Disclaimer: RWBY belongs to VIZ. I own nothing.
Episode VI: "Chicago;
Luck Be a Lady"
The kitchen ran without further troubles after May foiled the attempt at extortion, and soon enough they reached the end of the day. By then, the only thing Blake wanted was plop down on a chair to rub her aching feet. To her happy surprise, a number of the locals pitched in to help with tidying the area, allowing her to do just that. Even May took up the chance for a rest, wolfing down a bowl of fried rice that Jaune had passed to her.
Despite her fatigue, Blake sported a happy grin. It wasn't every day that she did something like this. Could she devote herself to a life of charity work? Probably not. Already she was starting to get that antsy feeling for a new sight, new place, new experience. A couple of days here would see her miserable. For this one moment, though, all seemed right with the world.
…Her cat ears prickled as she detected a presence, a second before the stranger sat down on the adjacent chair.
"Ahhh, these legs aren't what they used to be," said the old man. His back was stooped with age, hair grayed. He carried a gentle smile. "I hope you don't mind me leaving cleanup to the young'uns."
"Oh no, not at all." Jaune raised a teapot. "Can I pour you a cup?"
"Thank you kindly."
The tea was not fancy by any means, with Jaune an inexpert brewer. Yet, the old man drank down his cup with apparent relish, and he followed it with a content sigh.
"Yes, very kindly. Very odd, too. Omertina is not a place that often receives attention from charity efforts. Those that would try have learned their lesson after the many times they were robbed, or murdered. Brave of you."
What was it about the old man that bothered her?
His diction. He spoke in a cultured voice, the words forming in clear notes. His grace. He handled the teacup with smooth, delicate motions, his conduct finer than Blake can ever hope to portray. The last time she saw that sort of mannerism was among the wealthy guests on the pleasure cruise ship Sherry Waltz, an environment that was a far cry from these ramshackle tenements.
The old man held out his cup for a refill, letting Blake get a good, long look at his outfit.
Patched clothing bore distinctive hallmarks when people did not have much to go around. Roughly-sewn. Ill-fitted with whatever material was available.
They were not woven this fine, the thread running in a uniform pattern. The seams were near imperceptible but for the different colors. And…the clothes lacked signs of wear and tear, the stains that accumulated over the weeks between a wash. It was as if someone wanted to convey the appearance of hard times, without living through such conditions. Like a disguise.
After a sip of his second cup, the old man set it on the counter. Then, he leaned in towards Jaune.
"Why are you here, really? You can tell me."
"Same to you," said Blake before the captain could respond, turning the question right back around. The old man's eyes, squinted almost shut, turned to regard her shrewdly. She met it with an even stare.
Abruptly, the old man gave a low chuckle. A number of the helpful locals stopped to check on him, which was rather telling in Blake's view. They were paying far more attention than they let on.
"A sharp one. Definitely not innocent volunteers, out for a spot of feel good philanthropy. You have an agenda."
Jaune crossed his arms and leaned on the counter, shrugging. "Can't it be both? Maybe we're complicated people. Nuanced, and whatnot."
"And a sly one, too!" The old man's smile took on a wolfish intent. Certain men and women in their surroundings began to gather, casually forming an encirclement. "When I heard the Honey Starbright dropped by, I had to see its people for myself. I never bought into the hype. If nobody can see your motive so far, then that just means you're playing the long game." His voice dropped an octave. "Makes me quite concerned, about whether or not you planned to interfere in the way of things around here."
He stopped as both Blake and Jaune started snickering under their breath.
"Or, perhaps, I gave you too much credit."
"Waaay too much," Jaune concurred.
"Unless you have a hidden stash of Pumpkin Pete merch on this planet, he's not interested."
"And she's easily bribed with food. We have no interest in disputing territory with gang bosses."
A significant look from the captain conveyed the idea that one such gang boss sat before their eyes. If the old man was surprised to have his cover blown, he did not let on, simply rubbing his chin in ponderance—and mild embarrassment.
"A different goal, hm? Don't tell me it's the same reason as those other fellows…"
Blake raised an eyebrow. "Other fellows?"
"In the past week, bounty hunters have descended on this planet in droves to search for someone," he offered in a cautious tone. Burned once, he seemed unwilling to look the fool again.
Clink. May set down her spoon. She had tuned out their talk in lieu of eating—which was an attitude Blake heartily approved of—and only showed concern insofar that a fight might occur. No longer. The old man held her full attention now.
"Oh, good. At least I'm right on the second count. Nearly thought I went senile there," the old man said with relief. "Whoever they're after, it's caused quite a ruckus, I can tell you that, though the end shouldn't be long now. As I hear, the frequency of the clashes has increased as time goes on, meaning those bounty hunters must have managed to tighten the circle on their prey." He paused. "Well, supposed prey. It's hard to say for sure on account of all the bodies in the street."
May pushed off the seat, and grabbed her weapon case. "Where are they?"
"Hang on—" Jaune started, but the old man cut him off.
"Ah ah ah," he waggled his finger, "I'd not give information away for free. People would mistake that I've gone soft."
"An exchange, then," Blake said, getting the hint. Jaune, who was waving at her for unknown reasons, slapped a hand over his face.
"Exactly, young lady." The gang boss examined the kitchen. He nodded to himself in satisfaction, and gave his demand. "Leave the equipment. Your idea with this place was a good one. I'll have a couple of lads continue running it when you depart."
She bristled. "A good idea, huh? Then why didn't you do it earlier?"
People were hungry before they ever arrived on Omertina. What changed? The opportunistic takeover stank of nefarious intentions.
Her temper stuttered for a moment as the gang boss heaved a great sigh. He wilted in his seat, looking very much all his years.
"Something for nothing? Not our way. That's how chumps go bust on this world." He gazed over the courtyard, lingering on the customers helping to clean up the area and their jovial mood. "Although…there's something here. I can faintly recall a memory from days long gone, one that I would swear was almost identical to this. I'd like to see it again, I think."
Nostalgia? Blake was unsure of how to take that. Could it really be enough for a person to act against their own interest? Jaune seemed to think so, irritation slipping as he stared off into space, his expression a near mirror to that of the old man.
"Make your request to that girl. She paid for the stuff we used." Jaune jerked a thumb towards May, who briefly sported a look of alarm as everyone turned to her, before it smoothed out and she mulled on the offer.
Coming to an answer, she caressed the trigger that would launch the case into sword form.
"It's a deal, as long as you actually run the kitchen properly. Exploit it for your gain, and I will let you know my objections the same way as I did the last group."
Amused, the old man replied, "For the lady who fought so that she can serve us meals, I will keep to my word."
"And about what we asked for?" Blake reminded them.
"Seek the Longmoon Night Market."
-o-
The gang boss got his way on one last term in the deal, and the captain stayed back to train his replacements, leaving two young women to walk along a lively street lit bright by lanterns.
Cultivated behind the scenes by its own gang, the Longmoon Night Market was a thriving ecosystem. For the most part, the passersby on this side of the megacity lacked the downtrodden look that was Blake's first impression of Omertina. People had money to spend here. They have different ways to make a living. Shop stalls lined the path, the vendors hawking wares and services. With the sound of sizzling oil and the mouth-watering scents of a hundred different fares, food existed aplenty—for a price. And as music blared, performers took to the street, wowing the tourists with their acts.
Flitting through the throngs of people, pickpockets practiced their trade. In the alleys, sex sells. In the open, drugs passed hands.
Yet, nothing can hold a candle to the most popular indulgence of Omertina. Every other business seemed to feature a card table, or offered entrance to a gambling hall. Giant prize wheels spun round and round, spectacles for the crowds to cheer or groan along with the contestants. Elsewhere, higher-stake games of chance lured in the unsuspecting. They spat out a nonstop string of broke customers, cleaned out of even the clothes on their backs.
So, yes, people had money to spend here. They just tend to lose it by the end of the night.
Blake traveled with one hand clamped on her wallet, and head on a swivel to deter would-be thieves. It was what the locals did, and she had been quick to imitate them. Of course, the real expensive stuff was grasped in her other hand.
The set of coin-like tokens Jaune gave to her looked appropriate for the area at a glance. They would never fit any of the roadside slot machines, though. Activate one with a press, throw it at a target, and the tracker would stick to them, blaring its location for the party to follow wherever their mark may hide; at least, until it gets destroyed.
In bounty hunting, the chase was the thing.
She rather liked that mindset. It meant she could be useful despite lacking in martial skills. Violence was the forte of their taciturn guest, not hers.
Speaking of…
May had not said a word since they split from Jaune, her face inscrutable, almost irritated as she made a beeline down the middle of the night market with her head low. People learned to grant the girl a wide berth after seeing would-be thieves knocked clear off their feet by the clunky metal case swinging off her shoulder. Blake had to jog to keep pace.
Watch out for her, Jaune had said, and Blake was starting to understand why. Hellbent on revenge, May tunnel-visioned on her goal, becoming blind to the world. Her gait was stiff, robotic. She didn't act like a person once she got this way, and it unsettled Blake something fierce.
"May? How about we take it slow? Conserve energy and all that."
…
"Uhhh. Are you hungry? There's a snack stand ahead, my treat. We should be in tip-top shape before we get in a fight."
…
Okay. Enough of this.
Blake darted in front of May, several steps away so as to not be overrun. Bravely, she put up both arms to cover her head, and squeezed her eyes shut as she prepared for an impact, one possibly involving massive trauma.
Seriously, what else was she supposed to do? The girl's a fun-sized juggernaut.
The crash she expected never happened. Cracking open an eye, Blake came face to face with May. They stood inches apart, allowing her to see the details of the other girl in full. She still wasn't expressive, but she was beet red. Panicked, watery eyes sent out a plea for help.
"T-The people I knocked down, are they following us? Are they angry? I swear it was an accident!" blurted out May, teeth chattering.
Huh. Less 'Bothead murder-machine', more 'kid with her hand in the cookie jar', then.
"You're not that great with crowds, I take it?"
A headshake. "No, I spend most of my time alone." Realizing how sad that sounded, May amended herself. "Training! I was training, not just staying in my room and doing nothing."
A picture was shaping up in Blake's mind. An isolated girl, devoting years of her life to preparing for a fight. Some, like Amber, tried to help, but nobody was present often enough for her to learn the norms that most people absorbed from being around others. The girl then grew up awkward, comfortable in serious situations where violence was the answer, and troubled by scenarios as mundane as receiving positive attention or dealing with mistakes made. Little wonder, that Jaune can talk her into his scheme with such ease. May had too few experiences with people to draw on.
In short, Blake held the initiative here.
Heh. Heheheh. How the tables have turned. No longer was she the naive, socially-stunted half in the conversation. Nay, this was her chance to be the worldly dispenser of sage wisdom!
Y'know, if she had any. Most of her thought processes terminated in some sort of food dish. May wasn't aware of that tidbit, though, and Blake had zero reasons to tell the other girl. Watch out for her, Jaune had said, and Blake can now see the path to doing just that. He meant it as more than a matter of physical wellbeing.
May flinched as Blake sidled to her side, and wrapped an arm around May's shoulders.
"Hey, May. Since I know my way around the galaxy better than you do, it makes sense for me to act as the guide, right?" She waited for a nod, then continued. "My advice is this. We stay calm. We stay cool. Tyrian Callow doesn't sound like someone we can face at less than our best."
That part received a sulkier response, but May refrained from disagreeing outright.
"Great! So, first, let's slow it down. We're going to go grab some food."
"What does this have to do with catching Callow?"
"Think of it as an exercise to center yourself. Find your zen." Was that a thing Jaune would say? Blake shrugged and assumed it was.
"He might be killing the other bounty hunters right now!"
"The people in that business are prepared for the risk. Heck, they understand the job a lot better than a couple of newbies like us would. We won't improve their chances by rushing in to get slaughtered."
May grumbled, offended at the dismissal of her skills. But, really, none of her skills have seen a proper field test beyond skirmishes with thugs. She had a strong combination, sure, stacking improvements through multiple methods, including good old combat training, weaponry adaptable to every circumstance, and a chemical formula boosting her natural attributes past normal limits. Why, unless she possessed a magical shield to protect her body from harm or a superpower like in fiction, May was as ready as she'd ever be.
With all of those elements working in concert, Jaune deemed May to have a shot. Not even a guarantee. Call her a defeatist, but Blake was hoping for one of the bounty hunters to bring down Tyrian before they ever meet him.
May dithered, and Blake searched for another avenue to convince her. "Look, I can read the atmosphere enough to spot when trouble's on the way. Things are quiet here. If Tyrian had shown up, the place would be in an uproar." It was missing, the little signs that raised one's hackles, telling a person to prepare for the world to go wrong. She hasn't gotten a single whiff of it in the night market. Yet. "We'll keep an eye out, but don't stress on it. Now, c'mon."
Adamantly, she began leading May towards the stalls. There were the usual fares on display, food popular enough that they've become common throughout the galaxy. Pizzas, burgers, and so on. Blake just wasn't feeling it. She wanted to experience local delicacies, and to show her sheltered companion the same. A person's first trip to space should be memorable.
They ended up in front of a booth, staring into a huge pot boiling what Blake mistook as tofu at first. White in color, with a springy texture, the round blocks of meat measured a handspan in thickness, with a small area removed at the center. The tail sections of a creature alien to her knowledge, she ventured a guess. Steeped in broth, they gave off an aroma that reminded her of flowers as the cook—a fresh-faced teen working his family's business—fished the ones that were ready to eat onto plastic plates that were only a little bigger than the slabs sitting atop them. Blake bought two.
Blake admired the respectable heft of the slice, cat ears flickering in anticipation, before going for a taste. Her first bite, she met a rubbery shell that required a bit of effort to break through. The meat beneath was tougher than she expected. Not tofu. Not jelly, either. She decided that she liked it. Most of the flavor came from the sweet broth, though she also detected an underlying savoriness natural to the meat, which lingered on the tongue even after she swallowed the morsel.
With a happy hum, she eagerly dug into the meal, a gesture mirrored by May. The other girl might not have cat ears to express her opinion, but her gusto conveyed it well.
"What is it?" May asked the cook.
"One of the specialties of Longmoon Night Market, miss. Take a ship and visit a dozen of our neighbors in the sector, and you still won't find anything like it elsewhere. Giant Omertinian Silkworms!"
Silkworms can be eaten? How interesting! Blake has learned something new today.
For whatever odd reason, May stopped chewing, and whimpered.
From then onward, they were two girls with a mission. Blake intended to try out all the specialties now that she was informed of their existence. If their fame warranted sector-wide recognition, then they must be tasty, right?
Urban gators, subterranean turtles, aged eggs, mossy cheese balls…the breadth of ingredients and ingenuity of cooking techniques blew her away. She ran down the full list, trying even the boring ones with otherworld variants such as fried batter and dumplings filled with local vegetables, which tasted nice if feeling quite substanceless in comparison.
May was with her every step, and often shared her food. Sometimes, she would even offer the entire dish after just one bite when she noticed how enthusiastic Blake was for it, and limited herself to the aforementioned mundane choices.
Such a generous person. It nearly brought a tear to Blake's eyes—and led to her declaring May her best friend. Jaune? Who's that? He was never in contention for the spot, what with him always eating the good stuff, and only deigning to share bland, untasty food neither of them would enjoy in the short time they've known each other.
Between these moments, they maintained a lookout on their surroundings. The food trip carried the pair on a steady course along the length of the street, and Blake kept her eyes peeled for the most minute hint of combat. A person falls down, and she was studying their features. A fist flies, and she had a tracker in hand, ready to throw.
Unfortunately, violence came part and parcel with the area. They couldn't walk ten steps before another altercation broke out. Angry drunks. Wronged parties. Misunderstandings. Crimes of opportunity. May blocked three attempted muggings so far, and Blake prevented one…by being an easier mark for the would-be thieves who switched targets, necessitating May to intervene. Whatever, she'd still count it as her contribution. Point was, the daily happenings of the Longmoon Night Market spawned a high number of false alarms.
A set of doors crashing open signaled the newest such instance. Two bouncers built like brick walls hauled out a young man, this one stripped down to just his underwear. Inside the gambling hall behind them, a dice game began anew.
A rough shove and the young man slammed his forehead against the ground, hitting stone. Instead of leaving it there, the thugs made a theater of cracking their knuckles and shaking out their legs, limbering up to give a beating. The vicious smiles they wore belied their eagerness at performing this task. To start it off, one of them swung his foot back, and kicked.
His shin met the corner of a metal case. As he fell, clutching his leg and screaming in pain, May imposed between his buddy and their target. A fight seemed all too possible, until she lifted the case over her head. The second bouncer alternated his gaze from the girl to the massive slab of steel she held in one dainty hand, and chose life. The gambling hall's door shut behind his retreating form, followed by the sound of locks and bolts falling into place.
The gambler saved by May tripped over himself in his haste to rush at her.
"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Oh, you are a goddess!" He tried to kiss her shoes; she tapdanced to avoid it. "Those scum would have killed me if not for you!"
"Y-You do not need to thank me. I am only doing what anyone would."
A gleam entered the young man's eyes. He latched on to May.
"You have to help me. They're cheating the dice, that's how they stole everything from me. I tried to stop them, but there were too many for me to fight alone!"
May might have bought it, had Blake not intervened to pry the man off the other girl.
"Look, guy. All I see is that you went bust and now hold a grudge. We're not your patsies. Deal with the problem on your own."
Her words shocked the man into a momentary stupor. Had the advice resonated with his heart?
"You're right," he said, as a grin grew. "You're absolutely right. I'm going to go in there, and win my stuff back." He crawled towards them, hope shining in his eyes. "I just need cash to deal in. You can lend me some, can't you? I'll return it by tomorrow."
Nope. Screw this. Blake pulled a shaken May along, sparing not a single glance at the person.
The gambler shouted at their departing backs, "Hey! I need help! One lucky streak and we could be rich. Come on!"
His voice soon faded among the general din. It succeeded in leaving its mark. Once they've made distance, May tugged on Blake's sleeve to catch her attention, looking glum.
"Are you certain he was lying?"
"Definitely. That gambler wanted to use you, either as a battering ram or a wallet."
"But, maybe…"
"Trust me, that was all a trick. Don't even dwell on it. Actually, here." She threw Lien at a food cart, then showed May her prize. "Focus on these. Meat buns. They don't lie to you."
She encouraged May to take a bite. The bun must have suited her taste, because she continued a second bite without prompting. They ate in silence, Blake out of respect to the food, and May due to being lost in thought. By the time they finished the meal, the latter had come to a conclusion.
"I don't think I like Omertina very much."
Upon reflection, Blake would admit that taking May here was a cruel thing, for she did not fit in. She could have, were this still the Planet of Lady Luck. A thousand literary works have been written of Omertina, the world of chances and miracles, where all too often a call for aid became the start of a hero's grand adventure. Nowadays, though, the new culture has fully taken the reins, and its people have dove in head first, preferring to drown rather than ever surfacing. No place remained for heroes like May on Omertina.
Blake patted the other girl on the back to comfort her. "Steady on, May. A few days, and we're off to the stars again. Just have to find Tyrian."
"I'm starting to wonder if we will. It's been hours."
"Keep at it. The signs of trouble don't always advertise in big neon colors. It'd be subtle."
*Crash* *Bang* Screams in the street.
"Or, sometimes, it could be really, really obvious."
The commotion carried on a little ways down the road, so Blake and May headed in that direction. They pushed to move past the crowd...a crowd that was also moving toward the noise. Excitement, not fear, raced through the air.
"It's here again! It's here again!"
"Three Hundred Lien on death this time! Any takers for three hundred Lien?"
"My bet's on the cowboys in blue!"
"They haven't done squat so far. The big guy in the tank top, on the other hand? That absolute beast will end it. Five hundred on him."
Blood sport. The battle over there was simply more entertainment for the masses, and they shouted wagers to each other over the din. A dozen bookies appeared to keep track of the odds. Even the vendors shifted thataway, breaking out trays to transport their wares. With an exasperated huff, May launched above them to land atop a market stall, and sped ahead.
The spectators stopped at a certain point, forming a wide clearing. Blake shoved past them to regroup with May on the edge of the conflict, and took stock of the situation.
It appeared to be a massive brawl, only that it centered on a single point, the many versus the one. Multiple teams of bounty hunters were participating. On their heels, gangsters came pouring in. Were they cooperating? Not a chance. Unintentional or intentional, they interfered with one another, which usually ended up with the bounty target evading harm.
A number of anomalies popped out to Blake. The bounty hunters have chosen as a collective to forgo guns and blades, opting for clubs, batons, or their bare fists. The goal was neither capture or execution, but to humiliate the target with beating after beating. Bodies of their brethren laid in the street, a testament to the power of their foe. Except, they weren't dead bodies. Just broken bones and unconsciousness at worst.
The last thing to stand out was the bounty target. Dark skin, with hair a platinum blond, the person that everyone was fighting did not look anything like Tyrian. Those green eyes lacked the glee of mad gold. Dressed in a set of torn, dirtied yellow robes tied with a sash, they—she was bloody and bruised, swaying in exhaustion even as she wielded her fists to devastate all comers.
She looked familiar.
Blake opened her datapad, then navigated to the list of bounties Jaune downloaded from the Eighteenth Office. A skim through the entries, and she landed on an exact match—albeit with far fewer injuries—to confirm her memory.
Arslan Altan, the wandering martial artist.
That gang boss played them for idiots!
…Or, maybe, they jumped the gun. Jaune had tried to interrupt the negotiations, hadn't he? Then he developed sympathy for the old man and went along with it, the traitor.
"May, Tyrian's not here. What do you want to—"
A blur, and May entered the fray wielding a long, studded metal club.
On the side of Arslan Altan.
"—do. Well, okay, then. Rescue mission is a go."
She cracked her knuckles, and performed a few stretches. After that was a matter of choosing the sorry bastard who will suffer her wrath. She found one. The corner of her lips quirked upward in a confident smirk.
Shouting a warcry, Blake Belladonna charged into battle!
"Ow. Ow. Crap. Ow. Mommy!"
Moaning in pain, Blake Belladonna was sent bouncing and rolling out of the battle. Her greatest feat? Getting her punch redirected to her own chin. Jaune must never know.
A kind stranger offered his hand to pull her upright, which she gratefully took. He went back to laughing and applauding at the show, grinning ear to ear beneath his hood, and Blake decided he had the right of it. Besides the greenest greenhorns, the participants would, at a minimum, possess combat skills a cut above the average person. Those who lacked expertise were better off staying on the sideline, cheering on their champion.
"Go May! Beat up that guy, he hurt me!"
Whilst rubbing her hands together to stave off a sudden chill, Blake let out a loud whoop as May proceeded to do exactly that, pounding a gray-haired boy into the ground with her club. She went on to twirl the giant thing in a maneuver that should have broken her wrist, sweeping the club in wide arcs that forced her opponents to back away or eat their teeth, easing the pressure from Arslan.
Grasping the opportunity, the martial artist transitioned from countering blows to an offensive rush, zipping past the guard of a woman in a dark trench coat who had proven to be particularly vexing. Without her team to pin Arslan down, a blistering series of strikes launched the woman out of the fight.
That was the moment many of the bounty hunters had waited for, when she lost her cover and they gained a clear shot. They pounced on Arslan.
Who dropped flat to the ground.
A slab of steel passed through the space she formerly occupied, nailing half a dozen people in its path. Bouncing to her feet, Arslan rejoined May, back to back. Words flowed between them, murmurs of thanks, and perhaps a quick gameplan that boiled down to 'do this, but more of it'.
Splitting in opposite directions, they each engaged an opponent. Arslan, the local gangsters. May, a group of cowboys who looked at her with recognition…and terror. One reminder of her lesson put them running halfway down the road, their place taken by a man garbed in robes, possibly hailing from a dojo, here for direct vengeance. He did not seem worried about May and her weapon. A telling gesture. This could spell trouble.
Arslan interceded before anything could develop from it, drop-kicking the man away from May. After recovering, the two enemies became a blur of limbs Blake could scarcely follow. Opting to leave them alone to resolve their grievances, May focused on maintaining a space around the duel.
She was only one person, however, and in a melee this tangled, it's too easy to lose sight of a detail.
On the fringe of the action, Blake spotted what both other girls failed to. Someone angry, and willing to break the unspoken rules. A bounty hunter had just pulled a blade.
Blake went from standing idle to sprinting in a split second, her newfound spectator-buddy cheering her on. Vaulting over a street thug, sliding under May's swinging club, it hardly mattered that she sucked at fighting. This was running, a job she can do.
The bounty hunter had the sword aimed at Arslan's unsuspecting back. Before he could stab her, Blake tackled him off his feet. Sharp teeth honed by a thousand battles (against tasty cuisine) chomped on the hand holding the blade, and the weapon slipped to hit the ground with a clatter. Task accomplished, Blake didn't stay. She scrambled to reach Arslan.
Because others have caught on to the same idea as that bounty hunter. One blade drawn? More followed suit on the assumption that it was part of the plan. Things were escalating.
Forget victory. When the knives come out, it's time to go.
Her sudden appearance nearly earned her a nap like the martial artist laying out cold below, Arslan halting a hair from impact as she recognized the catgirl who tried (and failed) to fight on her side earlier. She almost went through with it anyway, startled by Blake yelling in her face.
"Sharp cutty things! Swords! Guns! Come on, let's get out of here!"
Arslan parsed the babble of nonsense, and arrived at the correct answer that the fight was about to get lethal in short order. Her gaze flicked over the brawling grounds.
"Lead on. I'll cover you."
Their escape skirted close to May, and the duo grew to a trio. The club transformed to a shield—more a wall, really—that protected them from possible attacks by the people hot on their heels.
As they made it to the perimeter, the same kind man who helped her stepped aside, gesturing for them to continue on. She smiled at him in gratitude.
Thank the stars, that Arslan Altan spotted the hidden dagger he held under his cloak. She grabbed Blake by the arm, and yanked her out of the way in the nick of time. The blade buried itself in Arslan instead.
Blake's mind stuttered at the abrupt splattering of blood across her vision. Her lips went dry. The fur on her cat ears stood on ends. She searched for an answer to make sense of it all, and discovered it beneath the hood of the stranger.
He looked familiar.
Sallow skin. Manic grin. Pinprick eyes of gold, alight with ecstasy.
Callow. He had stood beside her—at one point rested an arm on her shoulder—to watch the show. Reveled in the chaotic scene while everyone missed his presence. And when Blake showed she was a do-gooder in her act to save Arslan, then served herself on a silver platter by entering within his reach, he struck as naturally as he would take a breath. He wouldn't be Tyrian Callow if he did otherwise.
On seeing Blake get it at last, and seeing real terror bloom in the pursuing bounty hunters as they recognized him, Tyrian gave a jaunty wave.
"Ta-ta."
He then spun on his heels and dashed into the crowd.
Blake flung an arm out in desperation. She was unable to catch him, of course.
Yet, she didn't have to. Hers was the chase. And the tracker attached to his jacket will hopefully give them a clue as to his heading.
The monster came and went from the Longmoon Night Market that day. With barely a whisper, and a splash of red.
Author's Notes: Meat buns. They don't lie to you.
Just never ask what the meat is (。￣-￣)