Seven Devils, [Jace]

[Nyarai Khartuul]

Moonlight bled through the rafters in the alleyway.

It dappled down, casting patterns on the ground around her. Silver, warm, it was almost beautiful—almost. If she were anywhere else, it might have been reassuring. But here, in the Refugee Quarter, even moonlight seemed malicious.

She clutched her basket tighter to herself, mentally cursing how tardy she'd become. Wandering out during the night was foolish. The night was lawless, especially this deep within the Quarter. It wasn't that no one would hear her scream if she was attacked, they would; it was that no one would do anything about it. They would watch from the safety of their windows as helpless women were taken, beaten and violated. She heard about it all the time.

Cowards at their windows, all of them.

But Nyarai also knew she didn't have the luxury of staying home. With work drying up as a laundress and maid, she turned to her other job—the one which left her sweaty and sore. She could feel the odd pain between her legs yet, surprised she was wasn't numb to it, even after all this time. The soldier had been rough, but he paid well and spoke little. In the long run, it suited her well. Grunting, abrasive men were better than gentle, talkative ones.

As she walked, that pinprick of paranoia eased itself into her. It was always there, sitting in the back of her mind, feasting on her fears. Ironic, perhaps, that a whore feared the night. As she walked, she could feel her heartbeat, hear it thudding in her chest.

It caused her to turn left.

It caused her to make for a nearby house—one she knew belonged to Brody. Maybe she'd taken this path on purpose, to somehow end up walking past his residence.

Brody would walk her home, she was sure of it. Infuriating, incompetent, but not completely intolerable, Nyarai had come to have mixed feelings about the man. He was reliable, and for whatever reason, she always thought of him during the nighttime fears. She wanted him closeby, even though she was certain he was no better with a sword than he was with his hygiene. Still, she craved his company—even if it was a selfish, protective sort. She wanted to use him and nothing more. Like a shield against the world. Because she could.

Her fingers paused at the door. What if he wasn't home? What if no one was home? She would have to walk alone. She would have to listen to the paranoia as it grew inside her and gnawed at her bones.

No; he had to be home.

She knocked.

[Jacen Brant]

Somewhere in the heart of the refugee quarter lay a hovel. It had no particular name and there was little quality about it, and certainly nothing that would make anyone think it special in any way. Its walls were so thin that, at times, the night's wind creeped in with a cat's howl and chilled the small interior effortlessly, no matter the fire that often danced in the hearth. Its doors creaked and hung loosely in their frames. The floor was pure, patted-down dirt.

Two men lived in this hovel. They had no particularly true names and there was quite a bit of quality to them, and certainly something that would make someone think them special in one way or the other. One was rather tall, the other was rather handsome. They were friends, but only just, tied together by an unknown, invisible, imperceivable string of camaraderie. One was so-called Brody, the other was so-called Jacen.

Jacen wasn't his real name. His real name was dead, unspoken without grief and sorrow.

When the knock on the door came, Jacen froze for a moment. He'd been bending down into the pale light of a candle, trying to decipher a dog-eared booklet. His heart froze too, for a moment, as it always did when a knock on the door came. With it, thoughts touched by fear crept in. Who was it? Was he discovered? Had Brody been discovered?

He forced himself to stand up, leaving the booklet on the small table and hurrying to the door. In the pale light that crept around him, the figure of the woman was oddly distorted. He was a tall man - he cast a tall shadow. Jacen had a feeling he knew whom the woman was looking for.

"Yes?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

[Nyarai Khartuul]

It wasn't Brody.

The man standing in the doorway was tall—even by her standards. With a sharp, hooked nose and blond hair, she wouldn't call him handsome—not with Brody as a template anyway—but he was tall and he cast a large shadow, and in that moment, he might as well have been the only man in Escova. In seconds she felt that deep paranoia begin to dissipate.

She pushed a nervous hand through her hair, teasing back the locks and securing one behind an ear. With new confidence, she forced on a smile and looked up to meet easy blue eyes.

"I am Nyarai," she started. "A friend of Brody's—is he home?"

[Jacen Brant]

"No," Jacen monosyllabically responded. He didn't know what to think of this. There were many charlatans in Escova's refugee quarter and, quite possibly, plenty who looked like the beautiful woman before him. Yet her story wasn't hard to believe and she looked distressed in some way, so Jacen was instantly softened by it. So he tried to smile slightly as he asked: "May I help you with something?"

Brody wasn't home, like Jace'd said. He was probably off seducing another poor woman to let him into her bed. If she really needed him, he would probably be back by morning.

[Nyarai Khartuul]

She figured as much. Brody had a presence—a certain sense of being that she could spot a mile away.

It wasn't here.

But this man was, and he was asking her how he could help.

Her fingers tightened around the wicker grip of her basket, her gaze falling ever so slightly. She'd never been the type to be shy around men—not unless she was being paid for such things—but she was cautious. This man might live with Brody, and he might even look trustworthy (she figured it was the nose), but that didn't mean anything to her.

Still, the road was long, and it was dark, and she didn't want to walk it alone. With a small breath, she let her smile ease into one that was embarrassed. "Its just...well, I thought he could walk me home." Nyarai rolled her eyes a little, realizing how utterly ridiculous this was. "It's late and..." she dropped a hand from her basket and waved it about lightly.

"And well he's safe, you know?"

And The Refugee Quarter wasn't.

[Jacen Brant]

Safe as in... a warm body to cuddle against? That kind of safe? Because that'd be the kind of safe Brody was. Also the kind of unsafe which enticed a young woman's husband into murderously rage and flung a young woman in prison... if not worse. Infidelity had its price for the woman, too.

Brody often failed to realise this.

Nonetheless, it wasn't in Jacen's character to ignore a plea for help. He'd been raised a gentleman, so he nodded at her implicit request and smiled. "Brody's also my friend, so I'd be my pleasure to walk you home, Nyarai." He'd wanted to call her 'miss', but past experience forbade him to go down that path again. So Jacen just gestured behind her. "Lead the way, if you will."

[Nyarai Khartuul]

Nyarai blinked, and when she spoke, her voice was a happy surprise, as if she hadn't expected this.

"Yes, of course...thank you."

It wasn't that she didn't want this—by the Buried God, she did—but she hadn't expected to offer his help so soon. In her mind, this conversation had a few extra steps, ones in which she asked pointedly, or waited patiently, until he got the point. But he skipped all that, made her preparation nothing. He caught on without prodding and probing. It was a nice change of pace from the usual debasement and annoyance. It was a nice change of pace from people like Brody.

Stepping back, she began the long walk home, careful to keep her steps small, measured. She wanted him close. Eventually though, she fell into step with him, closer than was strictly necessary. Close enough to feel the heat, and to catch the smell of him.

She looked up at him after a while. "I would have your name, Sir."

[Jacen Brant]

His eyes shot her a brief glance as he said: "Jacen." The scarf he'd picked up was tugged on so it would wrap more warmly around his neck. The night was dark and cold. The streets were no place for a woman such as her to be wandering about.

"Have you known Brody for long?" Jacen curiously asked. She must have - why else would she come to his door asking to be walked home? Unless that was some sort of code for... other things. Pryyo... He was over-analysing it.

[Nyarai Khartuul]

Jacen.

She would make it a point to remember that.

His question brought a twist of a smile on her lips. "A few years now," she said, looking sideways at the taller man walking next to her. She decided she did like his nose after all. Her free hand, meanwhile, was in her hair again, teasing it back from her face, securing loose ends behind her ear. "Though I don't think I actually 'know' him, if that makes sense."

Brody was a problem—one she couldn't decide if she wanted or not. At times she swore he was a child, but other times, in darker moments, he was almost threatening.

It made no sense.

[Jacen Brant]

A snort escaped him and he tried to look away as he smiled.

"Yes, I can understand that very well," Jacen said, with tempered amusement. There was almost too much to Brody Adelard. It started from his fake name and foreign origin and ended at his odd ability Jacen couldn't get used to.

He called himself Brody's friend, but he never quite felt like a friend. While on the sea, in his past life, he'd found it easy to connect to other men and share feeling of kinship and friendship. Brody was different.

He was also a fool.

[Nyarai Khartuul]

Eventually, she gave up on her hair and just let it be.

Her smile matched his. “That is good to know.” She'd known for a while now that Brody wasn't really the person he came off as, but she'd always passed it off as a kind of paranoia—a quirk. She was beginning to think differently now...though she couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not.

In some aspects yes, in others, no.

Up ahead, an alley loomed. One she dreaded. To distract herself, she engaged him in further conversation.

“What kind of work do you do, Jacen?”

[Jacen Brant]

"Odd jobs here and there," Jace replied with a shrug. "I'm pretty good with my hands.* Brody and I often collaborate on some jobs, too, when they need more than one able-bodied man." Menial, dull tasks requiring just brute force. He'd done enough of that in the navy.

He walked into the alley ahead, unconcerned, not really noticing the change in scenery much. The refugee quarter had become... familiar. There was something hilarious about that statement.

---

* Giggedy.

[Nyarai Khartuul]

This alley was nice enough in the daytime.

Not now.

It loomed like a tunnel of some sort, dark and rank. She knew it was a shortcut—she used it enough times during the day—but now it seemed different, the other side of the coin; the dark of the moon. Nyarai pulled herself closer to him, obscenely so. An inch more and she would be pressed against him.

“Do you fix windows?” she asked, looking up at him. As if anticipating a question on his part, she spoke on, her fingers tightening around her basket. “Its just...some kids broke my window and...” Her shrug was small, but pointed.

[Jacen Brant]

"Yeah, I fix windows," Jacen confirmed, casually walking along. She liked to walk very closely to him. "I'll take a look when we get there, provided there's light enough."

[Nyarai Khartuul]

So he did.

Her smile was wan as she looked at him.

"Thank you."

It was then that Nyarai noticed a light in the alleyway. The blinking, burning light of a cigarette. It came with the new smell of smoke, and the sounds of coughing. She felt ice run through her, even as her eyes adjusted to this new sight. Another drag of the cigarette showed her the man's face. And he wasn't alone.

This time, she did touch the man next to her. Her fingers slid around Jacen's upper arm and she anchored herself there, the side of her head coming to rest against his shoulder.