*Well, then, my dear ducklings (does it get weird that I call you ducklings? I'm not sure exactly when it was that I started referring to my readers as ducklings, but whatever…) I have returned from the world of camp. I have a new chappy for ya to read, and I hope you all enjoy it because…I hope you all know just how scary a place my internet history is now because of the research I did for this story on stabbings and stab wounds and where the most lethal stab wounds occur and which kinds of stab wounds prove to have the lowest mortality rate, which stab wounds are critical, where you can be stabbed without dying immediately, how long it might take for blood loss to kill you… I did some freaking research. My thanks go to especially a site called little_ .com, a fact-checking community for writers. At least looking on that site I didn't feel like a total creeper for researching it because I obviously wasn't the only one XD
I'd like to rant and rave about the antics I got into at camp, but I really don't feel it would be appropriate, considering where I left the story off… So I won't bore you with the details of my personal life.
And now I give you the first chapter I've posted in like… a while.
Responsibility
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
Noir reminded herself of every breath as she took them carefully, trying her best to not breathe too deeply. She was growing nearer to the palace now. She still kept to the shadows when possible, even though it seemed as if everybody in the city had deserted the streets.
She peered around a corner and squinted. She couldn't tell if it was the rain or the pain blurring her vision, but the huge structure looked smeared around the golden edges. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to shake her head a bit, but a hiss of pain escaped her lips when fire exploded from her side. She gasped out a curse and ground her teeth together.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Not much further. Keep going.
She pressed the fistful of cloak in her hand even harder to the wound in her side. It was already soaking, but she tried not to worry about what it was soaked with—raindrops or blood. She was still going, and that was all that mattered. She had to keep going. She nearly stumbled on her next step, but she caught herself against the stone of the building next to her, and she swallowed back a groan. The adrenaline was still racing through her right now, dulling the pain when she was on the move. It was when she stopped for a few moments that it really seemed to catch up to her. She could do this, she promised herself. She swore that she could make it. She just had to keep going.
00000
Marron tried to keep herself calm by counting her steps as she paced her room. It didn't work. She lost count so quickly she couldn't even tell how far she had gotten. Instead, she just focused on the image of the toes of her brown leather boots as they moved one in front of the other on the plush royal blue carpet.
Her brow was drawn together, lips pinched, shoulders tensed. Her feet led her to the window yet again, and she stared out at the city for a few moments. She wasn't sure what it was she wanted to see out there. Perhaps she was hoping to see the Aesir warriors coming back, still in their ranks and perfectly spotless. Then they would return to their bunks, and it would turn out it really had been a mere drill and not an attack on the rebel base. Or maybe she hoped that they would come back after a battle, with haggard expressions on their faces and yet tired smiles of triumph—and Noir with them, unharmed. Maybe she was hoping that the rebels would be vanquished and that Noir was still fine.
She blinked and sharply gasped in surprise when the first spattering of rain threw itself against the window pane. She berated herself internally for letting it frighten her like that. But she was filled with so much nervous energy right now that it was impossible to not be put even more on edge by the tapping… it was growing steadier and heavier now. A downpour, battering the city and obscuring the neko girl's view of it as rivulets snaked their way down the pane.
Marron shook her head and turned away again, resuming her pacing. Her slit-pupil eyes flicked up from the tips of her boots again when there was a quick rapping on the door. She stood motionless for a moment, unsure what she was supposed to do.
Another sharp rapping. "Marron? It's me, Thor," came the deep muffled voice from the other side.
She sighed and cleared her throat. "Come in," she called hoarsely, feeling at first a release of the tightness in her heart, but then another sudden increase of it. She didn't know what news he had brought.
The door was opened, and Thor stepped in, face taut with anxiety.
"What's happened?" Marron whispered, taking a few tentative steps forward to meet him as he closed the door behind himself. "Is it—was it an attack, like we…?" she let her sentence die at the pained expression on Thor's face. "Oh, gods," she breathed.
"My father didn't tell anybody he was launching the attack," Thor said tersely. "Directly after the war council was dismissed, he went to the captain of the guard and had him assemble a troop of a hundred fifty men, and had them march forth to the rebel base in the hopes of defeating them quickly."
Marron bowed her head. "…Noir's still there. I know it. I know it. What are we going to do? Can we go-?"
"It's too late," Thor shook his head gravely, sorrow in his eyes. "We would have had to leave right after the soldiers to beat them. By now they're there… or nearly there." He moved slowly to stand at the window, still hammered by the drops of rain that seemed to be trying to penetrate the glass and attack the inhabitants of the room. "Marron, she might still make it out alright," he said softly, looking at the incomprehensible blur of a landscape.
Marron forced herself to swallow, and she crossed to stand next to Thor at the window. "Did you tell the same thing to Loki?"
Thor let out a slow breath, returning his gaze to the neko. "Aye, it is. He didn't say much back. He seems to be in shock, honestly… he just left to his room and slammed the door in my face; I didn't think it wise to push him any further. Father and Mother asked what's wrong with us for being so distressed about the attack, but… I couldn't tell them anything, could I?"
"No, you couldn't," Marron acknowledged. "What did you tell them?"
"Nothing, really. Just that we disagreed with the decision. Made it brief as possible and then came here to tell you."
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She absently noted that her hands, resting lightly on the windowsill, were shaking slightly. "Thank you for coming to tell me, Thor," she choked out. "You'll let me know if anything else of note happens?"
Tentatively, Thor lifted his hand and lay it on top of one of her trembling ones. "Of course. I can stay here awhile and keep you company, if you wish it."
She looked up at him half-hopefully. "Would you?"
"Certainly." He forced a comforting smile.
And the next thing he knew, Marron had launched herself into his arms, arms wrapped around his neck as she whispered unintelligible thanks and praises of his goodheartedness. All he could do was pat her back shyly and smile self-consciously.
00000
Loki stared down at his hands as he listened to the rain assaulting the windows and glass doors leading to his balcony. He dully thought that he should be doing something… figuring out a way to help—help who? Thor was almost certainly letting Marron know the news. There was nothing more Loki or Thor could say to the king and queen. And there was nothing to be done about the attack on the rebel base except wait for news of some kind. And he had heard nothing yet.
He blinked suddenly, realizing his hands had balled into fists, and his fingernails were starting to cut into his palms. He forced his fingers to relax, and he shook his hands out as he squeezed his eyes shut. The logical part in the back of his mind wisely informed him that there was no use worrying. Right now, though, the rest of his mind was more content perseverating on images of Aesir soldiers marching towards a run-down villa, and then breaking into the windows and doors, cornering countless nekos—Noir among them—and wounding or executing them. Would they stop long enough to listen if one of the nekos begged them to stop a moment and listen? Would they possibly relent if just one neko claimed to not really be a rebel?
The idea sounded ridiculous even to him. No, he didn't know what anyone could do except hope and wait and pray to the Norns to braid a better fate than the ones Loki's overactive imagination seemed to be determined to conjure.
He groaned in frustration and pushed himself into a standing position from his armchair, starting to pace his bedroom nervously. Restlessness and helplessness were starting to overwhelm him, beginning to spawn hopelessness from their mixing.
His step faltered when he heard a noise outside… something like splashing and scraping. He tipped his head and narrowed his eyes. It sounded… like it was coming from the balcony. Like something had hit the floor of the balcony. It wouldn't exactly surprise him: the storm outside was so terrible, he wouldn't be at all surprised if debris—tree branches or flags torn from their poles—were being tossed about in the torrential rain and howling wind.
Then there was a sound over the torrential rain and howling wind. Something like a faint voice fighting its way through the air to be heard over the tempest. He couldn't hear the words it said, but he was sure he heard it all the same.
His brow furrowed in slight confusion. He tried to think of some reason he would be hearing a voice… no reasonable explanation came to him. But his feet were leading him over to the double doors to the balcony. He squinted, but it was difficult to see; there were streams of water snaking down, cutting through the faint mist that had clouded over the view.
Uncertainly, his hand rested on the handle of the left door and cracked it open a few inches. The stone floor was dark and slick with the water, and there were steady trickles of runoff as the rain slid from the balcony to fall to the ground below. His eyes carefully took it in, then followed the line of the railing. And that was when he stopped, feeling frozen.
Huddled over in one of the corners was a shadowy figure, drenched in rainwater and shivering violently. Her face, though, was visible. Her sopping hood was stuck to her cheek on one side, and there were strands of black hair plastered to her face, which seemed more unnaturally pale than usual.
"Noir!" Loki gasped, throwing the door the rest of the way open and nearly slipping on the glistening stone as he rushed over to her, heart leaping in his chest. "Noir, how-?" He dropped to his knees at her side, not caring that his clothes were getting splashed with the rainwater and that he was soon going to be just as drenched as she was.
Noir's eyes opened, and she let out a shaky breath. "Oh, thank the gods, Loki," she breathed. "I called for you, but I wasn't sure if you—" she broke off with a sharp intake of breath.
Loki held back a grin. "I heard. I'm here. And now you're here. And you're alright. I was…" He trailed off at the look on her face: lips pressed together so hard they were practically a flat white line, nostrils flared, pupils overly dilated.
"Loki, I'm—" she broke off and reached out, grabbing his forearm desperately with one hand. "Loki, I'm—look, I'm hurt, and…"
Loki stared. She was hurt? "Noir, you're… how…?"
Wordlessly, she tightened her grip on his forearm and peeled her other hand away from her side.
Loki felt his mouth go dry. Her palm was dark with blood.
"I can't explain right now," she said hastily, pressing a handful of cloak to her side again to staunch the bleeding. "You've just got to help me. Take me inside, and—"
"Of course, of course," he nodded quickly, laying a hand over hers, still clenched on his arm.
"I'm not sure I can stand on my own anymore," she admitted, looking away from his eyes.
Dread trickled its way through Loki's body, whispering dark thoughts of crippling injuries or too much lost blood or infections or death. "I'll help you up," he said shakily, gingerly slipping an arm around her back and beginning to pull her up. He paused, cringing, when she let out a hiss of pain.
"Keep going," she urged, trying to keep her feet planted on the ground. "I'm… just… feeling faint. I'm fine, just… you've got to do something," she whispered through teeth clenched against the pain pulsing through the right side of her body, radiating out through the rest of her as well, slowly but surely making her entire body feel distantly numb and filled with icy fire.
Swallowing nervously, Loki got a better grip on one of her hands and the other arm firmly secured around her waist. Wincing at but trying to ignore her muffled groans, he pulled her all the way up to a standing position, and Noir collapsed against him, gasping. Loki felt himself tense—but not at her closeness. He was too worried about the way she was trembling, and how he was practically taking all of her weight, confirming that she couldn't support herself.
"I'll help you inside," he whispered, securing one of her arms around his shoulders while one of his arms wrapped around her hips, carefully avoiding the area where her hand still pressed to just below her ribcage. He had to half-carry her through the door, and he didn't bother closing the door to the rainy balcony, focused on getting the nearly-limp neko girl to his bed a few feet away.
She fell rather than arranged herself into a sitting position on the edge of the green covers, only keeping herself upright by bracing her free arm a few inches behind her, fingers splayed to support her weight.
Inhale. Exhale.
"Will you at least tell me what happened?" Loki asked, sitting on the bed as gently as possible to avoid jarring Noir. He leaned closer to her. "Please?"
Noir sighed shakily and nodded softly. "My… mother… I was with the rebels… I didn't mean to…"
Loki's gaze swept her face, trepidation filling him until his fingertips trembled. "You're not making sense," he breathed. "What do I do?"
Noir shook her head a little. "…Blanc was… going to help me… but… soldiers came… my…" She could feel her eyes starting to slide closed as darkness seemed to tug on her so gently into its embrace. She told it to wait just a moment, and she'd be there soon. She just had to finish this conversation with the prince of Asgard first. "My mother… got mad… because of the map.."
Loki reached forward and touched her shoulder. "Noir," he said urgently. "Focus. Open your eyes…" he slid closer, brow furrowed with unease.
She hummed faintly, not opening her eyes but instead letting herself lie back across the mattress, staining his green covers darker with the water on her clothes. "My mother stabbed me," she confided in a hushed voice.
That gave Loki pause for only a moment. "Your… mother…?" But then he noticed again that she was laying back, eyes drifted closed. "Noir!" he reprimanded. "You can't…"
The darkness tugged at the edge of her consciousness more insistently now. She felt herself succumbing to it, filling her from her toes and fingers, creeping in to her torso. "Can't… what…?" she couldn't help but ask, not remembering what the problem was anymore.
Alarmed, Loki reached out and grabbed her hand. "Noir," he said urgently. "Don't you dare go to sleep!"
She shook her head nearly-imperceptibly, though she made no move to sit up again or to open her eyes. "I'm… not…"
Loki scrambled to kneel next to her head, cupping her face in his hands. "Don't you dare! What do I do to help?" he demanded desperately. "What do I do?!"
Noir shook her head minutely, her eyes remaining closed. "I don't…" she breathed out with difficulty. "I don't… know… I… just…" her voice grew fainter with every word, and then she let her words just trail off, the darkness swathing her in a blanket so thick she couldn't see or feel or hear Loki anymore, and any thoughts were blotted out with the overwhelming darkness.
Loki waited a moment, staring at her uncomprehendingly while his heart thudded wildly in his chest. "Noir?" he whispered. He shook her shoulder slightly. "Noir?" She didn't respond, and he felt the world start to slowly unravel around him as denial crashed down on him. "No, no, no," he breathed, shaking his head. "You can't—"
He broke off. Her chest was still rising and falling slightly. Loki's trembling hand slipped to the side of her neck, and he found a faint but steady pulse. He moved his fingers to her lips, and felt air ghosting over his skin. He swallowed and closed his eyes, taking a deep and steady breath. She was still alive. She was still alive. He clung desperately to that thought. But now he had to do something to make sure that she stayed that way.
His first thought was calling for servants to take her to the healers' wing. But that idea was immediately discarded: most likely they would refuse to treat a neko, no matter what he told them. And besides, that would mean revealing Noir to practically the entire kingdom—the king and queen would be the first to hear if he brought an injured neko to the healers. His mind jumped to Thor and Marron for help… but he wasn't sure if they were together, and besides, Marron wouldn't be allowed to leave her quarters, and it would be far too suspicious. He didn't have the time to find them, create an alibi, and bring them and explain the situation. In any case, they would have no more idea than he did. But… the only other option he could conceive of was doing something to heal Noir himself. And he hadn't the slightest inkling of how to do that.
But… he had to do something, and merely sitting here with his mind whirling wasn't the answer. He tried to dredge up any information on healing he had read in the library as he looked Noir over.
There had been the blood on her hand when she pulled her hand away from the side of her abdomen. She had said she was stabbed. So… a stab wound. He'd have to inspect it to see how bad it was—but obviously it had to be bad, if Noir was like this. Loki winced and moved his hand to her waist. His fingers lingered on the hem of her black tunic.
He closed his eyes and berated himself. This was an invasion of Noir's privacy, a betrayal of her trust, and yet it was the only thing he might be able to do to help her without getting her into even more trouble. Loki steeled himself and slowly lifted the cloth of her tunic a few inches. Nothing. He grimaced at himself and lifted it a few more inches. And then he stopped dead at the sight of a wound only an inch or two long, located just below her right ribcage, oozing dark blood. The cut had to be deep, otherwise such a short incision wouldn't be bleeding this much.
With a shuddering breath, he untied her cloak so it wouldn't get in the way, and then he dashed to his bath room for a basin of hot water and towels, pausing only to wash his hands.
Once he returned to Noir, he repositioned her carefully so her head was propped with a pillow and her hands were at her sides, and then he dipped a white hand towel into the warm water to clean blood from the wound. Noir whimpered in her unconsciousness, making Loki pause. She didn't wake, which only made Loki more worried. He finished cleaning the cut and started to withdraw the cloth. And then he bit his lip at the sight.
With the blood gone, he could see that the skin surrounding her cut was puckered, and there were red-and-yellow veins snaking over her skin from the stab site. And it took only seconds for more blood to begin oozing out of the cut, starting to coat her stomach once again, as if Noir's blood was relentlessly attempting to escape her body.
"Blast," Loki muttered in horror. Only a poisoned weapon could do something like this.
He seized a dry towel and pressed it to the stab wound, not sure what else he could even do. Panic was flaring in his chest, and he was growing less and less sure that he could handle this. She was still unconscious, skin clammy, pulse faint. Still bleeding profusely. Still somewhere beyond his reach.
He put a warm wet cloth on her forehead and squeezed her hand gently. "Stay with me," he begged quietly. "Please, Noir, stay with me."
00000
"What could possibly be so wrong with sending a troop to attack the rebels?" Odin asked of Frigga, both of them still vaguely mystified. "We were given the information by the informant that Thor himself brought to us.. Yet now he is upset that we are using that information?"
"Perhaps they wished to join the attack?" Frigga suggested, but then she shook her head. "No. Perhaps Thor may have wanted to join the fight, but Loki has no interest. But then again, he has been opposed to us taking any true offensive against the nekos since he first heard of the rebellion. That could be why Loki was upset. But Thor…" she shook her head. "I don't think he wanted to join the fight. It seemed he and Loki were in agreement about something. Maybe Loki has managed to convince Thor to see things his way."
"I wouldn't put it past him to charm Thor with his words. But I still fail to see why in the nine realms Loki is so defensive of the nekos and their rights, and even of their rebellion," Odin huffed, sounding disgruntled.
"You said he helped earlier today," Frigga reminded her husband. "When you were interrogating the informant. Who is this informant, anyway?"
Odin shrugged. "Some prisoner; a neko with brown hair and brown eyes and brown ears and tail. Can't remember the name. Why?"
"She might be frightened is all, what with being surrounded by so many Aesir men. She has no idea if you might simply throw her back into the dungeons," Frigga shrugged delicately.
Odin sighed and shook his head. "Not you, too. I think I've had enough of the royal family members taking the side of a group of rebels." He straightened when he heard approaching footsteps and a knock on the door.
The captain of the guard strode in, his helmet removed respectfully. His armor was slick with rainwater, and his hair had been blown about by the wind. "Allfather," he greeted breathlessly as he approached and knelt at the foot of the throne.
"What news?" Odin asked eagerly, eye glinting with cold anticipation of the fates of the rebels.
"Your Highness, we were unable to properly disband the group," the guard confessed.
Odin blinked blankly and waited.
"…They must have had forewarning of our arrival—a lookout, perhaps. By the time we arrived at the villa, there was nobody there."
Odin stiffened. "Is it possible that our informer lied?"
The guard quickly shook his head. "We saw a group of them departing the scene, and we were able to kill one of them, but the others got away. We searched the house as well. It's evident that there was a large number of people living there very recently, and it very well may have been the neko rebels. We surmised that they retreated to another base hidden somewhere else in the city."
Odin thought this over carefully for a moment. So they had escaped. By sheer luck, it would seem. "Would it be possible for someone to track them to their new hideout?"
The captain looked up gravely and shook his head. "The rain will cause any clues to be lost. Unless we can find an informant who knows more about the other base they have set up, I see no way we can find them in a reasonable amount of time. Waiting for something new to surface is our best stance to take, my lord."
Odin felt his jaw clench slightly. Failure. All that this plan had brought was failure—if he had waited, then they at least would have been able to follow the nekos to their other hideout. Now… now there was nothing to be done. "Thank you. You're dismissed." The captain of the guard stood and exited while Odin pondered his predicament. So Thor and Loki had been right in some way. Right that he should have waited, at least. But he had a feeling that their reasons were very different from his own. "Frigga?" he asked slowly.
"Yes?" his wife answered softly. Her lips were pursed and brows drawn together at the captain's news.
"Would you tell Thor and Loki of what's happened? I have no doubt they'll be very eager to hear news of the attack."
"Of course," Frigga nodded quickly and started to walk out of the throne room, wondering which of her sons to find first.
Note from LoquaciousQuibbler: Well, about half of this chapter was written in between packing for my summer camp, and the other half was written at my summer camp. So, I mean, if it's a little chaotic, that's why. Well, that and that's actually kind of the mood I was going for :P
So… Marron and Thor, worrying over the attack on the base and having their own moment. Then Noir finally making it up to Loki's room—only to pass out from… what is it? Doth thou truly know? Of course thou hast no knowledge of Noir's ailment, but I do! Prepare thine self, puny mortals! Shall Noir be alright? Will she live? Will she die? Will she turn into a big purple flower with plaid orange stamens and sky blue pistils?! (Don't ask; I feel exceedingly random at the moment.)
Oh, yeah. And then Odin is ticked at his failure… personally, we're all vaguely relieved. *phew* Still, things did manage to get screwed up even without the Allfather's plan working… And now Frigga is off to find her sons and tell the news. Who do you think it'll be that she discovers? Thor in the guest chambers with *gasp* LADY MARRON! Or… Loki in his bedroom, tending to *gasp* A NEKO GIRL!
Tune in next time to find out on… Banditry! (Sorry; I seriously feel vaguely… out of it :P Camp's not always the best. Tiring stuff. Even though by the time you read this I'll be out of camp… whoa… it's like I'm writing to people in the future… well, more so than usual… I'ma stop now :P I've done enough rambling. Just keep in mind one should not only get a few hours of sleep after a long day of messing about on the Gravity Ropes at The Main Event…)
(Note: I wrote this note while still at camp. I actually am posting this the day after I got back from camp, so… yeah :P)
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