Chapter 8 - Enduring the Shame
Human medicine was so elementary; if Anaris had been able to report back to her Masque, all of her wounds would have been completely healed by now. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but be grateful the humans had bothered to close the gash on her leg. She was certain that, had the tables been turned, a wounded human amongst the Harlequins would have been left to die. Then again, there was a price to pay for this kindness. She had no choice but to tolerate this one they called Uriel gazing at her breasts and undressing her with his eyes. Disgusting. On the bright side, she now knew this savage's greatest fear was apparently the pathetic feline creatures the humans call cats; he really was a sad excuse for an intelligent life form.
Anaris mused how she would escape the bonds on her wrists; she explored the knots with her long fingers, trying to find the ends of the cords. Impressively, the men seemed to have done a decent job tying the knots for she couldn't find an immediate release. She was drawn from her search when her face was unexpectedly cast into shadow. The man whose legs she kicked out during the fight was standing above her.
"Time to go, filthy bitch" he declared as he vehemently wrenched her into an upright position. Anaris held back a gasp at the sudden weight upon her bad leg, but managed to stay standing with the forcible support of the angry man. She understood his hatred; she did handily best him in combat and he would have been a pulpy mess on the ground if not for the man in black. She remorsefully thought of her Death Jester friend, the Phantom of Khaine, and how he would have pointed out the irony that Anaris now needed this Mon-Keigh's support to walk.
She and the humans gradually made their way out of the desert. The men took turns supporting her as if she were some great burden. Anaris resented that she needed help to walk, but she imagined that if she were to attempt to walk on her own she truly would become a burden and likely get shot. So, begrudgingly, she accepted the assistance of each soldier. Unsurprisingly, most of the men seemed just as thrilled about the situation as Anaris was. The only man who didn't share the disgust at supporting her was Uriel, who subtly grazed her breast with his grimy hand as she was passed along to him. By the end of the long march, the only men who hadn't taken a turn helping her walk were the sergeant, man in black, and the medic who wrapped her leg- he apparently had a minor wound himself.
Finally, the group made the last approach towards the city. Even though Anaris was hardly conscious from her wounds at this point, the man in black still found it necessary to blindfold her. He muttered something about psychic visual communications and Anaris wondered what important information she could possibly obtain by looking at the decrepit human excuse for a city. She had no apparent choice in the matter, though, so she trekked onwards, leaning on whichever soldier was beside her.
The transition into the city was obvious for a multitude of reasons. Primarily, the city walls and structures provided much-appreciated relief from the dusty winds. Even better, the flat and even streets of the city made it easier for Anaris to walk so the raggled team progressed much faster. The smells changed too; Anaris nearly wretched as squalor and human odor assaulted her nose. More noticeable than the smells, however, was the switch from the pressing silence of the desert to an overwhelming influx of noise. Amongst the typical noises of the city- screaming children, haggling salesmen, and stomping foot traffic, were gasps and jeers as the citizens spotted the Xeno amongst the guardsmen. Anaris did her best to stand tall amongst the insults, but words were not the only things being thrown. She stumbled and fell when she was hit with something firm and apparently juicy since it splattered when it hit her. The crowd laughed when she hit the ground and she struggled to maintain her composure as more objects were thrown and dirt was kicked in her direction.
The abuse only stopped when a voice she recognized as the man in black's exclaimed "Come now! Stop this racket- you wouldn't want to accidentally hit a noble Guardsman with your produce now would you?" Apparently the crowd respected the man in black as the voices immediately hushed down and Anaris could hear the people hurriedly shuffle away. Someone picked her up from the ground and they continued to their final destination, wherever that may be.
Anaris was led into a building where most of the soldiers in the team escorting her dispersed. A new set of hands took her to a room where she was promptly secured to a cold metal chair. She was then offered water and she drank greedily; she hadn't realized how parched she was from blood loss and exposure to the desert heat. All too quickly, the water was taken away and she was left to sit in silence.
After a brief wait, she heard a door swing open and two sets of footsteps enter the room. The door shut with a thud and she heard an unfamiliar voice echo across the small room.
"Ah! So here we have the Xeno that caused such a stir around town! Oh, but where are my manners?" The human caught himself and removed the blindfold from Anaris' face. She blinked at the bright light of the room as he continued "You must forgive me. Dealing with aliens is not my forte. Inquisitor Valoris MacVicar of the Ordo Malleus at your service. You see, I specialize in all things psychic… usually the Ordo Xenos meddles with, well, Xenos. But in this case, I think you and I might actually have a common goal. How about you help me help you?"
The Inquisitor paused, as if he expected a response from Anaris. Instead, she took the time to take in the appearance of the ornately dressed man. Regardless of his flamboyant clothing, the first thing Anaris noticed about him was his piercing purple eyes. The bright color gave the illusion that MacVicar was searching for her light in the Warp, bringing evidence to his self-proclaimed psychic expertise. However, his eyes were the only notable thing about his face; he was a clean-shaven middle aged man with light brown hair and a firm jaw-line. Standard human.
"I've heard rumors of Eldar arrogance, so you must be wondering what help you could possibly get from me?" He continued with a flourish of his hand, "Well, I was hoping for some information. If I don't get it, you will be in a lot of pain! But if you do tell me what I want to hear, you can help me help you avoid all of that misery! It's important we understand each other…"
At that point, Anaris took more interest in examining the Inquisitor's gaudy armor for weak points she could exploit if she found a chance to escape. As the annoying man rambled about "trust" and "honesty" Anaris counted 23 potential openings in his lightweight armor that she could get her fingernails through and perhaps incapacitate the man. She was so consumed in her murderous schemes that she didn't notice he had concluded his rant and was now watching her with a smirk. Once she made eye contact he strutted close to her, twirling several ominous looking needles in his hand.
"Now that you're done looking for my weaknesses, I figured we could look into yours. It'd be a shame to ignore the obvious ones," MacVicar stopped twirling the needles, "here!"
Anaris failed to stop a cry as he shoved one of the needles into the unhealed wound on her leg.
"And here!" another needle slid into her swollen wrist.
"Oooh and here's a fun one!" Anaris felt a needle force its way past her hip where she had taken a fall a week ago during a skirmish against a small contingent of Orks.
"And this one holds special meaning to you, so let's not skip it!" the Inquisitor's fourth needle found its way through her shoulder. There, Anaris had received her first wound as a Harlequin when her newly-formed masque helped a Dark Eldar army drive back a tyranid invasion. The wound had fully healed since then so Anaris couldn't help but wonder how the man had guessed so much about her. She refused to let MacVicar see her surprise, or her pain for that matter. She simply decided to stare through him; through the tears that were clouding her vision she noticed a shadowy figure in the corner of the room silently watching the spectacle the Inquisitor was putting on. Anaris didn't have a chance to identify the familiar human before the Inquisitor grabbed her chin, forcing her to make eye contact with him.
"Good memories, eh?" the Inquisitor laughed as he ran his finger along the last needle, "maybe we could share something more? Like your memories of this planet… when did you first arrive?"
Anaris chose to remain silent until she felt she could fabricate a reasonable tale. A good choice, as the human followed his simple-minded nature and began offering stories to her: "Was it when this planet was first colonized? When the daemons became a threat? Or maybe when Opuntia mentis came into existence?"
Opuntia mentis? Anaris had no idea what that was, but the intensity in the man's gaze when he mentioned it indicated that it was important. Silently, Anaris concluded this Opuntia was just the inspiration her farce required, but she'd have to "give information" carefully so she wasn't caught in a lie. Without warning, Anaris' ploys were interrupted by the door swinging open. A nervous looking soldier gave a quick salute and announced that the Inquisitor's presence was desperately needed in the war room.
With a great sigh, the Inquisitor ambled towards the exit, giving Anaris a final glance as he left "Don't go anywhere, darling, we're just getting started."
After the Inquisitor left, Anaris allowed herself a single soft sob of pain; MacVicar had left the long needles protruding from her wounds. Noticing movement in the corner of the room, she cursed herself for showing weakness in front of the forgotten figure. She doubly cursed herself when she recognized the form as the man in black who had been making his way to the door, but had paused when he heard her cry. Expressionless as always, he scrutinized her for a fraction of a second before exiting the interrogation room.