both of her hands were formed into tight balls with enough pressure to turn her knuckles white. There were no more tears that glossed over he noticed, but her eyes were still red and raw. Even a blind man could see that she was angry, and probably would have cried if she simply had any left to spill. She maintained a constant glare, marring her face and made her look like a poisonous snake ready to uncurl and bite anything that trespassed in front of her. Despite her demeanor, though, it didn't convince Erron.

While she looked prepared for a fight, he could sense how petrified she really was; her breathing kept noticeably fluctuating from deep and heated breaths, to her breath getting caught in the back of her throat as if someone had crushed her windpipe with an invisible hand. Also, he wasn't exactly walking the fastest, but her steps were even more timid and measured. He truly felt as if he was dragging her against her will like the first time he had taken her to the palace. The only difference this time was he now understood how she felt in the past and now, because he was also going against his own wishes.

There had been a reason why Tama wanted him to personally walk her back to the palace — it had always been meant as a jab at him. Because he knew its intention, to bother him with purposeful deja-vu, Black should have persisted in letting the woman getting the best of him. With much regret, it still did no matter how much he fought against it. He didn't enjoy being Norah's assigned reaper, not only because he simply didn't want to force Norah back under Tama's orders—again— but because this time only a few short blocks separated her from inevitable demise.

Black wasn't stupid and neither was she; they both had a pretty good, horrible hunch, about what would happen to her the minute she arrived in Hulin's clutches. It repulsed Erron and in turn, angered him when he thought of Hulin forcing her to consummate their counterfeit marriage; the gunslinger had found him repulsive even before he really got to know him.

There was a rumor circulating that the Edenian participate in necrophilia; whispers from servants in the halls that caught his ears as he passed by. From the look on Norah's face, it seemed that she had also heard that rumor. However, the pair walking towards the palace where not the only ones that hated Hulin, and Black had to wonder if it was just hateful, but flimsy gossip.

What was true, though, or at least seemed undeniable canon about the man, was that the palace interrogator was a cannibal. It wasn't that all uncommon to find cannibalism in Outworld — hell, he was certain that only Ermac and himself were the only ones at Kotal's dinner table that hadn't done it — but even with the practice being the norm, it still made her future rather bleak. What if the only reason he purchased her, was the same reason why people paid for overpriced meals...

To see if it tastes any more exuberant or not than what they are used to.

Even if it wasn't going to be his skin on Hulin's plate, it was enough for him to feel even more enmity for the Edenian on top of the dislike he had for him before the ridiculous tango involving the trial. He damn sure wouldn't want to eaten, and it made him feel sympathy since it seemed to be the most logical of outcomes for her.

Frankly, he found himself conflicted about what he should do. Part of him wished to remain uninvolved; to move on from all of the bullshit with the baker. If it was still an option, and didn't resolve in him wallowing in his guilt afterward, then perhaps he could have settled with the callous decision for the sake of his own sanity and job. But after all he had done, Erron couldn't entertain the idea because of his conflicted conscious.

On top of that, there were two sets of voices that nagged at him, like ghosts speaking in his ear, and told him to help her if he could. He blamed Dr. Finnely and his Latin fac fortia et patere horseshit. The other voice was his surrogate father and every memory of when younger Black had caught Abraham's lack of tolerance towards those who harmed others for pleasure – and that included men who laid hands on women or children.

Even when he was a boy, Erron had always been intrigued by Abraham's vehemence towards rapists in particular. The stagecoach driver hated them, and the more grotesque the assault, the more brutal the older Black had been with his justice. The driver never told him why he was so passionate, except that they committed a sin and should be punished, and Erron's childish intellect had just assumed it was just the way he was.

With that understanding about the older man, the gunslinger supposed it was an attitude he himself assimilated from him after watching Abraham as a Deputy Marshall in Abilene. As the younger Black got older, he noticed he ended up treating them just the same but with a noticeable difference. There was satisfaction, but Abraham had seen it as another tally-mark that contributed against his escape from his damnation, despite most people agreeing and telling him he had been swinging a hammer on God's behalf against the depraved. The gunslinger understood now there was something that plagued the man, and it explained his violence towards them. If the ex-Earthrealmer had to guess, he would have bet it involved the mother that Abraham hardly mentioned.

Unlike Abraham though, the bounty hunter never developed a conscious about killing them — it was rather easy and he didn't recall losing a night's sleep over it. Once he caved in a man's nose with the butt of one of his pistol. He could have shot him, but refrained in favor for a more heinous, and in his opinion, more deserving alternative. There had been nothing left that was recognizable of the man's face, resembling more of a broken melon that had fallen from a ledge than a person. Erron didn't blame the Outworld girl for looking at him the way she did, with him standing there like a blood-soaked demon in the smugglers tent, but he still he felt he could have gotten some gratitude in that moment. He didn't hold it against her anymore, especially when he reflected on how savage Erron had been in her eyes, and only wished he had heard the commotion before the man had finished. The other slave smugglers had banished him from their operation after that, and despite some bruises on his face, the marksman hadn't cared what the pirates thought of him. They eventually got what was coming to them, though, when Kotal Kahn came to power, and lost their heads. Good riddance.

Even though rape used to be so common in such an archaic realm as Outworld, was no longer tolerated and meant either death or public castration; it was one of the Tribunal laws now. Shao Kahn hadn't showed a sliver of care about the subject as Kotal did. The Osh-tekk hated the crime as well —he hated almost every crime — and did his best trying to eradicate it as a daily norm of Outworld life. It worked for the most part, but it was still prevalent; people were savages no matter the culture — no matter the realm. At least the punishments were more severe than they had been in the past…

Momentarily, Black pondered on the possibility of getting Hulin in hot water by convincing her to report that he assaulted her— whether it was true or not. However, he knew the Barristers wouldn't look at Norah in such an unbiased light since she was now Hulin's wife. It would have been Hulin's word against her's and his position as a free citizen automatically tipped the scale in the Edenian's favor. Sadly, he knew that nothing would be beneficial from her saying anything.

They reached the outskirts of the marketplace by the time the last slips of sunlight had fled away and made room for dark tapestry above them. The crescent moon over their heads, nearly blocked by the heavy clouds and created a black, starless night, provided little light to guide them. Luckily, they had pinpricks of orange all around them; in the houses, from the street lanterns and from the nearby taverns that glowed sporadically around them like fireflies in the dark. As they walked in silence, the only noise from either of them being soft footsteps on the sand, the mercenary realized that there was a second option.

He could just kill the son of a bitch.

Black certainly had no qualms about it and Hulin was somebody that nobody would miss; not even the Emperor seemed to like him.

Looking at her then in the direction of the palace, the sharp-shooter tapped his finger rhythmically in contemplation against the handle of one of his revolvers; his tired mind immediately set to work if seeing if it was at all doable without repercussions.

Glancing at the baker out of the corner of his eye once again, he let out a breathed chuckle that was only audible to him.

Doubt she would have any objections to it.

It would certainly be another good deed on his part, on top of sparing her back. But how to do it?

His guns were always the first thing to pop into his head — simple and quick. However, the gunman knew he couldn't use his revolvers. It would have been too obvious who had killed the Edenian with a bullet hole in his skull and Black the only one that wielded firearms in the palace.

A knife was the only obvious choice. But he had to wonder, despite him doing it, would suspicion fall to her instead of him? The baker had a more obvious motive than he did and her hand always gravitated towards knives for self-defense.

Erron chewed on his dry, bottom lip behind his mask as his blue eyes once again migrated to her direction. Observing her defeated visage, the bounty hunter began to reconsider his previous plan, and after careful thought, started to even criticize it.

Black knew there was nothing for him to personally gain from killing Hulin as much as there was for her. In fact, it would be another selfish thing to take away from her by doing it himself. As much as he wanted to, the gunslinger knew that if he still wanted to have a job afterwards he couldn't just kill Hulin.

Even if the Edenian was despicable and whether or not Erron was an employee at Kotal's side, not even the Emperor would approve of him killing the loyal palace interrogator without just cause. The baker was contracted, and it infuriatingly and regrettably, meant he could do whatever he saw fit with his property. The title of 'wife' or not, the contract didn't make her a free citizen with rights. If the mercenary did intervene, Kotal Kahn would see him being meddlesome in something he shouldn't be involved in. His job was the welfare of the Outworld and not to butt in on domestic squabbles, no matter how sunk into the affair he had become.

Yet again, Black had to question what the Emperor would make of Norah defending herself and thus accidently killing him in self-defense.

It was an exploitable loophole but it still had one problem. While slaves had the right to defend themselves by Kombat—if there was a witness who could attest that it was to protect oneself— Erron knew the claim was hard to prove. The Barristers hardly believed it to be anything else than a distrustful servant killing their master whenever it was called to court, and always ended in death for the slave if there wasn't anybody else to say otherwise.

However, if Black just happened to be in the room, delivering her to the palace as instructed by the court, then he doubted that anybody would be able disagree that…

Stopping his train of thought, the bounty hunter realized how implausible it sounded. He was already poking holes in his own bullshit story because of one, important fact: there is no reason for him to be present in the room. Erron was simply ordered to deliver her to the palace, not to Hulin personally, and the Edenian wasn't so imbecilic to attack her in front of a Kahn's guard. Immediately, he rolled his eyes thinking up a plot that a three-year-old wouldn't buy.

The only thing that was left was the must cowardly of options. She could just run — get out of Z'unkahrah before they even got to the palace. Sourly, he sighed in disappointment upon realizing that it wasn't an option either. From what he had gathered listening to the trial, she had already tried that, and failed miserably. Besides, nobody would believe that the baker slipped from him — injured or not.

Black, after a few more moments of plotting and concocting no other brilliant ideas, caught himself shaking his head.

As much as he hated to admit it, there was really nothing he could do.

The gunslinger couldn't kill Hulin without getting his head chopped off in return — Kotal would not spare him even if he was loyal — and he could not let her do his dirty work for him while Erron stood by as a bystander; it simply made no sense.

The choice was made for him because he had none — he hated that.

Apart of him was almost thankful for the simplistic answer, but it was practically transparent in substance compared to the heavy and dense guilt he felt.

Ironically, he suddenly remembered how much he had wanted her dead when she first came to the palace and how she had skipped past death with only a couple bruises and a brand on her wrist the first time and acquired a position as a cup-bearer. The past Erron would have been happy knowing she was going to die now, and that he would no longer have to deal with her. He just simply didn't harbor that malicious thought anymore and while it was true, that Norah continued to be a pebble in his shoe, felt remorse.

Black in a way was choosing himself, sparing his own life and well-being and he knew it was conceited. It was life though, regardless if he still owed her a debt he hadn't finished paying. He knew taking her place in the Coliseum didn't make them even, and despite that his situation wasn't as precarious as hers, felt as if Hulin was robbing him as well. The marksman had worked hard trying to keep his word — even risking more than he had bargained for in the long run. Even if he had just started, Erron knew walking her back to the palace would now be the worst of the slights against her that he had been a participant in.

What was he to do, though? Forsake everything? Get himself killed or imprisoned for half-assed schemes that would backfire?

Erron knew he could not involve himself anymore with her considering the turn of events. Not because there might not be a reason anymore after Hulin killed her, but for his own sake. Perhaps it was best that it come to this tragic conclusion and it just be another example how trying to help anyone never panned out for him, and why it was best for him to remain selfish. Still, the practical reflection didn't help coax him out of feeling pity for her, or annoyance at his own incapability to assist.

Maybe, just maybe, if the servant was lucky enough that Hulin wouldn't kill her when she arrived, he could find some way to aid her later. The idea did help smooth his turbulent regret about standing idle for a moment. However, it was just as terrible thinking about why he would keep her alive as much as it was thinking of what he would do to her corpse. Death almost seemed like the kind thing for her, but that was no comfort, either.

What did ease him though, was her clearly resentful demeanor.

Although scared, Norah almost seemed in defiance against her own timidity and what she had been handed. That wasn't to say though she was naïve to what very well might happen. Also, it was apparent the weight on her shoulders, from all the affliction put upon her since he had known her, was beginning to show and made her doubt her own confidence even more— despite there was still the need for self-preservation. He didn't doubt she would put up a fight and kill him if she needed to, but her stamina seemed stagnant.

Erron assumed that finding out about her new marriage had dampened her spirit, but there was still semblance of revolt in her even now, and when the opportunity came, would show itself. The woman wanted revenge for her friend, and even though Black wasn't sure how he had killed the older Earthrealm woman, it had been horrible enough for Norah to genuinely vow to kill him in return. She would, regardless if that meant the noose around her own neck. At least, she would have some dignity in the end. Especially when freedom was such a distant memory for her with no way of ever getting reclaimed.

Then again, she did pull the trigger of his gun while it had been level at his head, so maybe there was some hope for the cup-bearer. And like last time, even if she didn't manage to get out a killing blow and Hulin, she was going out with her boots on. Black could respect that even if it didn't help as much as it should.

The third, almost impossible theory, was if Hulin didn't kill her, and just wanted a puppet for his own amusement. If that was the case, then she certainly was going to raise hell— Erron knew that all too well from his past experience. Her fear would disappear over time and she would make Hulin regret his decision.

For a second, he felt sorry for the Edenian, and allowed himself a light and brief smile in amusement.

However, and the thought deflated his mood, the palace inquisitor wasn't Erron and there was no guarantee that he would let her little temper tantrums slide so easily. There was a reason why Hulin was so good at his job and had managed to keep it while under the rule of three different Kahns. That knowledge snuffed out the previous confidence he had reserved.

The outlaw sighed quietly but heavily as he glanced her way briefly.

Whatever did happen, the irrefutable certainty was that she was going to die no matter what did end up happening.

Norah caught his gaze, turned, and shook her head at him. "Please stop that."

Black raised an eyebrow, unsure of what she meant. "What?"

Her eyes grew dark with indignant annoyance. "Stop looking at me as if I am some sort of helpless concubine. I am tired of it."

"Wasn't thinkin' that," he replied back.

"Then what were you thinking?" she challenged, pulling him from his thoughts and looking at him with skepticism. The corner of Erron's mouth pulled sourly to the side. The bounty hunter didn't want to say the truth, because he found it redundant; she already knew that her predicament was what it was. He could tell her a lie, but she wouldn't listen to him anyway. Norah never did before so why would now be different? Especially when she was huffing at him like a buffalo waiting for a reason to charge. But since she had asked…

"Just thinkin' about how much I need a drink," the cowboy sighed, smoothing an eyebrow with one of his fingers. It might have technically been lie since Erron had other things on his mind, but the feeling enough was accurate. To his surprise, it was also mutual.

"So could I," she murmured, mostly to herself. It was the only time her attitude had shifted and the small response that bordered on a light-heartened joke, was a welcome reprieve for both of them, even if it didn't fix the downtrodden mood entirely.

"Didn't take you for the drinking type," he remarked honestly, raising a single eyebrow.

Irately, she turned to him with a bitter expression. "Why? Because I did not enjoy the whiskey you forced me to drink when I was late with your delivery?" She scorned. "Forgive me for giving you that impression."

Although irritated by her hateful tone, didn't offer back a heated rebuttal. He never did apologize to her for that joke, and he deserved to get kicked by her words for it even if it was a long time ago. Still, he saw an opportunity to at least show her he was sorry for it, as well as everything else he wouldn't get the chance to repay.

Placing his hand on his hip, he waited until he got her attention and nudged his head towards his shoulder, pointing lazily in the direction behind him. "There're plenty of places on this street. I wasn't kiddin' when I said I needed one, and if you do partake in it…"

"No thank you," the baker refused.

Annoyed, Black huffed: "Then you can just watch while I—"

A guttural rumble echoed next to him, one that was all too familiar to hear in Outworld, and he frowned as his eyes landed on her growling stomach. As if it hadn't happened at all, she ignored it completely, but her pained look still betrayed the stoic façade that she was actually embarrassed by how loud it had been. Remembering back to the Coliseum, it came to Erron's attention that she hadn't really eaten much since he had been whipped. The last thing she had managed to eat, she had thrown back up. Perhaps that was why she looked so sickly as she did, not only repulsed by Hulin, but from lack of food in her belly as well.

At this state, she couldn't fight off a fly.

With a roll of his eyes, the sharpshooter whirled around and began to head in the opposite direction. Black passed by her and she stopped walking to watch him, bewildered by his sudden change of course. He thought it would have been obvious what his intention was to her, but when he halted and turned to look over his shoulder, Erron noticed it was lost on her. It didn't surprise him; anytime he tried to do anything nice she never recognized it. The gunman rose an eyebrow at her, as if feigning perplexity for her misunderstanding.

"You coming?"

"What?" she questioned, confusion glossing over her face.

Erron walked to her and Norah crossed her arms across her chest, as if shielding herself as a precaution. Standing in front of her, he tilted his head in the route he had been heading and explained: "If you wanna drink, do it on a full stomach."

"I do not want to drink," Norah argued.

Black let out a slight 'hmpf' at her. "Yeah, you do."

"You know so much don't you, Black?" she snorted. "Why do you care if my stomach is full or not? What does it matter anyway? I am dead once I reach the palace. I know you think that as well, which is why you are constantly looking at me. Is that why you are being so generous? You are the last person I want to drink or eat with."

Black scoffed immediately at her. "I can think of two others that you'd hate more than me."

Norah's eyes narrowed into a hateful expression; she knew damn well that he meant Tama and Hulin and with those two coming to mind, who were the devilish architects of her misery, caused her to glare rancorously at him. Her expression alone made her feelings clear: it was all that she was thinking about and being reminded of it was as unnecessary as it was unwanted. In the end, the truthful fact only swelled her anger around more like a choppy sea.

He frowned behind his mask and she reciprocated it as well even though she was unaware he was doing it. With a spiteful stare at his silence, as if staying mute condemned him, Norah turned her back to brunette marched away from him without a word in response to him, as if she had not heard him at all. The mercenary thought of giving up on her at the moment and continuing to the nearest tavern to sample the Outworld swill he hated.

His blue eyes hit the back of her head as she kept on. He let out a scoff, his nerves bristled by her persistence to hate him even now when it seemed so minuscule in comparison to her problems. Unable to bite his tongue he called out to her: "You really that willing to get it over with?"

When she suddenly stopped, Black crossed his own arms over his chest, and waited on her patiently when he watched her shoulders sag forward in defeat. She stayed silent for several moments, allowing the voices in the distance to carry in the night wind and travel to their ears; reminding them that they were not the only ones sharing the street. He hoped nobody was eavesdropping. Actually, perhaps shooting something or someone would make him feel better...

"I would rather not be drunk when I see my... husband "— The cup-bearer explained, seething the last word with such mocking disgust that it almost made him shudder — "I would much rather keep my clarity when... when I do see him."

Air exhaled out of his nose at the pledge, as if he heard a humorous joke. As a matter of fact, it was more of a sigh of relief to her sincerity. Norah was right and being inebriated wouldn't have done her any favors, especially considering her famished state.

Striding towards her, his feet sinking into the sand, he only stopped when he saw her back stiffen at his proximity. Erron didn't want to make her uncomfortable, or himself for that matter, but leaned in close enough so that what he said next could be whispered.

"Best killin' isn't done on an empty stomach, then."

It was simple advice as much as it was the truth. There was no use in going into a fight with your gut growling and clawing at you. Black himself had lost a couple listening to it instead of watching for the next punch. The bounty hunter hadn't meant it only as that though, but more of an obscure confession that he supported her decision.

Pivoting her feet until she was facing him, Black saw that it had been much more than just a friendly tip. It had been persuasion. Still, doubt clouded her visage; formed only because of her never-ending reservations about the marksman.

"You are not going to stop me?" the dark, sardonic question was rhetorical, they both knew that, but one she still needed to ask for more confirmation. She didn't believe him to be on her side, as it was understandable since she hated him, but he could still see she was battling how earnest his statement had sounded in her ears. "You are a palace guard. You are supposed to stop me."

Instead of telling her, he did one better. Reaching down, pain hitting his back from stretching his hand to his shoes, Black plucked the knife that he kept in the inside of his boot. It was certainly not the flimsily kitchen blades he had caught her using. Unlike her choice of knives, that was only used for cutting different types of food, the bowie knife was only intended for slicing flesh— and had only been ever used for that; it was his back-up that saved him more times than he could count. Norah seemed to know the blade's purpose as well and looked at the knife as if he had just ordered her to mutilate the nearest stray animal she could find.

"It's better than nothing," Erron told her, a despondent smile flickering behind his mask.

Norah looked up at him with quiet puzzlement. From the look on her face alone, Erron's previous assumption that the servant didn't recognize whenever he was trying to be nice was more on-target than just being a simple joke to himself. She looked from his personal knife to back to him with cynicism, as if trying to find his selfish intentions somewhere written on his brown mask.

However, she also stared at him with a strange mixture of both anguish and gratitude. The cupbearer knew he had been sincere, but it was just so odd to her that she was having difficulty deciphering if it was a lucid illusion or not. His history with her sullied what she was seeing before her, and Norah couldn't allow herself to accept that his offer wasn't a selfless one. The gunslinger could see her fighting with herself about that thought as well, and it was probably why she felt the need to ask him.

"They will know it was you that gave me the knife — it is yours."

Black had known that as well before withdrawing it out of his boot; they would want to know where she got the weapon. While he should have cared that he would get in trouble for knowingly supplying her a tool with an intention to seek revenge, and as much as the idea should have concerned him, it surprisingly didn't.

Perhaps how unaffected he felt about it was an apperception telling him that he was doing the right thing. Knowing he was doing something good was still a foreign concept to him, but not too unfamiliar. It had only been buried under the persona of the heartless mercenary, who seemed to permit him to help her even if that heartless side of him didn't fully support it. Erron rebelled against listening to the colder, perhaps more logical side of him, and despite how difficult it was to accept at first, felt at ease with his decision. Helping her was the right thing to do. The knife gave her a chance; the only bit of aid he could offer against both of their unsettling odds. The only thing that did bother him though, was that he couldn't do more.

Surprisingly, the explanation came out both easy and truthful.

"I really don't care."

Norah looked at him with a stunned expression. It wasn't the first time he had uttered those same compilation of words together, each time in the past with either disdain or aloofness. Erron could see that this time was different, as if it was the first time the baker was hearing them. In a way, she almost was, because Black hadn't meant it to be a negative comment, but a supportive one. Hearing his words, still very much organic to who he was, but used in a different context seemed to finally register to her there was something different about him. Still, as if catching herself, she answered him with a roll of her eyes; trying to mask and discourage what he was seeing, but seemed to fail to convince herself as much as it did him.

A long exhale escaped out of her nostrils as a brief grimace slowly came across her face. Reaching gingerly for the handle, Norah took it from him. Staring down at it in her palms, and for a moment looked as if she was going to give it back to him. Perhaps she even contemplated doing so, until she looked back at him and asked: "Why?"

Like his previous statement, the answer came truthfully from his lips. "You know why."

The baker gulped nervously. Yes, she did, and the thought of what might come sent fearful tremors over her body. It dissipated after a moment, and Erron observed in silence as her jaw tensed; gritting her teeth. Her eyes blinked rapidly as hot air blew out of her nose. A malevolent glare, not intended for him, flickered to him before her venomous eyes looked down at the knife she had been given. Her anger was reassuring to him, especially considering how quickly her rage had been replaced by her fear.

Looking back at him, she offered him a nod, letting him know her appreciation. After a moment, and her nerves began to settle, the baker tucked the knife behind her back and inside of the black wrap tied around her waist, concealing it from sight.

The corner of her mouth tugged to the side, and with a tired tone, she admitted: "I am rather hungry. Perhaps I can stomach one meal— despite your company."

"Don't sound so happy about it," Erron teased, his voice still stony.

"You are the last person I want to share food with," Norah explained, crossing her arms across her chest as she passed by him to walk in the direction he had originally intended. The baker did pause for a moment and he watched as she turned over her shoulder and add: "But it is better than Tama and Hulin."

There hadn't been any other emotion other than sadness in her voice, and she continued on walking with the same despondent demeanor. Nevertheless, she had meant it as a joke, and the mercenary smiled briefly behind his mask. The feeling was mutual, she was still a pain in the ass and he didn't want to eat in her company, but they both seemed to know that it wouldn't be as bad as they were thinking — especially with booze in him and food to calm her down.

With a satisfied nod, Erron caught up to her in a couple of strides and led on to the place he had in mind. They didn't say anything to each other, but both of them felt awkward nonetheless. There wasn't anything that needed to be said and neither of them felt compelled to fill the void with clumsy attempts at small talk, but still felt as if there was some element missing. Simply, the gunslinger understood that they didn't know how to react to one another. Civility was still growing between them, and both of them still continued to have a hard time accepting that it was taking root.

It was easy to know why it troubled her— she despised him— but Black fumbled with understanding why it did so for him. He should have felt satisfied about his last minute show of penance; as small as it was. Still, something picked at him the closer they came to the busier, nocturnal scene of Z'unkahrah. Lining the open doorways outside of the marketplace, patrons of all character dipped inside cantinas to and fro. Erron even caught the familiar evergreen color of the Barrister robes exiting out a bar to their left, and another set entering a brothel to his right.

One cantina bustled with noise from inside— the loudest on the street. It was somewhat unusual to see this particular tavern as busy as it was; he had visited the place before and knew it didn't receive as many visitors this time of night. Norah, the commotion pulling her attention away from her seemingly morose daydreaming, stopped to peer inside the bar out of mere curiosity; as if she knew the establishment wasn't as popular either for such a cacophony. Erron did the same and grappled his hands on his hips while he watched the moving bodies through the open windows and doorway.

Both of them could hear the sound of hands clapping to the cadence of someone strumming an Oud as they formed a circle and watched the dancers in the middle; it was a festive tune, and it reminded Erron of past merry reveries back in Abilene, Kansas. Phil Cole, the owner of the Bullshead Saloon, would come down from his room on the rare occasion and saw on his fiddle for the patrons of his business. Black immediately thought of Irish Washerwoman when he heard the treble stings play an otherwise, unrecognizable tune to him; still the song was so similar it was as if he was hearing Cole playing it now. The timbre and rhythm of the Celtic song were different than what he was hearing from the Outworld lodge, but it still reminded him of it because of its lighthearted appeal. Whatever they were celebrating was obviously a joyous one and the pleasant looks on their faces and their exuberant behavior was evident enough of that.

The ex-Earthreamler already had a good idea what was going on before the song ended, and both Norah and himself saw the dancers in the middle they couldn't see before. Dressed in a cobalt blue dress with intricate turquoise beading weaved into delicate coils that ran from the bottom of her skirt, to the corner of her hip, and to the collar of her long sleeved dress, was a young Outworld woman with a beaming smile on her face. It reminded Erron of tranquil ocean waves and it obviously was not a cheap garment nor something a woman wore as an everyday staple even if she was rich. Her dark braided hair was pinned into an updo and her already attractive face was shaded with makeup. The male next to her, tall, lean and as handsome as she was, wore a long sleeved topcoat in the same cobalt color as her dress with white pants. Seeing the young couple together, blissful in each other's company and adorning the same ornate color meant that both Erron and Norah were eavesdropping on a wedding.

It was bitterly ironic, more so for her than for him, but as soon as Black could see her already gloomy disposition fall even more, he could see just how much it had hit her stumbling upon it. Her posture noticeably stiffened at the sight and her crossed arms encompassed her chest tighter. For a moment, he thought she was going to cry. The outlaw wouldn't have blamed her. Considering that she was also a newlywed, it couldn't have been easy to not only have a reminder of the fact, but to see that she would never know the joy the blushing bride inside the cantina felt. Erron felt pity for her, even if the marksman couldn't really relate.

The idea of marrying someone always seemed like more hassle than work, and even back in Earthrealm, seemed like a needless obligation to prove that you had feelings for someone. Also, based on what he had seen, married folks didn't even like each other half of the time. In those instances, it had been arranged marriages, and in his opinion, always seemed like such a headache just for the sake financial and social climbing. Black never cared for any of that, so he supposed that was why he didn't understand others that used it solely for that purpose. In Outworld, it was even worse. Despite that the law agreed you could marry whomever you wanted, depending on the circumstances, natural segregation between the classes persisted in weddings being anything more than just for money or power.

Maybe it was the rarity of seeing bona fide love between people is why Norah continued to stare at them with such heated jealously. With her contract purchased, and death on her doorstep, she would never know it. Jan Fai, whatever he was to her, had not been enough it seemed to quench what important need in her life she wanted. Not only because their fling had seemed so fleeting, but because she simply did not love him like she had said. Black suspected that she didn't even know what the feeling was. Sure love for friends, but not what the young Outworld couple had.

While it was not strange to see her angry, it was seeing her undisputedly jealous. It seemed, without even saying anything, it helped give Black an insight more about her. Even if the night with Jan Fai had been nothing but a one-night stand, which is what it sounded like to him, he could tell that there was certainly more she had desired from the encounter.

His theory was that she had made the common mistake, one that many did when venturing into love for the first time, had been lonely, and being that she was an Earthrealm look-alike, went with the only one that had shown interest in her. Regardless if she went as far as to sleep with him, it was still sad enough if she hadn't. Her insecurity made her pathetic, but understandable. He would have had to label himself a hypocrite if he himself didn't admit that he buried himself in women to feel less insecure about his nomadic lifestyle; it seldom ever worked despite making him feel somewhat better physically. He had often ignored his loneliness and moved on to the next nameless woman. So, while he didn't condone doing it as a personal therapy, Erron understood why. After everything, perhaps she needed to feel wanted in that moment, even if now all she recognized it as delusion in the end.

The bride's brown eyes caught Norah's through the window and locked on. Glancing the baker's way, he noticed while the brides' happy look dissipated into one of resentment for finding out she was being watched and the servant's fled into panic for getting caught. Erron wasn't sure if it was because they were spying on them or if she just did not like Norah regardless — women were always funny with first impressions like that — but the bride looked as if she wanted to slap the cupbearer for ruining her day. The slave briskly walked away from the cantina and away from the scolding eyes that wanted her gone.

It didn't take long for him to catch up with her, and stopped behind when she finally did herself; hearing the gunman's footsteps behind her. Her arms unhooked, and even with her back to him, watched as she dragged a hand over her eyes and down her face; removing the tears the encounter had caused to fall. Inhaling deeply, and shuddering out a breath, Norah cast a glance over her shoulder and nodded at him; silently beckoning him to lead the way, once again.

The gunslinger sighed and began to pick up his pace. Black wasn't sure if he should ask or say anything to remedy about what had happened. Maybe it was just best not to comment on it at all, and just let it sink away into the trepid sands of her already convoluted mind.

Stealing a glance, Erron could already see that what had happened was being absorbed by quick sand, even though she still wore a discouraged visage. Black could already see the cogs in her mind turn; preparing for later about what to expect and how to react. He was grateful that she was already getting over it, he hated trying to make females feel better since and was never good at it.

A coldness crept over him, washing down his spine like someone grazing a cold piece of steal down him back. It caused him to slow to a halt, and it chilled his bones.

The gunslinger already felt his fingers drift towards the handle of his revolver, as they had done many times when he was unnerved; his intuition feeling someone staring at the back of his head with intention.

Norah noticed his stiff stance, and he caught her looking down at his fingers — the very same ones hovering over his pistol — and then back to him. The baker didn't ask him, but knew something mysterious and nefarious had seemed to aggravate him. In silence, he observed as her eyes danced from window to window behind him, to every dark crevice between buildings and then back to him. Her eyebrows furrowed at something over his left shoulder and Black saw her face relax slightly, but then twisted into a scowl.

There was no danger, that was affirmed by her expression, but there was someone watching them.

Craning his head slightly over his shoulder, he found who it was the bride from the cantina... and at the same time, it wasn't.

Norah had already chosen to leave both of them behind and briskly marched away; trying to avoid a confrontation that might spring up. Erron on the other hand, glared at the bright cobalt eyes that laughed at him from the doorway. Despite that it was a different costume, he knew the eyes more than he wanted to — from the lobby of the People's Tribunal. First on the little girl, and then on the old receptionist.

Possessing the newlywed's body, the blue-eyed entity beneath the vessel flashed him a toothy grin as its eyes flickered from Norah's back and then back to him pointedly. Immediately, he had the oppressive notion that he had been followed. By who or what was the question on his mind. Why had he encountered it at the People's Tribunal with its riddles, and why did he feel as if it was mocking his ignorance; the eyes beaming with an arrogance that it thought it was smarter than he was.

Raising the bride's hand, the azure eyes brightened sparkled like a mischievous sprite, and curled the olive toned fingers at him one by one like spider legs curling; greeting him sarcastically.

Erron was about to demand what it wanted — whatever it was — but watched as the blue eyes dulled back into the bride's shade of brown. The woman blinked, seemingly dizzy and placed a hand to her forward as she slid against the outside of the door.

The woman's new husband seemed to notice her dizziness and rushed to her side, clamoring to help her back to her feet and asking her what the matter was. Even though he didn't see it, Black could sense the groom's eyes on the back of his head, accusing him of having something to do with it but too chicken-shit to ask.

The gunslinger, his hand still lingering over the revolver managed to catch up with the baker who hadn't noticed the bride, and kept a steady and cool pace the rest of the way.

However, it didn't escape him when Norah happened to notice that he looked warily and malevolently at anyone they passed by on their way to the cantina in mind, but was unsatisfied when they appeared to be harmless.

He didn't make an attempt to hide his demeanor from her, and Erron didn't care that she took saw how defensively paranoid he had become.

The bounty hunter could tell she wanted to ask, but decided against it seeing that he was not in the mood for talking. Black wasn't sure he would have answered her anyway even if she did ask.

That would mean that he was admitting out loud that he had allowed himself to be stalked.

That didn't unnerve him as much as mind coming up blank with why he was...