player npcs. (citizenries) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-04-21 15:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, !npc: kiyoko matsudaira, cian wilde |
i can't decide whether you should live or die.
Who: Cian Wilde & Kiyoko Matsudaira
What: Cian goes to collect Ash, and leaves his manners at home.
Where: A residence near the Red Light District
When: Today
Rating: PG-13 for threats and Cian's foul mouth.
Status: Complete!
Three days after the battle against the Babils, the woman that had saved Kiyoko’s life had yet to wake up. She remained in Bethelda’s home, where they had both been carried, unconscious, after the fight, and though her coma had continued several days, the healer they had brought in from among the faithful had assured Kiyoko that the woman’s condition was stable, and her recovery would no doubt be complete. And so she had come to owe her life to a woman whose name or identity was a mystery to her, beyond her class and combat capabilities; her communicator had been destroyed beyond recognition by one of the Babils and she carried no other identifying documents. There was nothing to do but wait until she awoke. The waiting was dull, yet every day Kiyoko stopped by, with a script or a book to keep her company beside the unconscious stranger’s bed. Every day, the most remarkable of developments would be no more than a fluttering of the woman’s eyelashes, movement of her eyes underneath her eyelids as she traced the outline of dreams known only to her. Monday broke that dull routine with the sound of a conversation turning into a chaos of raised voices. All voices Kiyoko knew well, except one; and it was that which made her rise from her chair, sparing one last look for the woman on the bed, and walked outside to investigate the commotion. The source of it was a young man, perhaps a few years older than Kiyoko herself, attempting to push back Bethelda and Loran to get inside the house. Now that she stood in the same room, she could make out the words coming out of his mouth. As she approached, Bethelda and the others fell silent and turned to her with a bow of their heads; the man’s threat to cut Loran’s balls off and feed them to him with hot sauce echoed in the quiet. Kiyoko’s voice was calm and cold as steel as she said, “That would be quite unlikely ever to happen, as you would find yourself blasted where you stand the moment you took out your knife.” If the threat was cause for worry, Cian didn’t bat an eyelash. At the very least the willowy, dark-haired woman who had emerged from the depths of the house appeared to be in charge, which he considered a win. These idiots had been a waste of his time since he’d finally found their door. You’d think people would be glad to be rid of an unconscious stranger in this chaos -- one less person to care for -- but they’d been blocking him at every turn, answering his (originally polite) questions vaguely, and he’d just about had it. “Well then,” he said, his voice as icy as hers, “I guess in that case we’d have at it, lady, since from what I can piece together from what he’s not telling me, you’ve got my sister and refuse to let her go. All things considered, I’d risk it. I tried asking politely, but apparently, that was a lot of wasted oxygen.” Kiyoko considered the man before her. He bore no physical resemblance to the woman sleeping in the back room, but he appeared to know she was there; whether it was safe to release her to him in her vulnerable state, however, was yet to be determined. “It was not their permission to grant, but mine. You may, however, consider a return to your alleged politeness,” she said, wrapping a tendril of Dark magic around her hand, “if what you wish is to recover your sister. It is not proper social behavior to barge into a person’s home and threaten bodily harm.” “Funny,” he said, noting the glow of her hand, ignoring it for the moment (in a game of chicken, he rarely looked away first), “permission seems to imply you’re taking prisoners of war here. Wasn’t aware the entire Mages’ Guild had gone batshit. But let’s try this again, why don’t we?” His hand remained away from his weapons; he wouldn’t draw, not unless this got uglier. Hell, he’d already died once, what was one mage? “I came to the door and asked your indecisive friend if I could please,” he stressed the word -- he had even used it -- “take my sister home, since apparently, she was seen being brought here. Now, I can be a reasonable guy, but she’s been missing for a few days, and I’ve about torn up the city looking for her. I offered to provide identifying characteristics and so on, in case you’ve got a lot of random people off the street coming and asking for your… guests.” Or prisoners, as the case might be. “My answer,” he finished, “was a whole lot of nothing. Now understandably, I’m getting kind of pissed off, so no offense to you, since you seem mostly reasonable, but maybe you might reconsider keeping someone’s only living family locked away. I’m pretty fucking fond of her, even if she is a royal pain in my ass.” Her eyes had narrowed at his barb about the Guild, but she waited for him to finish speaking before she replied. “You continue to ignore a very relevant corollary of your own reasoning. Namely: if she is here, and indeed my prisoner as you say, your wisdom in angering me is questionable.” The magic still flickered around her hand, an unspoken threat. “Furthermore, your being able to describe her does not guarantee that she is indeed your sister, or that you bear no ill will toward her. The woman resting in this house saved my life; I would not see her released to one who may cause her harm, especially,” she added a touch of disdain into her voice, “one as ill-mannered as yourself.” He shrugged, maintaining an expression of neutrality, as though he were playing some high stakes game. “Guess that means one of two things,” he said. “One, I’m a reckless fool whose corpse won’t be missed, of whom you can dispose with ease, or two, I’m not particularly afraid of you. Guess it plays either way.” And if he had to retreat and cool his head, she wouldn’t like the result, but then all things considered, it might be a genuine possibility. Fuck’s sake, even unconscious and bleeding, Aisling Wilde caused him no end of trouble. “Not sure how you think to prove a relation, then, aside from my word, which is probably worth about as much as yours -- take that how you like, compliment or insult -- but I will say that if it’s my manners that are in question, hers aren’t any better. Though she’s more likely to save a random stranger than I am.” “It is only fools who hold no fear.” She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “I am afraid that her communicator was destroyed during the fight, and she bears no other identification. Asking her if she knows you is also not an option at the moment. You may however attempt to convince me―politely―that I would not be forsaking her if I released her into your care.” “I didn’t say I held no fear,” he corrected, his lips quirking up a bit, “just not of you, particularly. Considering I’ve done nothing violent, it would be pretty unreasonable to kill me. And I will either stay and wait for her to be released or, I guess, give the Knights of the fucking Peace something new to do, because they’re not busy already.” Or just send a ninja in for her; no need to mention that at all. “Fact is, I’m likelier to hurt myself than her. I can give you a whole list of people you can ask to corroborate her identity, or you can take my word for it. I’m ill-mannered, but I always keep it.” For a moment, she considered him. The first half of his words were dismissed, a threat not worth considering (she had never given the Knights of the Peace any work, and she had no desire to start). The second half, however, for all the man’s rough language and rudeness, rang true. As easily as it had been summoned, the haze of magic was dispelled. “I will accept your word, and pray that you do not break it.” Her eyes did not leave his face as she said, “Bethelda, Loran, please, would you be so kind as to bring our guest here?” Her faithful bowed, and with a swift, “At once, my Lady,” retreated into the back room. They emerged again moments later, pushing the unconscious woman in a stretcher. Kiyoko watched the man’s face carefully, to gauge his reaction. “I am afraid she has been comatose since we brought her here, though the healer we brought in assures me she will make a full recovery,” she said. “You may wish to continue monitoring her condition, nevertheless.” And that appeared to be the end of the face-off. Probably for the better. He had to give the woman credit for having guts, or he might have, if he gave half a flying fuck about her (don't you know how witches are? -- words for later; he couldn’t be bothered now). Instead, all his focus was given to the person he’d come here to collect -- too pale, too small, but breathing. He breathed, too -- a small sigh of relief, his neitral expression cracking only now to allow some of it to shine through. “I’ll make sure a healer sees her,” he said. The communicator he’d taken off some poor, dead sod in the street was withdrawn from his pocket, a few quick words typed in. “Car’ll be here shortly. My thanks,” only slightly wry, “for taking care of her.” Even if she wound up this way because of you in the first place. “Once she’s awake, I’ll have her contact you to thank you herself.” After he asked her why she kept getting mixed up with shadesters that made him look like a fucking moogle plush in comparison. It was clearly some kind of gift. Kiyoko nodded. The way the man’s gaze had softened upon seeing his sister was proof enough that, whatever their relation, he would not seek to do her harm. “You are welcome. And it is I who wish to extend my thanks to her. My name is Ran Matsuura,” she said, with the slightest bow of her head, “and you will never come here again.” “Cian Wilde,” he said. No need to lie to her, as far as he was concerned. “Believe me, it’s not on my list of places to visit in future. Ash’ll be in touch,” he added, nodding to the woman on the stretcher. He heard the purr of an engine outside and leaned over to carefully pick up the unconscious mime. He resisted the urge to tell the mage to have a nice life; instead, he said, “Good meeting you,” the politest lie in the moment, as he headed out the door, cradling Ash’s body against his chest with as much gentleness as he could manage, glad to hear the door shutting behind him. |