Treatshipping (Mai x Kisara)
. . .
((oh look another one I missed on the first pass. Sigh. Oh, and a minor warning for implied sexual abuse—IMPLIED, not depicted! Kisara is a runaway slave in this oneshot and...well I think you know what a lot of pretty slave girls were used for. Also involves an ancient Egyptian counterpart for Mai, called Mayati))
. . .
She could not go back.
Kisara's wrists burned with the thin, angry welts from chains that she had worn for far too long. Her hands were scraped and torn from the desperate attempt to pull her hands free from them. She still wore the fancy gilded collar about her neck, holding the leash in her hands so it wouldn't drag—she could remove it later.
Her bare feet smacked against the ground—wealthy clothing torn at inappropriate places, it had been hard to run in the long skirt and it had had to be ripped shorter.
Heartbeat ringing in her ears she could barely hear the sounds of the guards shouting. Torchlight flickered somewhere ahead and she skidded to a stop. A blister burst on her heel and she cried out in spite of herself.
"Over here! I heard something!"
She clapped a free hand over her mouth. Tears sprung to her eyes as she searched desperately along the alleyway for somewhere to hide. She was trapped—no nooks, no handholds to scale the walls. No side alleys to dart down.
They would drag her back, again. This time, she had no idea how hard she would be beaten for her disobedience. The last time she had barely been able to lift her head and she had been expected to dance at the party her master had the very next night.
She could not go back. She could not go back.
She pressed herself against the wall, shaking with tears. She would die. She would die right here, it was better than going back, if only she had some weapon with which to dispatch herself—
The tall, ominous shadow of a man appeared at the end of the alley. She could hear footsteps at the other end. Boxed in. It wouldn't be long before another figure arrived.
"Here!" the man shouted. "Found her!"
She tried to push into the wall, as though it could swallow her. The man leered at her, eyes glinting in the light of his torch, a sword dangling lazily from his fingers.
"Put us through the run-around, didn't ya, girlie?" the man said, coming closer, closer, until she could smell the alcohol on his breath and almost taste the salt of his sweat in the air. She tried to shrink inwards as he braced his hand with the torch on the wall beside her head.
"Pretty thing, ain't ya? I can see why the lord got us all riled up over one little slave girl."
He leaned in to her face, close, too close, oh gods—
"Might be a bit before others come 'round," he whispered. "How about you and I—"
Whatever he had been about to say was cut off with a gurgle. His face was frozen with shock—Kisara was sure his expression matched her own. A hint of blood misted her forehead as the knife was removed from his throat with a sickening squelch. He almost fell limply on top of her, but one delicate hand pulled him back and dropped him unceremoniously across the ground.
Kisara couldn't breathe. She was too panicky. Was he—was he really dead?
"Sh, sh," said the voice, although it made no effort to come closer. "Breathe, honey. Breathe. I'm not going to hurt you."
Kisara could barely see for a moment, her vision was so blurry with tears. She rubbed at them for a moment, and then looked up again at her rescuer.
The woman was tall and curvy, too pale-skinned to be a native to this land. She wore armor that reminded Kisara of the Northern Empires that she had once been in, the clothing of a man rather than a woman—but there was no doubt that her rescuer was female, judging by her stature and the curve of her face. Her hair was a light blonde, just as out of place in this country as her skin, her violet eyes gently curved.
She smiled, gently, reassuringly.
"He's not gonna bother you now, sweetie."
Then her eyes flicked away towards the other end of the alley, where footsteps grew closer.
"Honey, I know you're still scared, but we have to make tracks and fast, all right?"
"W-who are you?" Kisara asked.
The woman flashed a smile.
"Call me Mayati," she said. "Don't worry. I won't take you back. We're getting you out of this city right now, honey."
She extended her hand towards Kisara. Kisara stared at it for a moment. She trembled ever so slightly—was it—could she trust this woman?
She looked up into Mayati's eyes, and saw something shining there. Confidence. Perhaps overconfidence. And kindness—real kindness.
"Why?" she whispered. "Why do you want to help me?"
Mayati's hand did not move, but her smiled turned sad.
"It's a cruel world," she murmured. "Girls gotta take care of girls, don't they?"
Kisara hesitated only a second longer. Then she saw the torchlight at the end of the alley and heard the shouts and knew that there was only one choice.
She grabbed Mayati's hand.
Mayati's smile flashed widely again and she squeezed Kisara's hand.
"Let's go," she said.
They took off down the alley, Mayati with one hand in Kisara's and the other holding her dagger, Kisara with one hand in Mayati's and the other holding onto the collar's leash.
"We'll get that thing off ya as soon as we find shelter," Mayati called over her shoulder. She actually sounded a bit lazy about the chase! "By the way, sugar, what can I call you?"
Kisara was already breathing hard from the exertion, but the feeling of Mayati's hand in her was warm and solid and more real than anything she had felt in a long time. Even though she could hear the men shouting behind them...
She felt safe.
She even felt a small smile growing on her face.
"Kisara," she called back. "My name is Kisara."
Mayati glanced back over her shoulder to send Kisara another grin.
"All right, then, Kisara," she said. "Fancy a bit of adventure?"
Kisara actually laughed as the woman dragged her around the corner and they ran away into the night.
. . .
A/N: I can actually surprisingly get behind this one. A LOT. :D All right you'll be back to your regularly scheduled program with Trapshipping (Bakura x Yami x Yugi x Ryo) next chapter. :)
