Under Pursuit (Whilaroo, Cobra)

A boy, perhaps 14 or 15, could be seen in the dead of night, sprinting through the streets. He was wheezing now, his lungs felt as though they were going to implode, or jump out of his chest, shattering his ribs, but he kept going. He had abandoned stealth now, there was no way he could breath quietly, he was gasping for air. He rain around a corner, leaning against the wall. He slid down it, his breathing still just as heavy. The boy was wearing a dark blue trenchcoat, covered in dirt, aswell as a pair of black combats, with black boots. On his right hand was a glove to match the coat, but on his left hand was something more interesting, a gauntlet, the padded leather black, the thumb and main part of the hand a silver colour, while his four fingers were a gun metal. His breathing relaxed slightly after ten minutes of sitting against the wall in the alley.
The boy stood up, taking a few steps, now that he had regained his breath. His feet were killing him, this was an agony he had grown accustomed too over the past few days. He took a few more steps, stopping as his ears perked up, he turned around to see nothing but black.
"Show yourself!" The boy yelled, as he raised his arms into a defensive stance, expecting a strike any second. The redeemers had been cruel, they would beat this boy daily, but he did gain one thing from that experience, he could handle pain like no other.

At the distance of perhaps two meters, a figure stood. He was not necessarily tall, but he definitely seemed it, being almost like a living shadow that cast up into the air. A long black overcoat obscured his body, but not all his features were covered. Dark hair fell around his pale, almost glowing face, to hang about his shoulders. He stood there, unmoving, watching the boy's back, all tensed up. Eyes the color of the night sky reflected up from the depths of a well slanted slightly as the lids closed narrowly over them. Blood-red lips parted ever so slightly , showing the tips of pointed teeth.

"You look an absolute wreck," his voice was strong and held a firm grip on the chill night air. A scathing glance cast first up and then down the young warrior. "Join me for a meal!" He beckoned with his hand and without waiting for a reply, continued on his way down the street, further into the twisting labyrinth of houses and buildings. His boot-clad feet made a sharp distinct sound on the walk as he moved with a wide-legged gait.

The boy kept his arms raised as he walked after the figure. The mans voice seemed re-assuring, but this was something the boy was not accustomed too, nor was he accustomed to kindness of any kind. He was tense and cautiaus, too used to the beatings and the training, he naturally suspected a trap. "Who are you?" the boy asked as he followed the figure, or more specifically the sound, as he had turned a corner. The boy ran to catch up with the man. "Your not with the redeemers, are you?" The boy asked, with an aggresive tone of voice.

"I'm a friend, assuming you know the meaning of the word," the words might have been harsh, if not for the light quality of the man's tone. He threw a small smile over his shoulder at the young man. What light there was in the street made his face look like the crescent moon, broken by the bloody line of his lips. As his head fell back into its more natural position, a small gust of wind blew at his hair. The fringe of the coat, too, flared to the side. It gave his whole appearance the effect that its painter had smeared that particular figure of its painting all to one side, as if to obliterate an identity from history. A sharp intake of breath could be heard. "Redeemers, you said?" The man had turned in the direction that the wind had come from, "How far behind you are they?" A trick of the light made it seem as though his dark eyes had flashed red for a moment as he stood testing the night with his olfactory organ.

The boy continued walking, speeding up a little to get to the mysterious figures side. "I just came from the mine, the soil there has a strong smell, I covered myself in it, thats how i lost the dogs." The boy said, as he kept pace with the man. "That was 3 days ago, i haven't slept or eaten since. They won't stop searching for me. When an Acolyte escapes they find them, and execute them at the Sanctuary, use them as an example." The boy stated, looking around. The look on his face suggested he had not shown emotion in a long time, and possibly even lost the ability to.

"They don't have the dogs with them anymore," the lids of his eyes were twitching slightly as his nostrils flared and narrowed, tasting the wind, "And now your smell will do more harm than good. We've got to get you out of those clothes if you want don't want to be one of their examples." He whipped around and started walking faster than before, his coat flapping about in the shadowy night looked not unlike wings of some creature that belonged in the air but had chosen to scoot along the ground, through tunnels and alleys. "I hope you don't mind if we postpone the meal for a little while?"

"I have gone longer then this without food before." The boy replied calmly, closing his left hand into a fist. The left hand was the curious one, as it was masked in a gauntlet of black padded leather, with metal plate on the back of the hand of unknown material, the thumb was similar in colour, with the other fingers a darker colour. The tips of his fingers were pointed and blade like, turning his hand into a weapon in of itself.

The alert head nodded once. The look in his eyes was far and away. "We move. I've a friend close by. We can get you some new clothes there, unless these redeemers aren't perceptive to magic..." He stopped in the roadway to turn and look at the young man in his dark blue coat. He raised an eyebrow questioningly. The breeze was still pulling at them both, and a smell was now slightly more distinct to the most observant nose, steely and metallic. Whoever was coming was well armed.

The boy smiled, raising his armoured hand as the smell of steel filled the air. "The redeemers are coming. I'm the best they've ever trained. They do not use guns, only bows and crossbows. I have dodged arrows before. But i have a vague understanding of the law here, and i doubt the street being sewn with corpses would go un-noticed. Where do we go?" The boy asked, as he started to look around the street, the muscles in his body tensing.

"Not far, but we'll have to be quick about it. By the smell of them, they're maybe half and hour outside of town, but marching at a swift pace. If they're good trackers, they'll have someone who wreaks as bad as you do found within the better part of an hour. You're in for a bit of a dash, I hope? Stay close," as he spoke, he began to move again, first at a slow sort of jog, but then more progressively into a dizzying sort of sprint down back alleys and little nooks where a man of his size should not have been able to fit. bricks and stones and mortar sped by in a kaleidoscopic manner until the frantic trip ended more abruptly still than it had begun, right in front of the back entrance to an old theater. An ancient sign hung in the alley above. The peeling paint was illuminated by a greasy old lantern. At one point in time, the sign had undoubtedly been inviting or informative or something, but now it was just fairly reminiscent of a sense of decay. The door, if it could be called that, followed suit. The rotten portal did not fit right in its frame, and looked as though it were ready to fall clean over when the darkly clad figure wrapped on it in a strange rhythmic pattern. But it swung rather firmly on its hinges as it was opened by a middle-aged woman. She had obviously passed out of her prime some time ago, this lady. She was not unlike a gypsy woman, with her tacky jewelry and gaudy clothes, particularly the brightly colored scarfs tied about her head. Her slightly overweight form blocked the doorway, and her expression remained baleful until she picked up on the shadowy person in her doorway, then she was a bit surprised, but the unpleasantness was replaced by curiosity. "Pleiadies!?" she said it like a question. "I'm sorry to call on you like this, but we're in need of a bit of help," he was brief but familiar. "We?" was her reply, even that word had an accent to it though, it wasn't very heavy, but it was distinct none-the-less. It sounded like it came from the north of Europe, maybe Romanian... He nodded and turned to allow for her to see his companion.

The boy stood behind the figure, his head down as he had followed without question. He looked up at the women, the look on his face was blank. Did this boy's face muscles register anything but nothing? He looked at the figure, his voice a mirror image of the empty look on his face. "Why are you helping me, anyway?" He asked, as he tapped his armoured fingers off of each other.

The person, formerly nameless, looked down at his young companion. "I stopped trying to come up with the answers a long time ago. Suffice it to say that for now, you are safe in my company," his voice was low, but not so much that he was trying to conceal it from the lady standing in the door. She only raised her eyebrow in curiosity, but she would undoubtedly have the pleasure of gaining the whole story in the future over some strong mugs of liquor. "Well, are you two going to come in out of the blighted, chill air, or would like to just stand there and watch me become an old spinster?" She was still talking as she let go of the door and began retreating into the warm light within. As the portal was swinging shut, on its natural course, it was quite the heavy object, the darkly clad man, Pleiadies was it, reached out and caught it. He smiled reassuringly back at the metal-fisted boy and stepped into the grimy old theater's 'backstage'.

The boy followed suite, stepping into the door, not thanking the man for holding it open. The boy did not know manners. He looked around, this place was too his liking, it was what he was used to. The dorms in the Sanctuary had been cold and grey, devoid of colour, so much so that the people even seemed black and white. This place was brighter, but a welcome change. The boy stayed standing, and turned his head to see the man who had helped him thus far.

And color there was, everywhere. Bolts of cloth, flashy costumes, set pieces, buckets of paint, they lied around all over the place in a haphazard fashion. The woman was sitting at a table that looked as thrown together as the rest of the building, pouring mugs of some strong liquor. "You know that I don't drink," Pleiadies said as he came in, the door slamming shut behind him, "But you may as well." He said that last bit to the boy. "You have something that might fit him," he called over to the woman. Down a darkened hall, the sound of someone moving in an ungainly fashion could be heard. "No need to get up, Garret!" the woman called, "It's just Pleiadies!" The darkly clad fellow sat down at the table smiling. "Pleiadies!" a gruff male voice growled into the well lit room, "What in the name of the seventh circle are you doing here?" He sounded quite angry, nasty even, but the smile on that pale face never wavered. "It's good to see you too Garret," his smooth voice played through the air like a chorus of violins, "Maybe you might be able to help me, and let your wife sit where she is and rest. I need some clothes for the boy." He nodded towards his shadowy young friend. Garret looked at him and sniffed, spitting out the taste as soon as he did. "Phwah! The boy smells like you just brought him right back out of the Pit!" He grimaced, showing his broken, yellowed teeth in his large meaty face. "For all you know, he did," his wife called as she swigged the rest of whatever had been in her tankard. The man raised his hand as if he would hit her, but the man named Pleiadies cut in with his voice again, "The clothes, Garret?" The man nodded, grumbling, "Alright, alright, the clothes." And he ambled off to find something 'suitable' if anything suitable could come from this place. "Come, sit down," The pale man who had brought the boy here was now waving him into a chair.

"I would prefer to stand." The boy said, standing in the corner of the room, sinking into the shadows. If the people in the room did not know he was there, they wouldn't have noticed him. He just watched as the people bickered and conversed in front of him. He clenched and unclenched his armoured hand. He stepped to the door and looked out, smiling. "They aren't here yet, we have some time."

"Suit yourself," Said the fellow who wore the clothes that were so black. The two at the table chatted back and forth amiably, like old friends, although there was an air of wrongness about everything, almost like they were faking it. It was not unlike the feeling that both of them were ready to kill each other at a moments notice just as much as they would embrace in that same moment. When the boy with the metal fist went to the door and spoke, he attracted the attention of both those 'old friends' and that of the slovenly man who had tottered off to collect the clothes. It was Pleiadies who replied though, in his strange, melodic voice, "I'd still rather be brief. The longer we tarry, the more we endanger ourselves and those around us." On the last bit he put a specific emphasis, turning a glance towards the residents of the run down theater. As he did, he noticed Garret's return. He nodded at the man and got up to inspect the garments that the man had brought. There was only a large white tunic and brown trousers, some undergarments thrown in for good measure, a belt, and a pair of boots... "Simple," the darkly attired figure didn't exactly look pleased, "And not the best for hiding, but it'll have to do... Here, get changed, quickly." He indicated the pile of clothes to the boy. "You can use the third room on the left," he nodded towards the hall.

The boy looked at the clothes, an expression of disgust on his face. "Really?" he asked, as he eyed the clothes uncomfortably. "I'd rather face the Redeemers." he said, scowling at the white coloured tunic. He was not fond of light colours, this boy.

"Trust me, you wouldn't, and you absolutely wreak. We'll get you a new set of anything as soon as possible, but first, we have to get far enough away to make it worth the time... Now get changed," there was a fire in his eyes that wouldn't brook argument. He made a strange facial expression at Garret, who just nodded and retreated once again into the recesses of the playhouse. "And be quick. They aren't here yet, but if they set a foot into this city before we're out of it, our chances of loosing them practically vanish." He was beginning to look impatient, though somehow not agitated. The woman just smiled at him with her sever-teeth-short of a full grin.

The boy took the clothes, and walked out of the room. Several minutes later he returned, wearing the clothes he had been given. He looked at the man, and spoke quickly. "Lets get out of here, the sooner i get something else to wear the better." The boy walked towards the door, placing his armoured gauntlet on the handle.

The door swung open on him, and the man in black was on the other side. Black eyes gave the lad a scathing once-over. He took off his voluminous black overcoat and handed it to the boy before continuing into the darkness, another coat covered him anyhow. Without words, he moved quickly towards the street once more, and darted through the shadows with frightening speed. Neither the woman nor the man had given goodbye, in fact, they had both disappeared by the time that the young man had come back out in his new attire. The pale man who was acting as an aid made no remark upon this or anything else for that matter, he just moved quickly, occasionally waving his companion onwards, always remaining ahead, testing the way before taking it. Once or twice, he had them double back upon themselves, or make slightly unorthodox crossings under bridges, or jumping from one passage to a lower one. he was scooting about. he did stop again, this time in front of a church building. Taking the lad into a side alley he finally broke his silence. "Wait here, I'll be right back," he patted the boy's shoulder before moving towards the sanctuary.

OOC: I froze up when i read the word sanctuary...

BIC: Cale followed the pale man through the streets, used to the skulking around. He had snuck about the Sanctuary before, and he knew how to hide himself. The white tunic didn't help his efforts, but the black coat that he had been given nullified it. He stopped at the same time as the pale man, as he watched the man walk up towards a church. Cale froze at the sight of the cross above the door.

ooc// Sorry about that...

bic// True to his word, the shadow of a man, who was ever so strangely devoid of a shadow of his own, which was noticeable for the first time as he darted through direct light for perhaps the first time since they had run into each other, was back within a matter of moments. As he quickly scooted across the street, he looked up to see the young man's eyes riveted to the cross hung on the church building. He didn't need to look back to know that. He also knew that you just didn't pry about certain things, and he merely placed his hand on the boy's shoulder to tear his concentration back to reality, and perhaps to reassure him as well... Come, he seemed to be saying, although he never did say anything. He just kept moving, his business here complete. At the edge of what would be called the city limits, he looked over his shoulder again at the moon-washed buildings. Something drove him to lick those ruby-red lips before he turned and kept running with that inexhaustible energy of his.

The boy followed after the pale man, in the dark. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, he was silent. He decided against it. He followed the man, his breathing steady as he practically sprinted. "You don't have a shadow..." The boy finally said, keeping pace with the man.

He didn't falter in his step as he strode on, and he went some ways further without speaking. "No," was all he said when he finally did manage anything, but that was it. There was no emotion in it, just a simple fact, unimpressive and without impression. A glance cast over the shoulder might have been appropriate, but he gave none. There was no cover yet, although a couple hours of walking would bring them to the fringe of some trees, a little town, and then a denser forest beyond. It would not be safe to stop and chat until then, and the breath was more necessary for movement right now, at least it was for the boy.

The boy continued to follow the pale man, wondering quietly why this man was helping him. He had gone to great lengths, the boy thought, to help a complete stranger. It interested and confused him. The boy continued to follow the pale man, the thought crossed his mind that the man was working with the redeemers, but he had put so much effort towards the boy, that it didn't make sense.