Seven Devils, [Jace]

[Jacen Brant]

Jace couldn't say he was surprised. He let her cling to his arm and put his hand reassuringly on her hands, over his bulging biceps as they walked.

His expression was steady. He intended to ignore the men completely. If he was lucky, they wouldn't decide to mug them. Nyarai probably had as much money on her as he did - none.

And if they did... he hadn't busted heads in a long time.

[Nyarai Khartuul]

He would get a chance to.

And soon.

Nyarai watched as the men peeled themselves off the wall. In the darkness they looked like shadows, like cloaks made of dark oil flashing in the moonlight. Their cigarettes burned, casting red lights on an assortment of faces.

One spoke.

“Where ya headed with the lady, shev?”

[Jacen Brant]

"Around, or through you. Shev." Jacen replied, calmly, not stopping. His hand pressed onto her hand for a split second. It was a Don't worry. I've got this.

[Nyarai Khartuul]

She clutched at the sleeve of his shirt for a second, as if forcing him even closer.

Across from them, greasy laughter cut through the cold night air. It was sharp and heavy. It wasn't a sound Nyarai wanted to hear again. “No need for heroics, Shev—just a few men looking for compensation, is all.” The man was tall, it was about the only thing she could tell. She tried counting them—in the dark it was almost impossible. Three at least.

In her mind, they might as well have been a hundred.

[Jacen Brant]

Jacen rolled his eyes. Horrible habit - it's here he picked it up from.

"Here's a tip - we're in the refugee quarter, in a dark alley. I'd be hard-pressed to make any money from the clothes off my back. What do you really expect to get?"

[Nyarai Khartuul]

She saw the smile.

“The girl's nice.”

[Jacen Brant]

Yeah, see... Jacen had been raised in a specific way. Even all this time spent with the scourges of the earth could not erase that. So a man could insult him, he could threaten him, he could even try to rob him. Sure.

Jace's fist collided with the guy's jaw so quickly the guy probably never knew what hit him.

Scum would not insult the young lady.

Granted, this young lady was not exactly pure and innocent, knowing she was one of Brody's pals... but still. Jacen hadn't been taught to accept such discrimination.

[Nyarai Khartuul]

She hadn't expected that.

In a sense, maybe she'd wanted it, but it still surprised her to see the sudden violence that burst through the man.

His fist connected with the other man's jaw, and Nyarai saw the dark form fold in on itself. She watched the arrogant son of a bitch fall to the ground, hitting it like a sack of potatoes. She even noticed the cigarette; noticed how it sparked as it hit the alley floor. There was satisfaction in all this. New vengeance for old crimes.

She looked up just in time to see two others rush in towards Jacen.

[Jacen Brant]

He let go of her hand and, in an instant, grabbed the collapsed man and flung it at one of the attackers. He didn't expect that, did he? The third aimed a punch at him, having got pretty close. Jace took it in his stride and aimed one back - harder. Another followed. Another. And another.

The bloodied face swerved away as the man's body collided with the wall he'd seemed to have emerged from.

[Nyarai Khartuul]

And then there was silence.

Sounds crept in a few seconds later: the moans of the fallen men; the odd sound of too many people breathing in such a small space; and the sound of her own heart, hammering in her chest. It could have been a bee, buzzing and colliding in the cavity of her chest.

She looked at Jacen then—really looked at him.

“Are you—are you okay?”

[Jacen Brant]

He wiped the blood trickling from his lip on his sleeve. The taste of copper.

Familiar enough.

"I'm fine." He gestured forward, elegantly, with his hand. "Unless you want them to wake up, Milady..."

[Nyarai Khartuul]

He wiped his mouth and she saw the smear of blood there.

Pursing her lips, she nodded stiffly and stepped over one of the fallen men, her basket now tucked at her elbow. She didn't look down as she walked, afraid to see bloodied, broken faces. She wasn't upset they were down—just a little repulsed.

Men and their violence.

Once they were past the men, she found her voice again.

“That was...well, that was,” she paused and secured her hair behind an ear. Then she looked up at him. “Thank you.”

[Jacen Brant]

"It was necessary," he simply said, and left it at that. Those men should be imprisoned, yet there was no authority here to call on. They were all alone.

[Nyarai Khartuul]

Nothing was necessary. Certainly not helping.

But she was thankful.

Her house wasn't far now. As the alley fell away behind them, she strode with purpose towards her little abode, humble and ramshackle. The Quarter didn't have nice houses, but Nyarai liked to think her shack was better than most, broken window and all.

There were lanterns here, hung on doors and placed on windows. Enough light to see him clearly. She put down and her basket and turned to him.

“Your mouth...”

There was blood.

[Jacen Brant]

Following her inside the house, he remarked nothing special about it.

He traced a couple of fingers over his lips. His lower lip stung so he bit it, drawing the blood out into his mouth and swallowing it. The would-be sense of nausea from the copper taste was ignored.

"I'm fine," he said, with a shrug. It was just a cut. "I'm glad I came along." If he'd had doubts, he didn't have any now. It had been the right decision to make.