Recipe Six: Spiritualist
Thump
Legs. Had they finally fallen off from the abuse? She couldn’t feel anything from the waist down again. It was just an excruciating effort to roll over and reach down.
Thump
Ok, bad plan, legs were attached but only wanted to yell. She gritted her teeth and waited for the screaming pain to subside. Don’t shout, don’t cry; she'd learned those lesson’s months ago.
Thump
At least, it felt like months. She’d lost track of the time since she was tricked into drinking that drug-laced tea. That horrible chemical leash they forced down her throat each day.
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Had to hold the bracelet. Where had it gone, had they finally taken that worthless chip? She had to find it. Maybe opening her eyes for a quick peek would help.
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Another terrible cost. The morning glare was blinding and conjured tears as she slapped a hand over her face. The cord was still on her wrist at least.
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Remember the words. Pull it together and recite the words. She opened her mouth to speak, but something sickly caught in her throat, inducing her to buckle over and retch.
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She gagged only slightly as the pale slime expelled itself onto the floor. Her knees singing murder from their sudden contact with the dank moldering floorboards, but at least she was somewhat upright.
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She clasped her hands, wrists upwards, and intoned softly through ragged breath.
<Oh Golden Mother, Revered Father, Your humble daughter entreats your investment. Hear my prayer and~>
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Her teeth locked in a grimace, but she strove on.
<Hear my prayer and divest me from extortion, that I may better appreciate your hallowed enterprise.>
She waited. Eyes clenched, kneeling in the refuse of the small cell, she waited for the next thunderous pulse of blood in her ears, the brilliant sparks behind her eyes, the aching throb in her bones.
Breathe.
She had to remind herself to breathe. With wary caution, she opened one eye, then the other, before she let out an exhausted sigh and slumped against the wall. She was alone again; the last few girls they had thrown in with her had probably either been sold or broken. They were all just goods to those monsters anyway, either as toys to be ruined or gifts to be squandered.
All except the one that wouldn’t bow. Instead they had turned her into a spectacle in that shadowed, murky theater. Each night for weeks, they had brought fresh horrors and perversities to break her body and will, and each night she stood before the leering debaucherous crowd, healthy and defiant. Her hair was unkempt and mangy, the silken qipan long ago torn to shreds, but the simple lashing on her wrist gleamed untouched, the single fen as brilliant as the day it was minted.
Thump
She winced, instinctively, before realizing that the reverberation had come from outside her head. Someone was coming, her jailer was early. She went limp on the floor, faking the effects of that vile tea, and hoped that her captor would tire early from his abuse of an unresponsive victim. The naked figure lay upon the rough, sodden planks, doing her best to remain still as the door creaked open. She dared not look at the guard, but his cruel throaty chuckle drove a shiver down her spine nonetheless. It was a matter of willpower not to flinch each time his thick meaty hand came down.
Thump
The footsteps of an approaching stranger provided a slight incentive to peek, hoping vaguely for a superior to call him off 'damaging the goods'. Instead, her reward was a splash of crimson and a faint gurgle as a glimmering silver shard darted through his neck. The prisoner's eyes went wide in surprise, focusing past the falling corpse to the silhouette beyond, and scrambled against the far wall with an indignant growl.
<Murdering your own won't scare me, larcenist.>
Thump
In a flash, the warrior was upon her, hand clasped tight over her mouth as they pointed at the corpse with the still-stained steel.
<His cloths. Take.> came the choppy commands by a tongue unused to the nuanced tonalities. This close, it was clear that the assailant clearly wasn’t Shao, the sword of Islander craft, the movement too fluid to be just another Tong thug. Probably resistant to bribes, but change was its own virtue.
She glared at the interloper until her mouth was released, sparing a glance at the corpse to poke it with her foot. The alternative was clearly the blades of the unphased warlady, and set to the morbid work of stripping the body with unbridled disgust.
<Well, you certainly don’t sound native>, the prisoner quipped resentfully, in a poor attempt to hide her displeasure as she wrapped the still warm and bloody robes over her bare form. She glowered at the naked knife the stranger brandished, with only one intent she could surmise.
<Don’t you dare cut my bracelet. What does the hostage do next?>
The Islander surveyed the room, before pointing to themselves.
<Reiko>, they said with brief clarity, before moving to the door.
<Fast. Fat Horse> they began, but paused with a momentary shake,
<Follow.>. The escapee snatched up the dead man’s purse and they slipped out into the empty corridors.
Thump
The door gave way to the haste of her guide, revealing a room with a lone window fluttering in the early morning air. In a smooth motion, the bladewoman had uncoiled a lengthy sash and looped it over the ex-captive. The light push, gentle smile, and loose section of rope did little to make her next request less unnerving.
<Hold, go>, with a finger pointed at the window.
The reply was a grimace and a resigned sigh.
<Please don’t drop me. I’m worth less damaged.> She eased over the edge, settling into nervously coping commentary as she was lowered.
<Why do people find this life exciting? Why can’t the challenge at the end of the adventure be a magical abacus that demands an exact accounting of the state and inheritance tax of the emperor's forty nine advisors for the past century and a half?> She neared the ground, and commotion could be heard elsewhere in the compound.
<Unless they don’t intend to retire. Strike it rich and have someone else manage your est~Oof>
Thump
They hit the ground almost together, abet with wildly different grace. The shouts from above grew in volume, but the pair was moving after a few quick tugs to loosen the cord.
<Fast, Fast> urged her savior, and she had no incentive to disagree. They bounded through the woodland, away from that horrid place. Her muscles burned from exertion as they passed the recent corpse of another thug, but her heart sang at the exhilaration of unimpeded movement once again. As the paused for breath in another copse of bamboo, she regarded her newfound ally.
<Reiko, you have my deepest gratitude. I am Sayushi, and you are a terrible brigand.>
((Thank you to Kaybrie, for developing and RPing Reiko for this post))
